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He sighed and looked away, staring out the window at the twinkling lights of New York City receding into the distance. In the end, it hadn’t mattered anyway because theirs was a marriage in name only now and Roxanne hadn’t turned out to be nearly as delicate as he’d thought. She had a mind and a will of her own and wasn’t afraid to use them, to suit her own purposes, of course, Even if those purposes were in direct conflict with Feraz’s own.
His wife sipped the rest of her juice then set the empty glass aside, along with her magazine. “Thank you for coming in to see my mother with me. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you.”
Feraz looked over at her, a brow raised. “I didn’t know you cared.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt. “I don’t. I just…” She shrugged. “That juice was really good. Fresh squeezed, right?”
“Only the best for the Nazrani royal family,” Feraz said, tilting his head toward the slim man dressed in an attendant’s uniform near the back of the cabin. “Thank Mozy. He’s the one who made it for you.”
To his surprise she did, as soon as the man came over to collect her dirty glass. The old Roxanne would never have done that. He frowned. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s death. I know you and he were close.”
“Thanks. And yes. We lived with him from the time we were sixteen, so we were close.” She stared down at her stomach again. “His funeral was hard. Especially coming on the heels of my sister’s accident.”
A strange urge to pull her into his arms and hold her close came over Feraz. He hadn’t held Roxanne for nearly a year and a half. Their relationship had been fiery between the sheets but otherwise lacked even the smallest displays of physical affection. Roxanne had told him once that she didn’t like to be manhandled in public, but perhaps that had just applied to him, because from the latest sets of tabloid photos he’d seen of her from before the pregnancy, she’d been groped by some of the richest men in the world.
He shook off those thoughts and focused on something else. Dwelling on the mess of his relationship with his wife would get him nowhere at this point. They were having a baby now. That changed things.
Roxanne shifted in her seat and flinched. Once more he wanted to rush to her side, to take her into his arms and soothe her pain. He fisted his hands at his sides instead.
“Honestly, my father’s death was bad, but losing my twin sister was the most soul-crushing thing I’ve ever been through,” she said at last. The catch in her voice made his heart ache. “We’ve been together since before we were born. There was no one I was closer to in this world, even when we weren’t getting along. It was like losing half of myself.”
Feraz nodded and hailed the attendant to bring them waters. “Such a tragedy, the way Isabella died. She was such a smart, sweet woman. I’m sure she’ll be greatly missed.”
Roxanne looked up at him then, her expression peculiar before she quickly hid it behind her usual mask of cool indifference. “Thank you.” She shifted on her seat. “How is your family?”
“Fine, I’m sure they’ll all be waiting for us at the airport in Al-Qusta when we arrive. My sisters have been bugging me for months now about giving them a niece or nephew to look after. Now, perhaps they will leave me alone and fuss over you instead.”
Her face went a bit pale and for a moment, Feraz thought she might be sick. He got up and moved onto the dais beside her, opening one of the bottled waters and holding it out to her. “Drink this. It will make you feel better. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you with images of being bombarded by my family.”
* * *
Isabella moved to the side, to make room for him and to avoid any direct contact. Her shoulder still tingled from where he’d touched her during the ultrasound hours prior and given that she was outright lying to the man about her identity, all of this only made her feel more uncomfortable.
But her mother was right, she was too far gone now to back out now.
Literally.
She glanced over her shoulder out the small window behind her and saw nothing but moonlit clouds below. She took the water he handed her with mumbled thanks, then stared down at her lap. She never should have agreed to any this. She wasn’t a liar or a cheat by nature like her mother. She wasn’t flamboyant and attention-seeking like her dearly-departed sister had been. Hell, most of the time, she wasn’t even an extrovert, preferring to stay home and read over going out and parading around for the paparazzi as Roxanne had done. But she’d been desperate, about to lose her home, everything she held dear…
Some of her inner turmoil must have shown on her face because Feraz cursed softly and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. It wasn’t a move meant to seduce at all but being that close to him rocked her world anyway. All those emotions she’d kept bottled up inside her since Roxanne’s death erupted in an unexpected and unstoppable torrent of tears—grief, pain, terror over the future, guilt for lying to Feraz and for pretending to be something she wasn’t, someone she would never be.
Feraz was perfectly wonderful, holding her close, stroking her hair, murmuring Arabic endearments against the top of her head. What was a hormonally-charged, pregnant girl to do? She buried her face in the front of his soft silk shirt and bawled her eyes out. Through her sobs she registered his comforting heat, the spicy tang of his cologne—sandalwood, cloves, and soap, heard the rumble of his words beneath her ear, low and protective.
By the time she’d gotten herself back under control, he’d produced a box of tissues from somewhere and held one out to her. She took it and pushed away from him a little, wiping her cheeks and blowing her nose before even attempting to talk to him again.
God, how embarrassing.
Isabella wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts like Roxanne had been, but maybe this breakdown had been good, if it reassured Feraz that she was who she claimed to be. His arm was still around her shoulder, keeping her far closer to him than was wise, but she felt so exhausted now that she didn’t have the strength to fight it. She rested her head back against his shoulder and twisted several more tissues between her fingers.
“Feel better now?” Feraz asked, his tone holding a hint of amusement.
“Not really.” She sighed. Did he have to be so darned nice? From the way Roxanne had talked about her husband, you would’ve thought she was married to some ogre who kept her locked up in a desert dungeon somewhere. Then again, her sister had always been prone to exaggeration. It was what made her so good at fooling their mother’s marks and how she’d fooled all those playboys she was so fond of picking up around the globe.
Isabella leaned her head back against Feraz and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “I’m exhausted. I’m sorry I cried all over you, I just haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”
“Because of the baby?” he asked, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against her shoulder through the cotton of her shirt. Sitting here with him felt so comfortable, so right. Isabella did her best to remind herself that none of this was real, but her tired brain didn’t want to cooperate. Images of the life she could have with Feraz in Djeva ran through her brain—sunny days in the grand palace where he lived, warm nights sharing his bed, a gaggle of happy children running around her feet. A future, a life, a real family. All the things she’d always wanted, but never thought she’d find.
