Читать книгу Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires - Rebecca Winters - Страница 25

ANNA AWOKE WITH a start. The room was pitch-black and for a moment she had no idea where she was. Then in a rush she remembered: she was in Zahir’s bedroom, in his bed. They had had sex—more than that, they had made love. And it had been the single most wonderful experience of her life.

She let the memory flood over her, reliving the wonder of it, the incredible coupling they had shared. The intensity of feelings she had experienced had gone far beyond just sex, or losing her virginity, or proving that there wasn’t actually anything wrong with her, that she was a proper woman after all. In fact, it had gone far beyond anything she ever could have possibly imagined. Something momentous had happened between them, something very special. The floodgates had opened without permission from either of them, washing away all the anger and pride, the fears, resentment and battle for control that had been so painfully consuming them up until now. All gone on a tidal wave of unadulterated passion.

But something else had been washed away too. The pretence. The notion that what she felt for Zahir was simply infatuation or a wild obsession or a silly crush that she could somehow control. Because now she knew the indisputable truth. She was in love with Zahir Zahani. Deeply, desperately, dangerously in love.

Anna closed her eyes against the sheer force of the truth, powerless to do anything except accept it. She thought back to lying in Zahir’s arms, sated and exhausted, to the pure pleasure of being held by him, listening to him breathing, her euphoria keeping her awake long after he had surrendered to sleep. She couldn’t worry about the consequences of her love for him—at least not now, not tonight. She refused to let anything spoil this one, remarkable night.

Except maybe it was already spoiled. Stretching an arm across the crumpled sheets, she already knew that Zahir had gone. The fact that bed was still warm beside her was no consolation.

Anna held herself very still, listening. There it was again, the noise that had woken her up, a series of dull thuds coming from somewhere far away in the palace. Sitting up in bed, she pulled the covers around her shoulders. What was it? It sounded almost like a wrecking ball, a tremendous weight hitting something solid over and over again. She could hear voices now, muffled shouting, as if the whole of the palace had woken up. And then she heard the most frightening sound of all. A howl, like a wild animal, echoing through the night, and again, louder and more desperate. But what made it all the more terrifying, what made Anna cower back into the mattress, was the fact that the sound definitely came from a human.

Cautiously she got up off the bed. Now her eyes had acclimatised to the gloom, she could make out their discarded clothes scattered on the floor. She found her knickers, hastily pulled them on and was holding Zahir’s shirt in her hand when another howl cut through the air. It seemed even louder this time. Suddenly finding the right clothes didn’t matter. Getting out of here definitely did.

Hastily tugging Zahir’s shirt over her head, she stepped out into the unlit corridor. The sounds were coming from somewhere above, harsh voices, a thumping noise like furniture being turned over, and still that horrendous howling. She knew she had to find her way back to her suite of rooms which were somewhere on the first floor but fear made her hesitate. What on earth was going on? What sort of a mad house had she come to?

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a flight of stairs leading off the corridor to her left. They were narrow and dark but right now they seemed a better alternative to wandering into the main atrium of the palace and exposing herself to whatever hell was happening out there.

Stealthily climbing the stairs, she lifted the latch of the heavy wooden door at the top and it creaked open. She was in another corridor, wider this time, and dimly lit by wall lights. Hurriedly following what seemed like miles of passageway, her bare feet soundless on the wooden floor, Anna tried to figure out where she was, how she could find her way back to somewhere she recognised. When the corridor ended with another, grander door, she hesitated, listening for sounds on the other side. Nothing.

The howling had stopped now, along with the crashing and banging. All seemed quiet. Spookily so. She noticed that there was a key in the lock on this side of the door but the door opened easily on her turning the handle. She stepped into the room just as a strangled scream pierced the air. It took a moment to realise it had come from her.

She was standing in her own bedroom. And it had been totally trashed. The furniture had been reduced to firewood, an enormous gilt-framed mirror smashed to smithereens, glass all over the floor. The bed was in ruins, the stuffing pulled out of the mattress, the pictures on the walls punched through or hanging crazily from their hooks. Anna gazed around in speechless horror. The wardrobe was lying on its back, all her clothes wrenched from it and violently ripped to pieces, shredded by some maniacal hand. Dresses had been slashed and hurled to the ground. Tops, trousers, even her underwear, hadn’t escaped the vicious attack, bras and panties torn to bits and scattered in amongst the piles of debris. It was a terrifying scene.

