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After the second day, she’d given up keeping track of protocol when it came to her attire and jewels and let Halimah take over.
Like now, she tuned out a little as she was primped and made up. But her smile of thanks was genuine, as were the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach as she left the suite and headed to the living room.
Zufar stood at the glass window of their villa, his gaze hovering in the middle distance as he nursed a cognac. For a moment she was struck genuinely dumb at the magnificent figure he cut in his tuxedo.
Truly, no man had the right to look this good, this powerful, this rawly masculine. And yet the evidence was right there before her eyes. Irrefutable. Dangerous to her senses.
She inhaled shakily and audibly, enough to drag him from wherever he was. He swivelled to face her, and Niesha wanted to groan with the indecency of his breathtaking face.
She swallowed the sound, curled her fingers around her minuscule clutch to keep from doing something foolish like reaching out for him as he approached.
He didn’t speak. Not immediately. Instead, his gaze rested for a long time on the tiara, then conducted a lazy inspection of her from head to toe. ‘You look exceptionally beautiful,’ he breathed.
The faintest hint of cognac and mint wafted over her face and she wanted to close her eyes, taste him from the source. Instead she locked her knees. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
Her words sounded stilted, even to her own ears. He didn’t react, merely inclined his head before handing off his glass to a hovering attendant and holding out his arm. ‘Shall we?’
The sleek speedboat they boarded took them smoothly down the Grand Canal and beneath the Rialto Bridge before traversing a series of smaller canals. Their destination was another architectural masterpiece that took her breath away.
The Chiesa Palace was owned by Zufar but loaned to the embassy for its residence. She knew from absorbing royal history that it had been painstakingly restored from a crumbling heap to its former glory, including the stunning cathedral windows, the priceless paintin
gs that had almost perished during wars and floods, and the chandeliers made of crystal and Murano glass.
Everything in sight glittered and gleamed as they stepped onto the red carpet and greeted the long line of guests awaiting their arrival.
Halfway down the line, her heel caught in the carpet and Niesha stumbled. Zufar immediately caught her, righting her with a sharp look.
‘Are you all right?’ he murmured, ignoring the guest in front of them waiting to be greeted.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, somehow managing to keep the smile pinned on her face.
A moment later, Zufar’s hand settled on her back. The branding heat of his hand and the act itself was so unsettling, warmth flushed through her.
She wanted to lean into him, absorb even more of him. Which resulted in holding herself stiffly until they were in the stunning reception room of the palazzo.
‘You...you can let go of me now.’
Tawny eyes scoured her face, as if he was searching for something. A moment later, his hand dropped.
Immediately she wanted his touch back. Cursing her traitorous body, she slid into diplomatic mode, smiling and conversing, and even managing to waltz with Zufar without letting her emotions slip.
But it was a drain on her senses. So the moment they returned to their villa, and had a moment of privacy, she gathered her courage and faced him. ‘Zufar, we need to talk.’
His face tightened, and he stiffened as if bracing himself for a blow. ‘To my knowledge those words either herald catastrophe or something...different. I’ve yet to experience the latter but do go on,’ he rasped.
‘It’s up to you how you view the news that I think I’m pregnant.’
* * *
As Niesha was beginning to recognise, the wheels of royalty and privilege were programmed to turn so smoothly and efficiently, she barely noticed their motion.
Since becoming Queen, in her every waking moment, she only had to lift a finger for her tiniest request to be put into action. And sometimes even that wasn’t necessary, a seemingly telepathic connection of the staff accurately deciphering her desires before she knew about them herself.
So she shouldn’t have been surprised when a team of physicians trailed into their living room suite moments after their arrival in Paris the next day.
She was sure that had it not been after midnight when she’d voiced the possibility that she might be pregnant, he would have summoned them to the palazzo in Venice.
The sensation that her world was spinning out of control wouldn’t abate. Heart racing, she pulled the lapels of her elegant silk lounging wrap more firmly around her as a suited Zufar approached where she stood on the terrace, trying in vain to distract herself with the view of the Eiffel Tower.
