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“Upset?” At his, Raffa’s thick, dark brows shot upwards. “When have you ever known me to be upset?”
It was true, yet Kalim wasn’t convinced. “How is your father?” He probed gently.
“Surprisingly well. He seems to have rallied.” He shifted his gaze to his friend’s face for a moment. “Doctors say it’s not uncommon, towards the end. When patients accept their illness, accept what’s coming.”
Kalim nodded. “And your wife?” He knew he’d hit closer to the mark when Raffa grimaced and jerked his gaze away.
His wife? Could she be called that? She was a woman he slept with – that was all. He’d made sure of that. He’d pushed her away months earlier, and with good reason. The way he’d been after the ball, after seeing her having a conversation with Goran? He’d been like a savage animal. He’d never known himself to experience such a monumental loss of control. He’d terrified himself that night.
The feelings that had coursed through him unchecked, the way he’d wanted to use his innocent wife’s sensual needs against her? To make her pledge herself to him when this marriage was nothing more than a convenient match for both?
How dared he use her in that way? How dared he treat her like a possession of his?
It hadn’t been the first time, either. That first night, hadn’t he wanted to force her to confront this? To admit the strength of need that ran through her was as fever-pitched as his own?
I hate you for doing this to me. Her angry cry filled his mind now and he grimaced at the force of it. Jerk. She’d called him that. She’d told him she hated him. And she’d begged him not to stop.
“Raf?” Kalim lifted a hand and placed it on his friend’s shoulder.
“She’s fine.” The words were released from tightly clenched teeth. Was she fine?
She was amorous. He could arouse her to a state of passion in bed; he could drive her wild. But beyond that? He didn’t know.
I hate you for doing this to me.
E
ach month that passed without a pregnancy forming was something he was ashamed to admit he was grateful for. Because it gifted him another month. Another month to take her in his arms, to shamelessly seek her body.
What would happen when she conceived? When he no longer had an excuse to go to her bed?
His stomach lurched with the visage of that new reality. He had gone into this marriage bargain with every intention of conceiving a child with his bride, and now?
He didn’t want to give this up. He didn’t want to share her.
“You’re unhappy.”
“No.” Raffa expelled an angry sigh. He was… what? Frustrated? Discontent? Uncertain?
None of these emotions were familiar to a man who was always in control of his life. He’d convinced her of the need for a baby. He’d used her attachment to his father to practically blackmail her into a sexual relationship with him. Did she even want a baby? It was too late to be asking himself that question, but it had to be asked. What if she said no? What if she was glad they hadn’t conceived, but for entirely different reasons?
What if she really did hate him?
What if she hated their marriage?
She’d have every right.
He let out a groan. “Where is my wife?” He looked at his friend and a torrent of emotions rolled through his dark eyes.
“I don’t know.” Kalim frowned. “What is it, Raf? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost?”
He hadn’t. It was worse than that. Raffa was finally seeing the truth.
12
THE FLIGHT FROM Bern was bumpy and Chloe felt nauseous as the plane glided back into Rad el Kida. It was the kind of nausea that had her reaching for a travel sickness bag, only it abated as soon as they touched down, so any hope that it might have been something more significant was fleeting.
She was quiet as the limousine pulled her through the small settlements that lined the airport, then the old city with its ancient, low-set buildings and familiar aroma of spice and heat. Before long, the road gave way to desert, and then, the palace loomed, a stronghold, a mythical centre of ancient lore, the home to the royal family of Ras el Kida, in one form or another, for as long as the country’s memory stretched.