And in the middle of it were the two brothers—Zahir and Rashid. Rashid was crouched down, his head in his hands, silently rocking. Zahir was standing over him, wearing nothing but the same loose trousers Anna had lowered from his body a short while ago. But, as he turned to look at her, Anna heard herself scream again. His chest was smeared with blood, deep, vertical lacerations that looked as if they’d been made by some sort of animal. There were scratches all over his arms too, on the hands that he held up to ward her off.

‘Get out of here, Annalina!’

But Anna couldn’t move, frozen by the horror of the sight, her brain unsure if this was real or if she’d stepped into some terrible nightmare.

‘I said go.’

No, this was real, all right. Zahir was advancing towards her now, bearing down on her with the look of a man who would not be disobeyed. Anna felt herself back away until she could feel the wall behind her.

‘Wh…what has happened?’ She tried to peer around Zahir’s advancing body to look at Rashid, who had wrapped his arms around his knees and was still rocking back and forth.

‘I’m dealing with this, Annalina.’

Zahir was right in front of her now, trying to control her with eyes that shone wild and black. She could see the thick corded veins throbbing in his neck, smell the sweat on him, sense the fight in him that he was struggling to control.

‘And I am telling you to go.’ Grabbing hold of her upper arms, his forceful grip biting into her soft flesh, he started to turn her in the direction she had come from. ‘You are to go back to my chambers and wait for me.’ When she finally nodded, he let out a breath. ‘And lock the door behind you.’

She nodded again, her knees starting to shake now as Zahir herded her towards the door. Looking over her shoulder, she took in the scene of devastation once more, the thought of the demons that must be possessing Rashid to bring about such violence, to cause such destruction, striking fear into her heart. Because Rashid had done this. She had no doubt about that.

Suddenly Rashid threw back his head. Their eyes met and there was that stare again, only this time it was far more chilling, far more deranged. She watched as he stealthily rose to his feet, hunching his shoulders and clenching his fists by his sides. Now he was starting to step silently towards them but, intent on getting Anna out of the room, Zahir hadn’t seen him. With her brain refusing to process what she was seeing, it was a second before Anna let out the cry that spun him around. A second too late. Because Rashid had leapt between them, knocking her to the ground and clasping his hands around her throat. She caught the bulging madness in his eyes as the pressure increased, heard Zahir’s roar echo round the room, and then the weight of a tangle of bodies on top of her followed by silence. And then nothing but darkness.

Zahir stared down at Anna’s sleeping face, so pale in the glow of light from the single bedside lamp. Her hair was spread across the pillow like spun gold, like the stuff of fairy tales. Beauty and the Beast. Suddenly he remembered how that creature Henrik had referred to them and now he wondered if he had been right. Because Zahir had never felt more of a beast than he did now.

Seeing Rashid attack Anna had all but crucified him, the shock of it still firing through his veins. That he had let it happen, failed to protect someone dear to him yet again, filled him with such self-loathing that he thought he might vomit from the strength of it. And the fact that this terrible attack had made him face up to his feelings only added to his torment. Because Annalina was dear to him. Dangerously, alarmingly dear. And that meant he had to take drastic action.

Somehow he had managed to control the surge of violence towards Rashid. It had been strong enough to slay him on the spot, or at the very least punch him to the ground, the way he had with Henrik. Because that was his answer to everything, wasn’t it? Violence. The only language he understood. But with Annalina still in danger he had driven that thought from his mind. Prising his brother’s fingers from around her neck, he had shoved him to one side, taking the punishment of his increasingly feeble blows to his back and his head as he’d bent over Annalina, gathering her against his chest and shielding her with his body as he’d crossed the debris-strewn room and locked the door behind him. Leaving Rashid and his terrible madness inside.

Out in the corridor a doctor was already hurrying towards them. Zahir had called him earlier to attend to Rashid, before foolishly trying to go and reason with him himself. But right now Rashid would have to wait. Right now nothing mattered except Annalina. Ordering the doctor to follow him, he pounded along the corridors with Annalina in his arms, bursting into the nearest bedroom and laying her down on the bed like the most precious thing in the world. Because suddenly he realised that she was.

Her eyes were already fluttering open when the doctor bent to examine her—his verdict that the marks on her neck were only superficial, that she had most probably fainted from the shock, a massive relief before it had given way to the feelings of utter disgust towards himself.

With the doctor insisting that the only treatment Annalina needed was rest, Zahir had reluctantly left her in the care of the servants to be put to bed for what was left of the night. Annalina was already insisting that she was fine, that she was sorry for having been such a drama queen, that he should go to Rashid to see how he was.

