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“Sore,” she said, her voice cracked. Her eyes were enormous and round in her face when she looked at him. “I’m… sorry for the inconvenience, Hakim.”
He swore. “Don’t. You do not need to apologize.” He dragged a hand through his hair and moved closer, so that he was right beside her. “You are to have surgery.” He squeezed her hand. “There is some old scar tissue in your pelvis that could prevent you from becoming pregnant. Anja feels it is best to operate now, as you’re going to be bed-bound for a little while.”
Phoebe blanched. “I see.”
Hakim nodded. “And so do I.” He had no right to ask for her forgiveness. “It took a stranger to show me evidence, but now I do see that you were telling the truth.”
“Yes.” She whispered, instinctively detaching her hand and moving it to cover her stomach.
“Etienne hit you.”
“Yes.” She swallowed, her throat parched.
“I had no idea.”
“I know.”
“He always spoke so highly of you.”
Phoebe closed her eyes. “Hakim… I don’t want to talk about Etienne.”
He needed more information, but he had no choice but to respect her wishes. Still, he couldn’t resist asking one more question. “Anja says that the damage to your pelvis could only have happened with quite a severe force. She thought you might have been in a car accident.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Etienne.”
He swore, and turned away from his wife. “If he wasn’t dead, I would kill him, Phoebe. With my bare hands, I would pull him apart.” His savagery was just so like him.
Phoebe shook her head. “He is dead. It’s over. It was over years ago.”
He kept his back to her. “No, it wasn’t. His control has continued to this day. Through me. He used me as an instrument to control you, Phoebe, and I am so sorry for it.”
Phoebe sobbed, but it was painful to her bruised ribs. “It’s okay, Hakim. Please, I can’t talk about this now.”
“Of course.” He pulled himself together. His wife needed his strength, not his self-indulgent regrets. He moved to her. “I’ll be waiting for you, my beautiful, sweet, innocent Phoebe.”
He kissed her forehead, a lingering kiss, full of hope and apologies. Then, he disappeared.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A week after the surgery, Phoebe came home.
The palace truly was home to her now, she realized with a sense of surprise, as she settled herself back against the plush cushions of their bed.
She was desperate to regain her movement, but that was still weeks away. Though Anja had been pleased with her progress, Phoebe still felt much like an invalid.
Less than an hour after she’d returned to the palace, the bedroom door was thrown open, and Hakim strode in. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes intriguing, his skin more tanned than usual.
“Phoebe,” he breathed, his eyes holding hers. “It is good to see you.”
Uncertainty bubbled inside of her, but she could barely feel it over the racing of her pulse. How had she forgotten just how perfectly handsome he was? How had she failed to recall how completely he set her heart racing? “Is it?”
“Of course. The palace has not been the same without you.” His voice was business like. He crossed to the bed and sat at her feet, careful to avoid touching her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, a tense smile hovering on her lips.
He let out a solemn sigh. “I should warn you, Phoebe, that I have appointed myself as your chief nurse and entertainment officer.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You have, have you?”
