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Ironically, her thoughts manifested into reality the very next day, a full week after her return from Paris with almost zero contact from Zaid.
Nashwa’s announcement that she had a visitor came as a surprise. An unpleasant one when she realised just who her visitor was.
The chief of police, Ahmed Haruni, was pacing her private office as if he owned the place. Black, beady eyes fixed on her as he lazily replaced the paperweight he’d been examining when Esme entered. Unlike most people did since her betrothal announcement, he didn’t bow to her.
Esme didn’t care about that as much as she cared to know why he was there. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
He didn’t leave her hanging for long. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Scott. There are a growing number of concerned Ja’ahrians who believe this proposed marriage is a mistake.’
Despite her own growing feelings in that regard, her heart lurched. ‘And let me guess, you’re one of them?’
The small man shrugged. ‘I love my country. It would be remiss of me not to speak up before it’s too late.’
‘Why are you bringing this to me? Why not take it up with your Sultan?’
He spread his arms wide, a mildly contemptuous look on his face. ‘Because he’s not here. He’s chasing flimsy deals when he should be here, looking after the welfare of his people.’
Anger spiked through her pain. ‘The reason for his absence is not flimsy, I assure you.’
‘I did not come to debate that with you.’
‘Then tell me what you did come for.’
His gave a snake-like smile. ‘You may have pulled the wool over our leader’s eyes, but I know exactly who you are, Miss Scott. I know what happened in Las Vegas with a certain young man named Bryan Atkins.’
Shock lanced through her. He witnessed her reaction and his smile widened. ‘Do I have your attention now, Miss Scott?’
She nodded numbly. ‘What do you want?’
His eyes hardened. ‘For you to do the right thing, of course. If Zaid Al-Ameen isn’t fit to rule this country, then you are even less fit to be our Sultana.’
She gasped. ‘You don’t think Zaid is fit to be Sultan?’
‘There are others more qualified than he.’
She raised her chin. ‘You mean others you can bend to your will?’
Black eyes narrowed. ‘You’d be wise to watch your tongue, Miss Scott. The Sultan isn’t here to protect you now.’
Icy fingers crawled down her spine. ‘Is that all you came to say?’
He reached into his pocket and brought out a rectangular envelope. ‘This is a first-class ticket back to your country. I will be pleased to provide you with a police escort to the airport if you wish it.’
‘I don’t wish it, thank you. If I decide to leave, I’ll do so under my own steam.’
He placed the envelope on her desk anyway and walked towards her. Esme fought the urge to step back from his oily, menacing presence. ‘Get out of the country while you still have the chance, Miss Scott. This regime will not thrive for much longer.’
With that ominous threat, he walked out.
Esme expelled the breath she’d been holding, then immediately gulped in another. Her mind darted back and forth, debating which action to take first. She needed to warn Zaid. But she also needed to put into action the thoughts she’d been skirting before the chief of police’s noxious visit.
She couldn’t marry Zaid.
Not now she knew the depths of her feelings for him. Not now she knew her presence would cause nothing but dissension among his people.
The walk to her desk felt like a walk to the gallows. But surprisingly the letter was easy to compose. As was the packing of her things three hours later. She thought of calling her father but discarded the idea. His phone calls were being monitored, and the last thing she needed was for her quiet exit to be announced. But what surprised her most was how easy her request to be driven to the airport was granted.
The ticket attendant smiled widely and nodded when she requested a seat on the next available flight out of Ja’ahr. Esme didn’t care that it was headed to Rome instead of England. It was close enough.
