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Pull yourself together, Chloe! She’d tell him herself, and then she’d go far away to lick her wounds.
“Never mind, Aysha. I’ll speak to my husband when he arrives.”
Her servant nodded and left the room, so Chloe was alone once more. She paced to the windows, and stared out at the desert. A warm breeze came in across the space, fragranced with the heavy spices that were available to buy from the markets in the nearby town. It lifted her hair and distractedly she looped it over one shoulder, her mind running over the fact she hadn’t fallen pregnant.
What if something was wrong?
What if this wasn’t going to happen?
It was too early to worry. She knew this to be the case. Every pregnancy magazine would confirm that. But this wasn’t a normal situation! They needed this heir, and they had a ticking time bomb with Malik being so ill. The transition to Raffa being sole ruler of Ras el Kida would run so much more smoothly if he had a child – even the promise of one – to offer his people. To show that the future was every bit as bright as the past had been.
Unless… she closed her eyes and saw another royal heir. Amit.
What if she could convince her husband to recognize him as his heir?
He was Raffa’s son, and he was intelligent, kind, instantly physically recognizable as a descendant of the throne.
It was like a weight being lifted off Chloe’s shoulders. She wanted a child, she wanted to carry the royal heir, but if she couldn’t, if her body wouldn’t comply, there were other options. She could help Raffa see that; she could make her understand that Amit would be an excellent Sheikh one day.
The door to her suite opened and Raffa entered. She turned to face him, slowly, and her heart, her foolish heart, lurched to see him dressed in formal robes. Gold and black, they emphasized the caramel glow of his skin and the darkly handsome planes of his face.
He crossed to her, his eyes scanning her face. “You are unwell?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m…”
“Yes?” He waited, but Chloe found she couldn’t answer him. She didn’t know what to say after all. Absurd! She was furious with herself for being so sensitive.
“It doesn’t matter.” She turned away from him, looking towards the window. “Did you need something?”
He was quiet for so long that she shifted her gaze back to his face. “Raffa?”
“I have to go away for a few days. There’s a problem in the south and the local governments seem incapable of coming to an agreement.”
Relief warred with misery at this.
Hadn’t she just been thinking she would go away? The timing couldn’t be better – with Raffa leaving, there was no need for her to run to the city.
“Last night was unforgivable,” he surprised her by saying, and when she looked at him, she saw anguish in his features. “I took my anger out on you. I had no business treating you as I did.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. His apology was something she’d never expected, partly because he wasn’t a man to apologise, but largely because no apology was necessary.
She’d been furious with how he’d made her desperate for him, how he’d needed her to tell him of his body’s command over hers, and yet the pleasure she’d felt had quickly blotted out her anger, making her feel only pleased that they shared this connection.
“It’s fine,” she said softly.
His smile was dismissive. “It won’t happen again.” He lifted his hand, as though to touch her cheek, and then stepped back, his face assuming a mask of distance. “I’ll be back in a week or so.”
11
MONTHS PASSED. RED-HOT sex by night, nothing during the day, and every four weeks, more reason for Chloe to worry. More reason for her to fear. More reason for her to be certain that something was wrong with her body or his. And it was easier to suspect her own body to be at fault, because Raffa was everything a man should be. Virile, strong, so masculine. Surely the fault could not be his.
Besides, he’d already borne a son, so there was incontrovertible proof that his body was able to give to a woman’s womb the recipe for life.
On the sixth month of trying and failing to conceive, Chloe knew she needed to find answers. To at least look into the possibility that things might not be going to work for them.
It felt like the only thing she could do.
“Aysha,” she murmured. “There’s a children’s hospital in Switzerland I’d like to inspect – for the charity. Their fundraising model is unique, and they have one of the best children’s pediatric wards in the world. Would you contact the hospital director and arrange it?”
