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“I don’t really want to talk about it. What are you doing here?” She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.
“We were supposed to meet for dinner, remember?”
“Right. To discuss our marriage.” The words were hollow, her mind rattled by events of the last twenty four hours.
“You sound as though I’m sending you to the executioner,” he muttered, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
She studied him for several seconds, her eyes tracking the lines of his face, looking for the man she’d fallen in love with four and a half years earlier. Had it all been an illusion? She’d thought it was mutual, but he’d dismissed her so easily and never contacted her again. Had he really moved on as quickly as it had seemed? Two weeks after returning to England, she’d seen pictures of him with a leggy blonde supermodel at a charity event in Egypt.
Memories of how that had felt, his rejection, his ability to be with her and feel nothing, was exactly what she needed. She’d cut the picture out and stuck it to her fridge. Every time she’d seen it, her stomach had rolled and her heart had hurt, but it was the pain she’d needed to eventually move on. “It doesn’t matter. As you pointed out, this isn’t about me. We’re doing this for our child. So? Let’s discuss the details.”
His lips quirked into a small frown. “Here?” He looked around her guest bedroom. The space, while stunning and spacious, still had a bed as its centrepiece. Something like heat rushed through her body, making her aware of things she wished she could ignore completely, making her remember him as a man, a primal, visceral ache to feel him making love to her. Pregnancy hormones, she dismissed quickly. Still, a change of venue would undoubtedly help with their conversation.
“No, not here,” she agreed quietly.
His eyes probed hers, and she hated how easily he was able to see through her, to understand her. Back then, she’d loved it. She’d taken it as proof of their intimate, special connection, but it was really just a sign of her naivety and innocence.
“I’ve had a table laid on my terrace. I thought it would be best for a conversation of this nature.”
“Fine,” she lifted a shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They walked in silence, his long stride shortened to match hers, though Millie didn’t notice that detail. Her eyes were drawn to the artwork that hung on the walls here – portraits of the royal family. There was Farrah and Aziz, then their father, his wife, his sister, and finally, Zafar. Her eyes skated over his portrait before jolting to the corridor before them. The portraits continued, each one reinforcing something she already knew.
Their baby belonged here.
He was of Abu Qara, a royal descendant from a long line of royals, and he or she deserved to be raised according to tradition.
It was comforting to focus on that, as each step drew her nearer to Zafar’s apartment, each step pulling her closer to a fate she couldn’t avoid.
There was no security guarding the entrance to his apartment. She could see two guards in the distance, at the hallway that led to this wing. He opened the door, standing to hold it wide for her, and as she entered his room, she kept her distance from Zafar, taking care not to so much as brush him with her sleeve.
It was like stepping back in time. This was the room they’d been in that fateful morning, when she’d told him she loved him and he’d broken her heart cruelly and without any obvious remorse. She shivered, ice pouring through her, as memories deluged her. Except it was more than ‘memories’. It was shards of experience still floating in the space, haunting her, chasing her, making it impossible to forget what he was capable of, and why she could never allow herself to be vulnerable to him again.
This apartment had been rebuilt in the nineteen fifties, and used by his father, before his marriage. As a teenager, Zafar had moved into it, his independence in line with his title as heir to the throne. It was enormous. She’d always felt sad to imagine him here as a fifteen or sixteen year old, rattling around with so much space, all alone. Except, according to Farrah, he hadn’t really been alone. He’d made a habit of hooking up with women, his position and personal charms making it easy to find companions. And she’d been the easiest of them all.
She tilted her chin in defiance of the easily impressed young woman she’d been back then. “The terrace?” She asked icily.
He nodded once, dark eyes glittering in his handsome, symmetrical face. With her back ramrod straight, she walked with innate elegance to the ancient timber doors that led to the terrace. It was easily three times the size of her apartment, with views towards the craggy mountain ranges that delineated one side of the palace, providing natural protection for the wars that had, centuries ago, ravaged this region.
“How was your day?” He asked as she sat, hands clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the view of the mountains. She’d always loved this outlook.
“The ruins were exquisite.” Only as she said it did she realise she was baiting him, looking for a reaction. Or perhaps seeking to prove her independence?
“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” was all he said, taking the seat opposite her and immediately making the table feel far too small. She stiffened, but it was an act of defence. Her body was already reacting to his nearness, her belly flopping in recognition of soul-deep needs that she wished, more than anything, to suppress.
“I thought you’d be annoyed.”
“That you went?”
He poured two glasses of a pale golden liquid. “Iced tea,” he handed it to her, but when she went to take it, he didn’t remove his own hand. Instead, he captured hers beneath, his eyes lancing hers. “I wasn’t annoyed,” he said quietly. “You’re right. You need autonomy. There are safeguards we can put in place to protect our baby.”
She noticed he didn’t refer to her, but rather their child. It was a salient reminder that she was simply a vehicle for his heir. “Such as?”
“Security.”
She pulled her hand away, tucking it under the table. “I don’t want security guards following me everywhere I go.”
“Naturally, here in the palace, or in any of my homes around the world, you will live as freely as you wish. But in public, there will certainly be protection. It’s imperative.”
