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Chloe had lived in close proximity to Aysha for almost three years, and she hated knowing that she would never see the woman again, as she hated the necessity of lying to her. She told herself, again and again, This is the right thing to do, repeating the incantation inside her mind until those words were all she heard, all she could focus on.
“I need to use the restroom,” Chloe murmured, nodding towards a toilet stall in the busy airport. “I won’t be long.” She walked away before Aysha could say something. And though her security detail was following her, Chloe had the advantage. She’d used this airport many times, and she knew that the bathrooms had two access points. She walked in, and before they entered to see which stall she chose, she slipped out the other doors.
The airport was frantic; it was not hard to be lost in the commotion. None of it was very hard, in the end. In one day, Chloe had ended her marriage – but her heart would never be the same again.
Raffa nodded at something the German ambassador had said, and the intrusion of Fahir was unwelcome.
“I said I am not to be disturbed,” he said, without looking up.
But when his eyes met Fahir’s something like apprehension began to unfurl inside of him. For his servant’s face was very pale, his expression taut.
“Excuse me,” he said to the ambassador, standing and crossing the room. In hushed tones, he implored Fahir: “Is it my father?”
“No, sir. His excellency’s condition is unchanged. But…”
“What?” Raffa had a sixth sense that something was badly, badly wrong, and he needed it to be assuaged.
“It’s Her Highness, sir.”
Raffa’s chest caved inwards. He felt as though he’d been winded. “What is it? Is she hurt?”
Fahir’s expression was stricken.
“Damn it,” Raffa demanded. “Tell me at once.”
“She is not hurt. At least, not that I know of. Sir, she’s…”
“Yes? For God’s sake, Fahir, tell me.”
The servant nodded. “She’s missing.”
Raffa began to relax, to calm, just a little. “Missing? Unlikely. She is more well-guarded than a palace…”
“No, sir. Her security detail lost sight of her, and she cannot be found.”
Raffa’s whole world tilted. Nothing made sense. Chloe? Missing? He thought back to the note he’d received that morning, that she was going to America. There had been nothing in that to alarm him – she’d taken to disappearing each month, and he understood her reasons for needing to be alone. He accepted that she took this time to accept that they hadn’t achieved their goal. Though he’d wished, for many months now, that she would turn to him instead, that she would lean on him when she needed support, when she needed to be told that everything would be okay.
Not for the first time, a thunderbolt of guilt slashed him.
He’d demanded an heir from his bride, and he’d set all this in motion. He could have had no way of knowing that they wouldn’t conceive quickly. Did it upset her more than he’d realized?
He pushed those grim thoughts from his mind. That didn’t matter now. Where was his wife?
“Get me a phone,” he said through clenched teeth, before turning to the ambassador and excusing himself from the room. “My aid will conclude this discussion,” he said, nodding across the room and forcing himself into the corridor.
He could hardly breathe. His body felt slack, as though the bones inside of him were insufficient against the tsunami of his raging blood.
Where was she? America, certainly, but then what? Had she been kidnapped? Or hurt?
Fahir returned with a cell phone and Raffa snatched at it, dialing Chloe’s number. Odd that he remembered it by heart when he’d only called it a handful of times.
It rung out.
Gritting his teeth, he dialed once more, and this time, she answered.
“Chloe?” He spun around, turning his back on Fahir and prowling down the corridor to a space where he could speak privately. “Where are you?”
Silence. Anxiety overtook the surge of relief.
