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The shock finally started dissipating when they pulled up outside one of Paris’s most iconic and exclusive hotels. It seemed as if a veritable swarm of black-suited men appeared around the car, and one of them was opening her door.
Leila looked at Ricardo, who’d turned around to face her.
‘It’s okay, Miss Verughese, they’re the King’s security staff. They have instructions to bring you straight to him.’
The King. He was a king now. Leila blanched. ‘He’s here?’
Ricardo nodded. ‘He flew in straight away. He’s waiting for you.’
The man almost looked sympathetic now, and that galvanised Leila. No way was she going to be made to feel that she was in the wrong here. Her life had just been torn to pieces and it was all his fault.
The wave of righteous indignation lasted until she was standing outside imposing doors on one of the top floors of the luxurious hotel and the bodyguard escorting her was knocking on the polished wood.
Indignation was fast being replaced with nerves and trepidation and nausea. She was going to see him again.
She wanted to turn and run. She wasn’t ready—
A voice came from inside the suite, deep and cold and imperious. ‘Come.’
The bodyguard opened the door with a card and ushered her in. Leila all but fell over the threshold to find herself in a marbled lobby that would have put a town house to shame.
It was circular, and doors led off in various directions. For a second she wanted to giggle. She felt like Alice in Wonderland.
And then a tall, broad shape darkened one of the doorways. Alix. He looked even bigger than before, dressed in a three-piece suit. His hair was severely short and he was clean shaven. Leila immediately felt weak and hated herself for it.
She fought it back and lifted her chin. ‘You summoned me, Your Majesty?’
Alix’s face darkened. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn’t rise to her bait, though, just stood aside and said, ‘We need to talk—please come in.’
Leila moved forward and swept past him with all the confidence she could muster, quickly moving into the enormous room with its huge windows looking out over the Place de la Concorde, with the Eiffel Tower just visible in the distance.
She’d tried not to breathe his scent as she passed, but it was futile. She found herself drinking it in...it seemed to cling to her...but she couldn’t find any of the notes she’d made for him. It was the scent he’d had before. She felt a pang of hurt. He wasn’t wearing her scent any more...
She looked out of the window and folded her arms over her chest, wishing she felt more presentable. Wishing she was
n’t wearing the same old dark trousers, white shirt, flat shoes. Hair up in a neat ponytail for work. No make-up.
‘Is it true? Are you pregnant?’
Leila fought the urge to bring a hand down to cover her belly protectively, as if she could protect the foetus from hearing this conversation.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ she said tightly.
‘And it’s mine?’
She sucked in a breath and turned around. ‘Of course it’s yours—how dare you imply—?’
Alix held up a hand. He looked cold and remote. She’d never seen him like this apart from at that last meeting.
‘I imply because I come with quite a considerable dowry.’
Leila bit out, ‘Well, if you remember, you have come to me—not the other way around.’
Alix dug his hands into his pockets. ‘And would you have come to me?’
Leila opened her mouth and shut it again, a little blindsided. But she knew that her fear of how Alix would have reacted would have inhibited her from telling him—at least straight away.
She avoided answering directly. ‘I’ve only just found out for sure. I haven’t had much time to take it in myself.’
