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Jasmine blinked. Surely they weren’t expecting visitors? During several heated debates about privacy during the choosing of this apartment, she’d got the definite message that she and Zuhal weren’t going to be doing any socialising together. In fact, their relationship—such as it was—was very definitely to be kept under the radar. Which suited her just fine. She wanted to spend as little time with him as possible. No. Why not put it another way? She needed to spend as little time with him as possible, if she wanted to hang onto her sanity. ‘Come where?’ she questioned. ‘Who’s that ringing the doorbell?’
‘Wait and see.’
Jasmine clamped her lips shut, annoyed at his high-handedness but, her curiosity alerted, she followed him past the blissfully sleeping Darius, towards the front door.
After a low-voiced command in his native tongue, the door was opened from the outside by a bodyguard, to reveal a woman standing there. Aged around thirty, she was dressed in what Jasmine recognised instantly as traditional Razrastanian robes and her hair was coiled on top of her head in an elaborate fretwork of black waves. She directed a kind smile towards Jasmine before bobbing a curtsey to Zuhal, who immediately indicated that she should stand at ease as he gestured for her to enter the apartment.
‘Jazz, I’d like you to meet Rania,’ he said. ‘She is going to be helping you look after Darius. His new nanny.’
‘I am very pleased to meet you, mistress,’ said Rania in perfectly modulated English. ‘And I am very much looking forward to meeting Darius.’
‘Why don’t you come and meet him right now?’ suggested Zuhal smoothly.
‘He’s asleep,’ said Jasmine quickly, still reeling from this latest development and yet another demonstration of Zuhal’s high-handedness.
‘I will not wake him, mistress,’ said Rania softly.
What else could she do other than lead her to the baby? Jasmine told herself it was pitiful how hard her heart clenched as she watched the Razrastanian woman crouch down and fix her dark gaze on the sleeping Darius, as if committing every atom to memory.
‘The son of the Sheikh is a truly magnificent baby,’ said Rania at last, as she straightened up.
Jasmine couldn’t fault the sentiment but her smile felt forced. She felt like a puppet. As if everyone were pulling her strings. Moving her this way, then that—leaving her with no idea of where she was or what she was doing. And all she could think of were the words Rania had spoken and which were now circling inside her head. The son of the Sheikh. The son of the Sheikh. Was the Razrastanian nanny, despite her kind smile and soft voice, planning to push Jasmine to the side-lines and edge her out of the picture, so that his royal father could assume complete dominance? She could feel her mouth growing firm with determination. Well, that was never going to happen.
Never.
‘He bears such a strong resemblance to his father,’ Rania was cooing.
Jasmine wished she could deny it. To say that, actually, the baby had her eyes or her hair—but there was no evidence of her features, or her hazel eyes or blonde locks. With his olive skin and black hair, there sure
ly couldn’t be another child on the planet who was more a mini-me of his darkly handsome father than Darius. His limbs were sturdy, his eyelashes outrageously long, and the baby clinic had already told her how tall he was going to be.
‘Indeed he is, Rania,’ Jasmine said, trying to regain her composure as she turned her attention to more practical matters. ‘Whereabouts…um, where will you be staying?’
She could see Rania looking uncertainly towards Zuhal as if for guidance and the Sheikh interposed instantly.
‘Rania has her own apartment, which is connected to this one,’ he said, with the smooth assurance of a man who had thought of everything. ‘I don’t think you can have paid it very much attention during your first viewing.’
Jasmine’s lips tightened. Obviously not.
‘I was here yesterday, putting the final touches to it,’ said Rania proudly. ‘Would you care to see it, mistress?’
‘I most certainly would,’ said Jasmine, shooting Zuhal a furious glance. ‘And really, there’s no need to call me mistress. Jasmine will do just fine.’
‘But—’
‘Please,’ said Jasmine firmly, wondering if Rania—despite all her linguistic skill—had any idea that the word mistress had a very different meaning in English. One which she definitely did not wish to be associated with her. She forced a new brightness into her voice. ‘Let’s go, shall we? I can’t wait to see where you’ll be living, Rania.’
In silence, the three of them walked along the long corridor, until they reached a door at the far end, which Jasmine hadn’t noticed before. Or rather, it was the one thing the agent hadn’t bothered to point out during an otherwise extensive tour—perhaps if she’d been feeling a little less dazed she might have discovered it herself. The Razrastanian woman pushed open the door and gestured for them to step inside, which Jasmine did—although she noticed that Zuhal remained standing broodily on the threshold.
Inside, was a separate and very beautiful little apartment, with a door leading to a bedroom and another to a neat kitchen. A sitting room with its own small terrace overlooked the park and on one of the walls was a framed poster of a place Jasmine instantly recognised. She felt as if someone were twisting a knife inside her as she studied the imposing building in the foreground of the picture. A golden palace with soaring towers and cobalt cupolas which glinted in the bright sunshine. Jasmine swallowed, for she knew that this was Zuhal’s home. The home he would soon share with his royal bride.
And, for half the year—with Darius, too.
‘What a beautiful view you’ve got, Rania,’ she said weakly.
Did Zuhal guess how churned up she was feeling? Was that why he stepped forward, to take her by the elbow to support her, as if she were an old lady he was helping to cross a busy road. Quickly she brushed his hand away because she didn’t want him touching her—and not just because she couldn’t trust her body’s reaction to him. Did he really think that an outward show of concern could make up for the fact that he was behaving like an overbearing brute? First, he’d announced that he intended marrying another woman—and now this!
‘Why don’t we let Rania get settled in?’ he suggested smoothly. ‘You can both talk baby routine later.’
