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He watched the helicopter lift off, Amelia’s face angled away so he couldn’t see a damned thing about how she was feeling, and he swore beneath his breath. Four and a half years ago he’d made the mistake of acting completely out of character by continuing a relationship that, with hindsight, had always been impossible. He had put his lack of clarity and forethought down to youthful infatuation. What was his excuse now? He couldn’t say, but it was imperative he put some space and time between himself and his wife. Only then would he be able to see clearly and act rationally.
* * *
Amelia nodded,approximating a smile even as listlessness had overtaken her. After all, preparing the baby’s nursery whilst knowing she would likely be living somewhere else entirely was a depressing task. Nonetheless, their baby would occupy this space, and she knew she needed to put her own feelings aside for the sake of their child.
“Parenting habits have changed so much in the last generation,” the senior palace decorator explained. “Once upon a time, royal children were dispatched to faraway apartments and left to the care of a nanny, but I’ve noticed a trend for mothers to remain close to their babies. Therefore, you should choose where you would like the nursery to be.”
What would Zafar want? For their baby to be close to him? Or far away, in the care of nannies? The idea sent her stomach into knots, the whole situation making her skin rush with panic, her heart clutch with pain.
She’d been so angry with him in the desert, and she hurled words at him that she knew weren’t fair. After all, she had been a more than willing participant in what they’d shared, even when she’d come to regret her eagerness afterwards. But she’d instinctively gone for his Achilles heel, his fear of hurting her and being just like his biological father. She’d wanted to wound him, but the moment she’d seen his skin pale and his jaw drop she’d known she’d gone too far.
It had been impossible to walk the words back – not when there was even a kernel of truth in them. He’d sent her away and she’d told herself she was glad, but the truth was, flying away from Zafar had felt a thousand kinds of wrong even at the time. But now, three months later, Millie was laced with a regret that only grew heavier with each day that passed.
“You decide,” she said with a lift of her shoulders, handing the folder back. Millie had stuck post-it notes in the pages of the albums to highlight furnishings she admired. “I’m sure you have far better taste than I do.”
The woman smiled and nodded. “While that is certainly not true, I’m happy to coordinate the nursery. Once the furniture is in place, you can enjoy selecting some soft-furnishings. And of course there’ll be the matter of hiring nannies, but His Highness will have some input on that,” and she winked, as though they were a happily married couple and not two strangers who’d barely seen one another in twelve long weeks, since their argument in the desert.
The burden of pretending everything was fine was wearing on Millie, to say nothing of the obvious ways Zafar was ignoring her. He no longer slept in his bed. She didn’t know where he went, and tried not to think about who he was with. Despite his protestations on that score, it was easy to imagine that he was spending the night with someone else. He’d said nothing to make her think that was possible and yet — jealousy was an insidious, powerful monster and it crawled through her with every night he was absent.
When they were together, he was curt and civil, enquiring after her comfort, asking after the pregnancy, while making no effort to get closer than two metres and being absolutely certain not to touch her.
It was exactly what she’d asked of him and yet something was withering inside her heart and she wanted, more than anything, to take back her tirade in the desert.
“Thank you,” she stood, signalling the meeting was at an end.
“It is my pleasure. We are all excited for the new baby’s imminent arrival.”
Millie managed something close to a smile then swept from the room.
* * *
Zafar rode out hard,just as he had almost every night since returning from the desert. He hugged the horse’s mane, low and hard, focussing on the mountains in the desert, pushing all thoughts of Millie and their baby from his mind, focussing only on this country he loved – the country he had long ago pledged to serve with all that he was, to the exclusion of all else. That was what he owed to the country, and his adopted father.
He'd been given a second chance, taken care of when there was no obligation on anyone to look after him. But he’d also been shunned. By his birth mother, his adoptive mother and his stepmother. His was a life lined with rejection—how could he trust that Amelia would be any different? She’d offered him love four and a half years ago. Hell, she’d offered him more than love: she’d offered him everything he’d known he could never have, and so he’d pushed her away, rather than jeopardise the line he knew he must walk. But now? His uncle was dead. He was the Sheikh, regardless of his parentage. Legally, the role was his, and the crown would belong to his child in due course. Their baby was no longer a hypothetical, an oasis he needed to resist the temptation of, lest he deprive Aziz of what was his, by rights.
He made a furious sound of frustration, swallowing a hoarse curse and riding faster, blotting out the chorus of voices that filled his mind—the coldness and resentment he’d known all his life, the rejection, the expectations and the need ever to prove himself, to show his uncle that he’d made the right choice, by choosing to name Zafar as his son.
But Amelia was not so easy to blot out. No matter how hard he rode, nor where he stopped to stare up at the stars, she was right there with him, her eyes haunted as they met his, her body growing round with the baby he’d carelessly put there, evidence of the way he’d taken her life so far off track.
She had haunted him for a long time after their break up, her eyes watching him, taunting him, as he went about his duties, convincing himself that his life choices warranted their relationship’s bitter end, reminding himself of all the reasons he’d done the right thing. But always she’d watched him, dogging his steps, taunting him as if to say she knew what he really was: a coward.
“Rubub Asrae,” he urged the stallion to go faster, his voice hoarse. The night was long and Zafar knew by now that it did not matter how far from the palace he travelled. He couldn’t outrun Amelia, not then, not now, and likely not ever.
* * *
Millie toyed with her ring,spinning it around her finger absentmindedly as she sipped her iced tea. The baby liked tea, and kicked whenever she sat still and took a pot. She pressed a hand to her belly, feeling the kicks and tumbles from the outside, murmuring softly, “Not long now, little one.”
But the thought brought a corresponding frown to her face. There were only a few weeks until her expected due date, and then what? She and Zafar had barely spoken since the desert, certainly not long enough to broach the question of a divorce. She’d received no legal notification of a change in circumstance, and yet whenever she thought back to their argument at the campsite, she saw the glittering, ruthless determination in his eyes, the insistence that they stay married, and she knew that in that moment, he had meant it absolutely. He had fully intended to hold her to their vows even once their child had been born, and the thought had terrified her.
Not because she was desperately clinging to the notion of the divorce, but because in that moment, she’d felt a lightness and relief – and Millie had realised she wanted, more than anything, for him to fight for their marriage. To fight for her.
But it was a meaningless fight, just like everything they shared. One person’s love was not and could never be enough to sustain a real relationship, and a marriage in name only didn’t make for a very convincing happily-ever-after. Living in Abu Qara as Zafar’s wife was like existing in a form of purgatory; she couldn’t – and wouldn’t – do it.