But Zahir returned to his chambers, having no desire to see any more of his brother tonight. He didn’t trust himself—his emotions were still running far too high. And, besides, the doctor would have sedated Rashid by now. He would be blissfully unconscious. Zahir could only yearn for the same oblivion. There was no way he would sleep tonight.

So instead he took a shower, feeling a masochistic pleasure in the sting of the water as it pounded over the cuts and scratches inflicted by his brother, towelling himself dry with excessive roughness over the clawed wounds on his chest, staring at the blood on the towel, as if looking for absolution, before tossing it to the ground. Because there was no absolution to be had. Quite the reverse.

The thought that Annalina could so easily have ended up married to Rashid tore at his soul. Because the betrothal had been all his idea, his appalling lack of judgement. He had convinced himself that marriage and a family would be beneficial for Rashid, then had bullied him into agreeing to his plan.

He had told himself that his brother was getting better, that his problems would soon be solved with a bit more time and the right medication. Not because it was the truth—dear God, this evening had shown how desperately far from the truth it was—but because that was what he had wanted to believe. And not even for Rashid’s sake, but for his own. To ease the weight of guilt. If it hadn’t been for Annalina’s courage, her bravery that night on the bridge in Paris, she would have found herself married to a dangerously unstable man. A man who clearly meant to do her harm. And that was something else Zahir could add to the growing list of things he would never forgive himself for.

The confines of his rooms felt increasingly claustrophobic as he paced around, the silence he had thought he craved so badly resonating like a death knell in his ears. And coming across Annalina’s dress lying on his bedroom floor only intensified his suffering. Picking it up, he laid it across the bed, the sight of the crumpled sheets sending a bolt of twisted torment through him.

For sex with Annalina had been unlike any sexual experience Zahir had ever had before—so powerful in its intensity that it had obliterated all reason, all doubts. And, even more astonishing, afterwards he had fallen asleep, drugged by a curious contentment totally unknown to him. For Zahir had never, ever slept in a woman’s arms. The only sex he had ever known had been perfunctory, used solely as a means of release, leaving him feeling vaguely soiled, as if debased by his own physical needs. In short, once the deed had been done, he had been out of there. But with Annalina it had been different. He had felt stronger for having made love to her, calmer, more complete. Somehow made whole. But then with Anna everything was different.

But his euphoric peace had been short-lived, shattered first by howls and then sounds of destruction that he instantly knew had to be his brother. In his haste to go to him he had abandoned Annalina, not thinking that she would follow him, that she was the one who was in danger. That she would end up being attacked.

A surge of impotent energy saw him retracing his steps back up to the bedroom where she was sleeping, startling the young servant, Lana, who for some reason had taken it upon herself to keep a bedside vigil. Curtly dismissing her, he had taken her place, the realisation of what he had to do growing with every minute that passed as he gazed down at Anna’s peaceful face. He had been wrong to marry her, to bring her here. No good would ever come of it. If he wanted to protect her, he knew what he had to do. He had to set her free.

Anna opened her eyes, at first startled, then feeling her heart leap when she saw that Zahir was at her bedside, staring at her with silent intensity.

‘What time is it?’ She started to push herself up against the pillows. What day was it, come to that? Crossing time zones, the glorious wonder of sex with Zahir, the terror of Rashid’s assault meant she had totally lost all sense of date and time. Her hand went to her throat as the dreadful memory came back. It felt slightly tender, nothing more.

‘About four a.m.’ Zahir shifted in his seat but his eyes never left her face.

Anna sat up further, brushing the hair away from her face. ‘What are you doing here?’ Something about Zahir’s still demeanour, the dispassionate way he was observing her, was starting to alarm her. She moved her hand across the coverlet to find his but, instead of taking it, he folded his arms across his chest, sitting ramrod-straight in his chair. ‘Is it Rashid? Has something happened to him?’

‘Rashid has been sedated. He will give us no further trouble tonight.’

‘Well, that’s good, I suppose.’

‘You should go back to sleep. The doctor said you must rest.’ Zahir rose to his feet. For a moment Anna thought he was going to leave but instead he moved round to the end of the bed where he stood watching her like a dark angel. A couple of seconds of silence ticked by before he spoke again. ‘Your neck.’ His voice was gruff, as if he had been the one with the hands around his throat. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘No.’ His obvious anguish made Anna want to lessen his burden. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. But what about you? The marks on your chest, Zahir, they looked bad.’

‘They are nothing.’ He immediately closed her down. They were obviously to be covered up by more than the loose white shirt that now clad his chest.

