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‘How is this upsetting to you?’ he asked more gently, pressing his hands to her shoulders, stroking his thumbs over her collarbone. ‘We agreed at the hotel that we could only have two nights together, and you were fine with that. I’m offering you three months, on exactly those same terms, and you’re acting as though I’ve asked you to parade naked through the streets of Shajarah.’
‘You’re ashamed of me,’ she said simply. ‘In New York we were two people who wanted to be together. What you’re proposing turns me into your possession. Worse, it turns me into your prostitute.’
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘The money I will give you is beside the point.’
More tears sparkled on her lashes. ‘Not to me it’s not.’
‘Then don’t take the money,’ he said urgently. ‘Come to the RKH and be my lover because you want to be with me.’
‘I can’t.’ Tears fell freely down her face now. ‘I need that money. I need it.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘So have both.’
‘No, you don’t understand.’
She was a live wire of panic but she had to tell him, so that he understood why his offer was so revolting to her. She pulled away from him, pacing towards the windows, looking out on this city she loved. The trees at Bryant Park whistled in the fall breeze and she watched them for a moment, remembering the first time she’d seen them. She’d been a little girl, five, maybe six, and her dad had been performing at the restaurant on the fringes of the park. She’d worn her Very Best dress, and, despite the heat, she’d worn tights that were so uncomfortable she could vividly remember that feeling now. But the park had been beautiful and her dad’s music had, as always, filled her heart with pleasure and joy.
Sariq was behind her now, she felt him, but didn’t turn to look at him.
‘I’m glad you were so honest with me today.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘It makes it easier for me, in a way, because I know exactly how you feel, how you see me, and what you want from me.’ Her voice was hollow, completely devoid of emotion when she had a thousand throbbing inside her.
He said nothing. He didn’t try to deny it. Good. Just as she’d said, it was easier when things were black and white.
‘I don’t want money so I can attend the Juilliard, Your Highness.’ It pleased her to use his title, to use that as a point of difference, to put a line between them that neither of them could cross.
Silence. Heavy, loaded with questions. And finally, ‘Then what do you need such a sum for?’
She bit down on her lip, her tummy squeezing tight. ‘I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN HIS MOTHER had died, Sariq had been speechless. Perhaps his father had expected grief. Tears. Anger. Something rent with emotion. Instead, Sariq had listened to the news.
‘She died, Riq. So did the baby.’
He’d stood there, all of seven years old, his face like stone, his body slowing down so that blood barely pumped, heart barely moved, breath hardly formed, and he’d stared out of a window. Then it had been a desert view—the sands of the Alkajar range stretching as far as the eye could see, heat forming a haze in the distance that had always reminded Sariq of some kind of magic.
Now, he stared out at New York, streets that were crammed with taxis and trucks, the ever-present honking of horns filling him with a growing sense of disbelief. There were trees in the distance, blowing in the light autumnal breeze. His heart barely moved. His blood didn’t pump. He could scarcely breathe.
Time passed. Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t have said. He was conscious of the ticking of the clock—a gift from a long-ago American president to his father, on the signing of the Treaty of Lashar. He was conscious of the colour of her hair, so gold it matched the thread of his robes. The fragrance she brought with her, delicate and floral. He was conscious, somehow, of the beating of her heart. In contrast to his, it was firing frantically. It was beating for two people. Their unborn child was nestled in her belly, growing with every second that passed.
He closed his eyes, needing to block the world out, needing to block
Daisy out in particular.
His breathing was ragged as he went back in time, calculating the dates. It had been what?—almost four months?—since his visit to America. When had she found out? And why had she waited until now to tell him?
Except, she hadn’t come here to tell him.
His eyes flared open and flew to her with renewed speculation and his heart burst back to life, pushing blood through his body almost too fast for his veins to cope. The torrent was an assault.
‘You weren’t going to tell me.’
A strangled noise was all the confirmation he needed. He stood perfectly still, but that was no reflection of his temperament or feelings.
‘You came here today to collect a cheque. If I hadn’t suggested you join me in the RKH, you would have taken the money and left. True?’
She didn’t turn to face him and suddenly that was infuriating and insupportable. He gripped her shoulders and spun her around. Tears sparkled on her lashes and his gut rolled, because he hated seeing her like this but his own shock and anger and disbelief made it impossible for him to comfort her.
