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Beautiful, expensive things. All around her. Things meant to be admired. Decadently enjoyed. Except everything came at a price. She’d known it from the moment her father had given her an unimaginable choice on her fourteenth birthday—foster care or boarding school with her holidays spent on the road with him. With her mother’s abandonment a fresh trauma in her reality, choosing her father for a few months of the year, despite the knowledge that he was prepared to abandon her too, had felt like her only option. Until that life too had come crashing down on her head.
‘Would Madam prefer this set?’ Nashwa enquired.
Esme snatched her hand away, the memories and the notion that things were spinning out of her control churning faster until she felt nauseous.
‘No, thank you.’ She stopped, cleared her husky throat and summoned a smile. ‘If you don’t mind showing me where my things are?’
The older woman nodded immediately, her diplomacy firmly back in place. ‘Of course, Madam.’ She led the way to a dressing room and adjoining bathroom that was bigger than Esme’s flat back in London.
Amongst the vast square footage of empty shelves and drawers, her meagre belongings looked forlorn occupying a single shelf. The absence of her peach night slip reminded her she was still wearing it under her dress. Unbidden, her mind skipped back to the hotel room and the sizzling effect of Zaid’s gaze on her just a few short hours ago. Heat threatened to fire up again as her body tightened in recollection.
‘Do you need assistance in undressing?’
Esme jumped guiltily at the softly voiced question and turned to see Aisha gliding forward with a smile.
She shook her head, then raised her hand to rub the tension headache that was making its presence felt at her temples.
‘Some chamomile tea perhaps, to aid a restful sleep?’ Nashwa urged.
Esme dropped her hand as weariness seeped into her bones. ‘Normally I would say yes, but I don’t think I’ll need it. I’m ready to drop off.’
Aisha took that as a sign to make herself busy elsewhere, and Esme emerged from a quick trip to the bathroom to find that she had indeed been busy. The covers of the bed were turned down, a crystal jug of water and a glass stood on her bedside table, and the lamps were dimmed to a pleasant glow.
Both women were standing just inside the bedroom doors. With twin curtsies, they bade her goodnight and left.
Alone at last, she slipped off her dress and slid between the sheets, replaying the day’s mind-boggling cascade of events. Esme wasn’t unfamiliar with how one decision could change the course of one’s life. She’d lived through one such unforgettable event at seventeen, and wore the scars to prove it. But even she couldn’t have foreseen how a three-minute interview could have set off such a roller-coaster.
A roller-coaster that had only slowed momentarily. Come daylight, she would once again be fighting to hold on, because Zaid Al-Ameen wasn’t done with her. She intended to push for a visit to her father but whether or not that plea would be granted was another matter.
* * *
It was still uppermost in her mind the moment she opened her eyes. Contrary to thinking she would toss and turn for the rest of the night, she’d slept soundly, waking to the sound of a bath being run and the scent of eucalyptus and crushed roses in the air.
Nashwa’s courteous greeting and apology for waking her was followed by the announcement that the Sultan wished to see her within the hour.
After bathing, she secured her hair in a neat bun, slipped into her short-sleeved chocolate shirtdress and cinched the wide gold belt in place. The three-inch leather wedges and a touch of light make-up finished the ensemble, and five minutes later, after navigating a dozen or so corridors, she was shown into a large dining room.
Zaid was already seated at the head of the table, with two butlers standing to attention next to a sideboard heaving with food. The room, like every one she’d seen so far, was stunning beyond words, every inch draped in breath-taking masterpieces.
She would never get used to the jaw-dropping beauty of Ja’ahr’s Royal Palace, but her senses were over-saturated with it. So it was easy to focus on the man dressed in a different set of traditional clothes, this time a dark gold with black trim. Or so she told herself. Deep down, she was unwilling to admit that his presence in any room in the world would command immediate and complete attention.
The black keffiyeh secured with gold ropes framing his head threw his sharp, handsome features into stunning relief. But the eyes that swept over her body to meet her eyes were the cause of the dipping and diving in her belly as she made her way down the long banquet table towards him.
Just like the first time they’d met, he rose to his feet, the gallant greeting belying the primitive aura that surrounded his hard, lean body. She didn’t want to admit that she found it sexy. Just as she didn’t want to admit that the whole package that comprised Sultan Zaid Al-Ameen was so alluring it threatened to trigger another tongue-tied episode. Fear of that happening caused Esme to force out the words tripping on her tongue.
‘I want to see my father. Before any further discussion happens between us, I want to see him,’ she said the moment she reached him.
‘Good morning, Esmeralda. I trust you slept well?’ he drawled after a telling bubble of silence.
Embarrassment temporarily swamped every other emotion. She inwardly grimaced at her lack of grace. ‘I’m sorry. Good morning, Your Highness.’
He stepped towards her and pulled out her chair. About to sink gratefully into it, she froze when she felt him lean towards her. ‘Despite your questionable manners, since there is a great chance we’ll be in each other’s company for a while, you may drop the formalities when we are alone.’
Her head swivelled to his in surprise, and then other urgent sensations took over when she realised how close he was. Heat from his body buffeted hers, along with the lingering scent of soap and aftershave that punched a potent awareness straight into her bloodstream.
‘I... What should I c
all you, then?’ she murmured.
