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‘Really?’ she said, trying to stop her voice from sounding as if she were being strangled but wanting—no, needing—to hear the full extent of his heartlessness so she could remind herself of it if ever she was stupid enough to entertain a single tender thought about him. ‘And what exactly would I have to do to get this money?’
There was a pause.
‘I think you know the answer to that. You sign over all rights to my son.’
She’d known he was going to say something on those lines but she hadn’t expected his statement to be quite so bald. It was shocking and it was unbelievable. In effect he was asking her to sell her baby! To sign over ‘all rights’ to him and make as if he hadn’t grown in her womb for nine whole months before he’d finally flopped, red-faced and bawling, into the world, after a long labour which had had her screaming with pain and gripping onto the hand of th
e nearest midwife, because she had birthed Darius alone.
She remembered the kick of his little heel against her distended belly during the long, hot summer of her pregnancy. The sight of his little heart fluttering frantically during the ultrasound appointments at the hospital, when she had blinked at the rapidly moving image and thought how it seemed like magic. Could he really be asking her to just give her son up, to hand him over for an inflated sum of money?
She searched his face for some sign that he might feel bad about making his brutal request, but there was no guilt or shame on his hawk-like features. Nothing other than a grim determination to get what he wanted, as befitted an all-powerful sheikh. And even though she wanted to fly across the room and rake her fingernails down that hard face while demanding to know how he dared to be so cruel and ruthless, Jasmine resisted the urge to retaliate in anything other than a calm and reasoned manner. Because drama wouldn’t serve her well. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her if he had one of his palace doctors listening at the door recording their conversation, waiting for the first opportunity to pronounce her as hysterical and unfit to care for the baby prince. A new determination began to rise up inside her, made stronger by her fierce and protective love for her little boy. ‘You must know I could never agree to that, Zuhal,’ she said, equally quietly.
He subjected her to an assessing look. ‘I had hoped you might be reasonable, Jazz.’ The tightening of his jaw was the only outward sign that he was irritated by her response. ‘But if you really think that maintaining contact across two such dramatically different cultures would benefit the child’s welfare, rather than unsettling the hell out of him—then we will have to negotiate some sort of visitation rights for you.’
Some sort of visitation rights? Had he taken leave of his senses? Jasmine stared at him in confusion before comprehension dawned on her and she gave a sudden laugh. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s the first rule of successful bargaining, isn’t it? You go in high, then negotiate down. You make your initial proposition so outlandish that I’m then supposed to be grateful for every little concession you make afterwards. Isn’t that right? But we aren’t talking about oil or diamonds or territory here, Zuhal, or any of the things you usually bargain for—we’re talking about a baby.’ The breath felt thick and tight in her throat. She felt as if she could hardly get the words out. ‘I’m not going to just hand him over to you and visit him! Apart from missing him more than I can imagine—I wouldn’t put it past you to veto my visa and ban me from ever entering Razrastan! How can you possibly ask such a thing and claim to have any humanity in your heart? Every child needs its mother!’
Zuhal met her furious glare. She was wrong about that, he thought bitterly. No child needed a mother. He had managed well enough without his, hadn’t he? Even though the Queen had been there physically—a glamorous and ethereal presence in the royal palace—she had never been there for him. Shamelessly devoted to his older brother, she had taken parental favouritism and elevated it to a whole new level. Many times he had thought it would be preferable growing up without her, for she used to look through him as if he were invisible. She had made him feel invisible.
‘Having a mother isn’t necessary,’ he bit out. ‘Many successful men and women have managed perfectly well without a maternal influence. You have only to examine the pages of history to realise that.’
In frustration she shook her head and a lock of buttery blonde hair fell against her flushed cheek. ‘I’m not talking about mothers who die or who for some reason can’t look after their children. I’m talking about mothers who have a choice. And I do have a choice, Zuhal. Oh, I may not have your money or power but I have something which is worth a whole lot more than any of those things, and that is love. I love Darius with all my heart and I would do anything for him. Anything. And I can tell you right now that, no matter what you say or try to do, you won’t succeed in taking him away from me!’
Zuhal’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the passionate fervour of her words. She was daring to argue with him in a way she would never have done in the past, when her role in his life had been nothing more than his compliant mistress, whose role had been to bring him pleasure. She had become a lioness during their separation, he realised with grudging admiration, before wondering how he was going to talk her out of her convictions.
Once it would have been easy. A soft smile and seeking look would have been enough to get her to capitulate to his wishes. But back then their roles had been very different and no one would ever have described them as equals. And things had changed. She’d just told him she had no power but she was wrong. She had all the power because she had his son and it seemed he was going to have to move strategically to get what he wanted.
Taking a few moments’ respite from the unresolved thoughts which were racing around his mind, he looked around her cramped cottage, registering again how cheap it looked. For the first time it occurred to him that, despite her earlier promise to ‘rustle up’ some food, there was no evidence of this. No table lovingly set with candles or flowers. No napkin elaborately folded to resemble a fan or some other such nonsense. In short, none of the lavish attention to detail he was used to whenever he had allowed a woman to cook for him.
‘I mean what I say, Zuhal,’ she continued, her terse words falling into the uneasy silence which had fallen. ‘You’re not rubbing me out of Darius’s life and behaving as if I didn’t exist.’
Turning away from his scrutiny of the decor, he fixed her with a steady stare. ‘The alternative will not be easy,’ he warned softly.
She blinked with incomprehension. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Having a child being brought up as half-royal, half-commoner. Half-English and half-Razrastanian.’
‘Then let him be brought up as English.’
‘No way,’ he growled. ‘He needs to be aware of his royal ancestry and the responsibilities which might one day rest upon his shoulders.’
She frowned at him. ‘Surely you’re not implying that Darius could one day be King—when he is illegitimate.’
Zuhal stilled as a sudden wave of cynical possibility washed over him. Was this what she had secretly hoped for all along? he wondered. She’d accused him of going in with high stakes, but perhaps she was doing the same thing in her determination to drive a hard bargain. Perhaps the reality was that she was ambitious for herself as well as for her son. Perhaps having had a little time to think about it, she was imagining what could be hers, if she went about it in the right way. Because what woman wouldn’t want to be a queen of the desert, with jewels and palaces and unrivalled wealth? More than that, who wouldn’t want to be married to him? Many had jockeyed for that position in the past, but none had succeeded.
‘If you’re trying to get me to marry you, I can tell you right now it’s not going to happen.’ His voice took on a harsh and forbidding note. ‘Because nothing has changed, Jazz. You are still a foreign divorcee who would be totally unsuitable for the role of Queen. My people would never accept you. Which is why I must put duty first and continue my search to find a suitable bride. But that doesn’t mean that Darius can’t be my insurance policy—just in case I don’t produce another male heir.’
Her look of quiet reflection was replaced by one of incredulity. ‘Trying to get you to marry me?’ she scoffed. ‘Do you really think I’d want to marry a man who treats women like second-class citizens—who regards his little boy as nothing but an insurance policy?’
‘Fortunately, that question is destined to remain academic, since I have no intention of doing so.’ His smile was swift and dismissive. ‘Which means we must come to an alternative arrangement which will satisfy all parties.’
‘What kind of arrangement?’ Defiantly, she tilted her chin. ‘What do you want?’
There was a pause. ‘Who knows his true identity?’
‘Nobody—not even my cousin,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I couldn’t see the point of people finding out his father was a sheikh.’
He nodded. ‘Good.’
