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He was right in every way. How had he so perfectly understood what her father had done to her? He spoke as though he understood the depth of her pain, the secret shame she’d lived with her whole life, and his understanding bonded her to him in a way that stole Ella’s breath.
“I will never let our child feel as you did.”
She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “And if I’m not pregnant? What then, Elon? Will you quietly divorce me and let me go back to Mosar?”
She braced for his answer, suspecting he’d push her away as soon as he could conveniently do so.
But his frown showed how unexpected the question was.
“On the contrary, Ella. If you are not pregnant now, then I will endeavour to make you so as soon as possible.”
Her heart skipped a beat then lurched into rapid mode. The images that very suggestion conjured set her soul alight…but that was just sex, and she was in some kind of sex cloud at the moment, her body still reeling from the pleasures he’d taught her to feel.
And what about a baby? Why did that idea suddenly grip her, as though it were all she wanted in life?
But there were too many stumbling blocks for this to work. “Baby or not, there’s no way you can marry someone like me.”
His expression darkened. “Why is that?”
“Because of my reputation,” she pointed out, drawing her finger over the ground, finding a crack in a tile and exploring it carefully. “Surely you’re expected to marry someone more…suitable.”
“You mean some quaint little virgin princess?” He responded with a lifted brow, his eyes laced with mockery.
She nodded softly.
“Such as you?”
Warmth spread through her cheeks. “To the people of your country, I’m just the ‘illegitimate princess’, a British woman who hooks up with a different man every other night. They’ll never accept me.”
“Let me worry about my people and their perception of you.” He stood abruptly, moving into the kitchen area. “Are you hungry?”
The conversation change gave her whiplash. “I – no.” Was she? She had no room for any feelings besides what this conversation had invoked.
He didn’t respond, giving her time to think, or to recover, to focus on the situation and try to fathom out a plan. She didn’t look at him – that was too distracting. Instead, she watched the flames of the fire licking the grill and she replayed the day in her mind, trying to see all the angles, to work out how they’d ended up here. There was no clear-cut explanation. It had all happened so quickly – the explosion had only occurred a few hours ago and now she was discussing marriage with the man who’d saved her? The man who’d become her first lover…
“Here. Drink this.” He was holding a mug out to her and she took it on autopilot, the warmth soothing as she curved her hands around its sides. The aroma of sweet tea reached her nostrils. A moment later, he returned with a small bowl, which he placed on the floor in front of her.
“Tasim will be beside himself with worry.”
“Yes.”
Guilt punched through her when she thought of her brother. “He’ll never accept this. Us. The idea of me marrying you. He won’t have it.”
“You think not?”
“I know not. He’s been so kind to me, he’s so protective. And you’re…you and he… –,”
“We are not each other’s biggest fans,” Elon agreed.
She nodded once. “He’ll hate the idea that circumstances are forcing us to marry.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Tasim and I might be enemies, but we are alike in many ways. We both understand we will have to marry in the best interests of our country. I never expected to marry for love.”
The words, though, rang with bitterness, and she turned to face him sharply, a question forming before she could stop it. “Have you ever been in love?”