‘I’m sorry that I made the situation worse by swooning like a Victorian heroine.’ She pulled an apologetic face. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I think it must have been the shock.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ His hands gripped the end of the bed. ‘It is I who should be sorry.’

‘What happened, Zahir?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Why did Rashid go berserk like that?’

Zahir looked away into the darkness of the room. ‘Apparently he failed to take his medication when he was in Dorrada.’

‘And that…that fury was the result?’ She bit down on her lip. ‘But why did he target me, Zahir? Rip up my clothes, try to attack me? What does he have against me?’

‘He had no idea what he was doing. He attacked me too, his own brother.’

‘But only because you were trying to stop him from trashing my room.’ She hadn’t been sure until that moment, but now she saw that she was right.

‘It seems he regards you as some sort of threat.’ Zahir still couldn’t meet her eye. ‘In his deranged state, he’s somehow confusing you with the person who killed our parents.’

‘Oh, how awful.’ Anna’s heart lurched with compassion and maybe a tinge of fear. ‘Poor Rashid. Maybe if I tried to speak to him—when he’s calmed down, I mean.’

‘No.’ Now his black gaze bored into her.

‘Well, is he having any other treatment, apart from medication? Counselling, for example? I’m sure there will be a doctor in Europe who could help him. I could make enquiries?’ She looked earnestly across at his shadowed form.

‘That won’t be necessary. Rashid is my problem and I will deal with him.’

‘Actually, I think he is my problem too, in view of what you’ve just told me… In view of what happened tonight.’ Hurt at the way Zahir curtly dismissed her offer of help hardened her voice.

‘That will never happen again.’

‘How can you be so sure when we’re both living under the same roof?’

‘Because you won’t be for much longer.’

‘What do you mean? Are you going to send him away?’

‘No, Annalina.’

The seed of a terrible truth started to germinate. She stared at him in frozen horror.

‘You’re not saying…?’ She swallowed past her closing throat. ‘You are not intending to send me away?’

‘I’ve come to the conclusion that bringing you here was a mistake.’

‘A mistake?’ The dead look in Zahir’s eyes sent panic to her heart. ‘What do you mean, a mistake?’

‘I’ve decided that you should return to Dorrada.’

‘But how can I go back to Dorrada when you are here in Nabatean?’ She spoke quickly, trying to drown out the scream in her head. ‘I am your wife. I should be by your side.’

‘That was a mistake too.’ A terrible chill cloaked the room. ‘The marriage will be annulled.’

‘No!’ She heard the word echo around them.

‘I have made up my mind, Annalina.’

This wasn’t possible…it couldn’t be happening. Pulling back the covers, Anna scrambled across the bed until she landed in front of Zahir with a small thump. He took a step back but the desperation in her eyes halted his retreat. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t be ending their marriage, casting her aside just like that. Could he? But one look at the determined set of his jaw, the terrible blackness of his eyes, told her that he could. And he was.

Anna clasped her hands on either side of her head as if to stop it exploding. Had she failed again so spectacularly that Zahir was prepared to end their marriage without even giving it a chance? And to do it now—when she had only just accepted how deeply she had fallen in love with him—felt like the cruellest, most heart-breaking twist of all. Seconds passed before one small question found its way through the choking fog.

‘But what about last night?’ She despised herself for the pitiful bleat in her voice as she searched his face for a flicker of compassion. ‘Did that not mean anything to you?’

His jaw clenched in response, the shadowed planes of his handsome face hardening still further in the dim light. A twitching muscle in his cheek was the only sign of insubordination.

‘Legally it will make the marriage more difficult to annul, that’s true.’ He raised his hand to his jaw, pressing his thumb against the rebellious muscle. ‘But I’m sure it can be arranged for a price.’

Was she hearing right? Had the single most wonderful experience of her life meant nothing to Zahir? Or, worse still, had she got it so wrong, somehow been such a failure without realising it, that he would pay any price to be rid of her?

‘I don’t understand.’ She tried again, her voice cracking as she reached forward, placing the palm on her hand on his chest, as if trying to find the heart in him, make it change Zahir’s mind for her. Make him love her. But instead all she found was unyielding bone and taut muscle concealed beneath the cotton shirt. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I’ve told you. Our marriage should never have taken place. It was an error of judgement on my part. I accept full responsibility for that and am now taking steps to rectify the situation.’

‘And what about me?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Do I have no say in the matter?’

‘No, Annalina. You do not.’

Anna turned away in a daze of unshed tears. So this was it, then. Once more she was at the mercy of a man’s decisions. Once more she was being rejected, pushed away for being inadequate. Not by her father this time, with his frozen heart, or Henrik, with his selfish needs. But Zahir. Her Zahir. Her only love.

