AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
Five months later
HE WAS REALLY FAR,FAR TOO handsome to be believed, she thought with serious side eye. She’d been stewing on that fact on and off for most of the afternoon, Millie’s eyes drawn to the Sheikh’s against her will, far more often than she liked. His rejection of her had, years ago, turned her blood to ice, so it was impossible to look at him and feel anything like admiration – she knew that for all his outward beauty, the heart of Zafar al Habib was untouchable, completely blanked of any emotions. But that didn’t change the fact he was an almost perfect specimen of masculinity.
He stood six and a half feet tall, proud and muscular, his chest broad, his waist tapered, his posture always perfect, as though he were the mould for all the soldier toys in the kingdom, his shoulders squared, his stance relaxed-seeming, yet with an undercurrent of animalistic tension, so at any moment he could spring into action, tearing from the confines of this palace and losing himself in the wildness of the desert beyond, paying homage to its ancient sands with his own strength. His skin was darker now than it had been five months ago, at the funeral – as though he’d spent much time outside and the sun had worked its magic. His hair, always long, was bundled onto his head in a messy bun that made her ache to untether it and feel the coarse ends running through her fingers. To stymy that instinct, she balled her hands into fists at her side, refusing to give into the temptation to do anything so silly. This wasn’t the time – it never would be again. She’d be a fool to let him under her skin three times in one lifetime.
His eyes were pale brown, like gold, with flecks of black through the iris, and with thick, dark lashes curling around them, framing them in a way that made him appear almost magical. His nose was patrician and, owing to a horse-riding accident when he was ten, had a bump halfway along its length. The same accident had left him with a scar on the left side of his torso, a scar she’d tasted with her tongue as a nineteen year old, infatuated by the man who would be Sheikh, a girl who hadn’t understood that the same magnetic charms that had drawn her to him had worked on dozens and dozens of women before her, and after.
She looked away quickly, her breath rushed, her heart twisting with a pain she doubted she’d ever be able to control. When it came to Sheikh Zafar al Habib, he was quicksand, and it was best to give him the widest berth possible.
Except she couldn’t.
Without intending it, her hand travelled to her stomach, lightly rounded, and butterflies took over her whole body, so she could – for a moment – barely breathe. Thanking the heavens that the bridesmaid dress Farrah had chosen was a floaty chiffon, easily concealing Millie’s changing shape, she dropped her hand and focussed on what she was supposed to be doing: enjoying herself, or at least appearing to.
The wedding had been spectacular. Despite having seen firsthand the luxury and beauty of this small, exceptionally wealthy kingdom, she could never have imagined quite what a royal wedding would be like. From the camels that had stood sentinel at the ceremony, to the eagles that had flown overhead, the aisle planted with colourful wildflowers that led to a wall of greenery behind the rotunda in which the couple said their vows, every detail had been stunning and over the top.
And it would soon be over, she thought, almost sagging with relief.
Again, her eyes flicked to Zafar, and now her heart stammered, because he was talking to the same woman he’d had at his side for much of the night. If he was far too handsome than was fair, then the same could be said of his companion. With hair as dark as the night sky, it fell down her back like a silk curtain, her eyes were loaded with mischief, a beautiful green, her lips quick to smile, her body tall and slender, wrapped in turquoise and diamonds. Bitterness curdled something inside Millie and the resolve she’d come to Abu Qara with evaporated.
How could she tell him?
Digging her fingernails into her palm, she ignored that little voice. She had to tell him. But perhaps she could get away with keeping it to herself for a little while longer? There was no rule that said she had to do this face to face. She could contact him later, once she was safely back home again.
Coward.
Or was it smart? If she were to send him an email, maybe he’d be grateful for the opportunity to pause and consider before sending a reply? And what exactly might such an email say?
Hi Zafar,
I know you said you could never love me and that you never want to get married or have kids but, surprise! That night we slept together – when you left without saying goodbye – I conceived. Whoopsies!
Yours,
Millie.
She grimaced, trying to imagine his expression when he read that. She could soften the blow by pointing out that she didn’t want anything from him. Millie was well aware of the fact that Zafar had chosen not to have children; he’d been explicit on that score. The duty of bearing an heir to the kingdom would fall to his younger half brother Aziz and half sister Farrah, something he’d seemed determined about. With that in mind, Millie had made up her mind that she’d be fine to raise their baby on her own. Not that she’d be on her own – her mother had been nothing but supportive since she’d told her the news.
“You look mesmerised.” She blinked as though being shaken from a dream, turning to face Gareth as he approached.
“Can you blame me?” Glad her panic had been mistaken for a more suitable emotion, she gestured towards the stunning garden they were in – a space that had been converted to more of an outside room, with enormous hedges, strewn with fairy lights, an orchestra playing from a makeshift stage several paces away.
“It is quite incredible,” he grinned, putting an arm casually around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, because Gareth was familiar and comforting and because she was glad to see a friendly face. She felt a sense of simpatico with Gareth – after all, they were both outsiders in this scene. His brother Arthur was the groom, marrying into one of the wealthiest families in the world. Most of the guests were used to this level of glamour, but Gareth and Millie were equally overawed.
“Would you like to dance?” She asked, nodding to the dance floor – a stunning creation of thick glass placed over a pond, so lily pads could be seen floating beneath.
“Isn’t that my job?”
She was aware of Zafar moving from the corner of her eye, not because he was coming towards her, but because all night she’d known exactly where he was, as though a sixth sense was trained on him.
They hadn’t spoken.
During the ceremony, their eyes had met – unavoidable, really, given their respective positions as Best Man and Maid of Honour – but beyond that, there’d been no contact, no recognition. Nothing.
“Well, I don’t know. You haven’t asked me yet,” she pointed out archly, aware she was being ever so slightly thoughtless. Gareth had made it pretty apparent that he fancied her, but while Millie had been happy to go out with him in group situations, with Farrah and Arthur, she’d so far resisted any more intimate evenings.
“I’m asking you now,” he moved closer, his hand dropping to her waist. “Shall we?”
