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Her shoulders sagged a little, but in the next moment she pulled herself back up. ‘Don’t push me, Zufar. You might not like the consequences.’ After a moment, her gaze softened. ‘But if you let me work this out on my own, perhaps we can find a solution that works for both of us.’
The only solution he wanted was her here under his roof, in his bed, at his side, bearing his children, loving them the way his mother had never loved him.
‘Three days. That’s all I ask. Surely you can give me that?’
Could he? Already he felt emptier than he’d ever felt in his life, and she was standing right there in front of him.
Zufar didn’t know where he found the strength to nod. ‘Of course. Go with my blessing.’
The realisation terrified him that despite everything he’d said he meant it. Because wasn’t that something his father would have done? Ripped out his organs if his mother had asked?
‘Thank you,’ his Queen said, her gaze searching his.
For signs of his obsession, perhaps?
He clenched his jaw, attempting to neutralise his expression. ‘You’ll let me know of your travel plans once they’re finalised?’
She nodded.
He left her in the conference room, calmly walked out even though he wanted to bellow to the skies; to rip himself inside out just so he could reach the pain inside that was decimating him. The walk to his office was the longest he’d ever taken.
Once he was there, he strode to his desk and sank into the chair.
He couldn’t even take three days of separation. How would he take a lifetime? Because he knew that was coming too. Unless something changed drastically, Niesha would be out of his reach even before their child was born.
He slammed his fist on the desk, his thoughts churning a thousand miles an hour. Sunset came and went and still he had no solution. When the door to his office opened without announcement from his private secretary, he nearly snarled.
He managed to bite it back when he saw Malak framed in the doorway.
‘I’m hearing all sorts of juicy gossip about you and your new bride, brother,’ Malak drawled.
‘You know very well what’s happening. Your private secretary received the same memo I sent to Galila and Father.’
Malak shrugged as he strolled over to the drinks cabinet and poured two fingers of cognac into crystal glasses. Returning to Zufar’s desk, he slid one across the smooth surface. Then he sprawled himself in the chair across the desk.
‘I have to say, your new wife is turning out to be quite the surprise, isn’t she? I admit, I wasn’t very impressed in the beginning, but—’
‘Watch yourself, brother,’ Zufar warned.
Malak held up one hand as he sipped his drink. ‘No disrespect meant, brother. But I’m not the one who harped on about wanting some peace and quiet around here, only to turn around and start tossing dynamite like it was a party favour.’
‘Did you come here to make a specific point or are you just here to annoy me? If it’s the latter, then bravo, you are succeeding.’
Malak laughed. ‘I came to offer you whatever help you need. I may be the selfish playboy the tabloids like to portray me as, but underneath this handsome exterior lives a semi-decent heart that’s bleeding for you right now.’
The words were laced with so much amusement, Zufar’s irritation mounted. ‘You claim you want to help, but all I see is you sitting there drinking my cognac.’
Malak waved a gracious hand. ‘Tell me what you need and I will do my best to give you a simple yay or nay.’
Zufar stared into the amber shadows of his drink, two words ticking over and over in his head. Three days. He’d agreed to three days. Would she come back? What would he do if she didn’t?
‘Or I can leave you to brood into your drink?’ Malak suggested.
Zufar stood and paced to the window, that feeling of being turned inside out surging to breaking point. He tossed back his drink, then his gaze dropped to the rose garden below his window. He stared at the perfect flowers, his thoughts churning.
After several minutes, his brother joined him, his gaze zeroing in on the same place. ‘Why didn’t she love us?’ Malak asked in a thick, heavy voice.
Zufar was unprepared for the question, just as he was unprepared for the canon of the pain that shot through him. He’d thought he was over that, or at least had suppressed it enough not to feel the agony of his mother’s indifference any more.