The pain ripping through her was so fierce that she thought she might fold from the strength of it. But seconds passed and she found she was still standing, still breathing. She forced herself to think.

Clearly Zahir wasn’t going to change his mind. The whole mountain of his body was drawn taut with resolve, grim determination holding him stock-still in the gloom of the room. She could beg. The idea certainly crossed her mind, desperation all too ready to push aside any dignity, pride or self-respect. But ultimately she knew it would be pointless. Zahir would not be moved, emotionally or practically. She could see that the decision had already taken root in the bedrock of his resolve. So that left only one course of action. She would leave. And she would leave right now.

Turning away, she ran into the middle of the room, but then stopped short, suddenly realising she had no clothes to wear. Her entire wardrobe had been ripped to shreds, along with her heart and soul. She looked down at the nightdress she was wearing. Lana had found it for her. She remembered her tenderly removing Zahir’s shirt, remembered seeing the blood smeared across it from where he had held her to his chest, before Lana had slipped this plain cotton gown over her shaking body and helped her into bed.

But she could hardly go out dressed like this. Covering her face with her hands, she tried to decide what to do. The clothes that she had travelled in what seemed like several centuries ago now were scattered somewhere in Zahir’s chambers. Much as she dreaded going back there, she had no alternative.

Turning on her heel, she set off, fighting back the tears as she hurtled down the corridors, down the stairs, Zahir following right behind her.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Anna quickened her pace, grateful that for once her sense of direction wasn’t letting her down. She recognised this corridor. She knew where she was.

‘I’m going to collect my clothes from your rooms and then I’m leaving.’

‘Not tonight, you’re not.’ He was right by her shoulder, effortlessly keeping pace with her.

‘Yes, tonight.’ She had reached his door now, flinging it open, relieved to find it wasn’t locked. She marched into his bedroom, switching on the light, hardly able to bring herself to look at the room that such a short space of time ago had been the scene of such joy. There was her dress, laid out on the bed like a shed skin, a previous incarnation. She rushed over to it, struggling to pull the nightgown over her head, not caring that apart from a pair of panties she was naked—that Zahir, who was standing silently in the doorway, was watching her every move, branding her bare skin with his eyes.

What did it matter? What did any of it matter now?

Stepping into the dress, she tugged up the back zipper as far as she could then cast around looking for her boots. Finding one, she clutched it to her chest and headed for the door, desperate to get out of this hateful den of misery while she still had the strength and the breath to do it.

But Zahir stood in the doorway, blocking her way.

‘There is no need for this, Annalina.’ Anna felt the searing heat of his hand wrap around her upper arm.

‘On the contrary, there is every need.’ She jerked her arm but it only made his grip tighten still further. ‘Do you seriously think I would stay here a moment longer? Now I know that I am nothing more than a mistake, an error of judgement?’ The words fell from her mouth like shards of glass.

‘You will stay here until the morning.’ He looked down at her, eyes wild and black, his heavy breath, like that of an angry bull, fanning the top of her head. ‘I am not letting you leave while you’re in this hysterical state.’

Hysterical state? The sheer injustice of his words misted her eyes red. Didn’t she have every right to be hysterical? Didn’t she have the right to scream and rant and rave—join Rashid in his madness, in fact—after the way Zahir had treated her tonight?

Yanking herself free from his clutch, she ducked under his arm and into the outer room, seizing her other boot and hopping from foot to foot as she pulled them on.

‘I’ll tell you what’s hysterical, Zahir.’ She spoke over her back, refusing to look at him. ‘Me thinking that we could ever make a go of this marriage.’ She straightened up, flinging her hair over her shoulders as her eyes darted around, searching for her bag and her phone. ‘That we could be a proper couple, partners, lovers. That I could be a good wife to you. That what we did last night…a few hours ago…whenever the hell it was…’ she choked on a rising sob ‘…was actually something very special.’

She stopped, making herself drag in a ragged breath before she passed out completely, shaking with misery, rage and the miserable injustice of it all.

But suddenly, there in the darkest moment, she saw the gleam of truth. Suddenly she realised she had nothing to lose any more. The barriers between them had all come down, were flattened, destroyed. There was no reason to keep the very worst agony to herself any longer.

‘And do you want to know the most hysterical thing of all?’ She spun around now, pinning him to the spot with the truth of her stare, letting the rush of abandonment take control of her.

‘I’m in love with you, Zahir.’ A harsh laugh caught in her throat, coming out as a strangled scream. ‘How totally hysterical is that?’