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And what if she was pregnant?
That was a possibility she hadn’t let herself dwell on. Zayed hadn’t seemed to have considered it, although perhaps it was simply not of concern to him. Despite his seeming solicitude now, she knew she shouldn’t entirely trust him, even if she wanted to, and she doubted he trusted her. What would he do if she was pregnant? She didn’t even like to think about it.
‘What’s wrong?’ Zayed asked suddenly. ‘You’ve gone pale.’
‘Nothing.’ She’d been meaning to change the subject, so now she did. ‘This meal is really quite delicious. What is the main course?’
‘I have no idea.’ Zayed pressed a pager to summon the staff. ‘But we can find out.’
Moments later a member of staff came in and silently removed the dishes, returning shortly with the main course—grilled meat with rice and yoghurt sauce. Again it was delicious, and Olivia said so, but she knew she couldn’t just keep talking about the food.
And Zayed, for whatever reason, seemed determined to find out more about her. ‘What kind of job might you have done, if Hassan hadn’t offered you the governess position?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘I never really thought about it.’
‘Did you consider going to university?’
‘No, not really.’
Zayed frowned. ‘Not even for a moment? In this day and age...an educated woman like yourself... Why not?’
She pressed her lips together. ‘There wasn’t the money for it.’
His frown deepened, turning almost to a scowl. ‘No money? Did your father leave you nothing?’
‘He died virtually bankrupt.’ He’d had a penchant for gambling that Olivia hadn’t known about, and there had barely been enough to cover her most basic expenses after the funeral. ‘I didn’t really feel like going to university,’ she told him, wanting to avoid his pity. ‘I didn’t have a burning passion to study anything, and the truth is I’m not very adventurous.’ The thought of starting over alone in a strange city had been most unappealing. She’d done that enough as a child, before she’d been sent to boarding school at age eleven.
‘And what about now?’ Zayed pressed. ‘If you could do anything, what would you do?’
‘I...’ Olivia hesitated. She didn’t have dreams. She hadn’t let herself have them, because they’d seemed so pointless. Better to be happy pleasing other people, accepting their thanks when it came. Better to be useful than important or loved.
‘Think about it,’ Zayed urged. ‘This could be a great opportunity for you, Olivia.’
A great opportunity? Olivia blinked, stung. She understood about putting a good face on things, heaven knew, but that was stretching it a little far.
‘I’m sorry, Prince Zayed,’ she said stiffly. ‘But I can’t quite see that from where I am.’ She put her napkin next to her plate, her appetite vanished.
What was she doing here, really? Having a romantic candlelit dinner with a man who was going to put her aside so he could marry someone else? A man who had taken her innocence, her livelihood, her home. Did she have anything more to lose? The last thing she needed was to sit here, eating delicious food and drinking fine wine, as if they were on some sort of date. It just reminded her of all she didn’t have, would never have, and, while she usually didn’t let herself think like that, right now it hurt.
Because part of her wanted that—the romance, the anticipation, the seduction—with Zayed. She didn’t want to feel that persistent ache of yearning, but she did. He was a powerful and devastatingly attractive man, and despite his ruthlessness she knew he could be kind. It was enough right there to half tumble her into love with him, and that she could not have.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she rose from the table. ‘It’s been a long day. I think I’ll go to bed.’
‘Olivia, wait.’ Zayed rose as well, catching her arm and turning her towards him. A wave of heat, the tangy citrus of his aftershave, assaulted her senses and felt like a taunt. Even now she felt the ripples of desire spreading outwards from her centre, like a pebble had splashed into her soul, and she couldn’t stand it.
She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t want to long for things she couldn’t have, to yearn to feel those strong arms around her, pulling her against him, and more. So much more.
‘I’m sorry,’ Zayed said, his hand still on her arm. ‘That was a poor choice of words. I’m trying to see the bright side of things for you, but I understand that there doesn’t seem to be one at the moment. Please stay and finish the meal with me.’
Olivia knew she should tug her arm away from Zayed and keep walking out the door. Protect herself rather than let herself ache and yearn. But somehow she couldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough, and the thought of going back to her room and spending the rest of the evening alone made loneliness swamp her.
So she nodded and Zayed released her arm, a small smile flitting across his features.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured, and they both sat down.
* * *
It had been a stupid thing to say. Zayed saw that now. He saw it in Olivia’s pale face, in how her hands were not quite steady as she spread her napkin across her lap. He’d been trying to make her feel better and it hadn’t worked.
