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Rejection and hurt slashed through her. Neither was a new emotion, but she thought she’d outgrown the need to feel them. Apparently not. She rolled onto her side, staring towards the window and the expansive, clear sky beyond, stars twinkling in that way they had, ancient and reassuring. Except they didn’t reassure Ella that night.
Somewhere around dawn, though, Ella rolled to her other side then pushed straight out of bed. She paced towards the very same windows she’d been staring at most of the night, her mind ticking over events in a new, frantic fashion.
Since when had she become a woman who simply sat back and waited for things to happen? Why the hell was she waiting for Elon to come to her? It wasn’t right that he should have all the power in their relationship – she refused to let that be the case.
For the first time since arriving in Salim, Ella scanned her day’s schedule with a sense of purpose and enthusiasm. It was the same as the day before and the day before that. Gentle, quiet tea parties so she could meet more dignitaries and acquaint herself with the powerful women of Salim.
Boring.
With a mutinous glint in her eye, she opened an email and addressed it to Anya, her chief of staff.
Please email me a copy of my fiancé’s schedule, and cancel my events.
Already feeling better,she dressed with care – ignoring the dress that had been laid out for her and choosing a simpler gown instead. Navy blue with silver embroidery at the neckline, it was one of the more businesslike of the outfits she’d been furnished with. That was another matter to address – clothing. It wasn’t enough to exist in the wardrobe Anya, or someone like her, had decided would be suitable. Ella wanted her own clothes, items that reflected her personality and style.
With a tilt of her chin, she refreshed her emails, the new sense of power dropping a little to realise no reply had come. She ate quickly, choosing a bowl of fruit and mug of coffee from the elaborate tray that was brought to her suite of rooms each morning, then checked her emails once more.
Still nothing from Anya, but the app which was used to control her schedule had been cleared. That, at least, was something.
She brushed her hair until it shone, obsessively checking her emails, until finally a knock at the door had her heart leaping. Could it be Elon?
No.
Anya stood on the other side, her cheeks a little pink, something like disapproval in her gaze. “Your highness,” she nodded respectfully. “You requested this?”
She passed over a printed sheet of paper. Ella grasped it, her eyes reading through the events, too focussed on Elon’s jam-packed day to notice that Anya was still standing on the outside of Ella’s suite, apparently waiting to be invited in or dismissed.
Ella pointed a finger at one of the Sheikh’s morning events, her heart lifting. “This one,” she said with a nod, then fixed Anya with a level stare. “Please do what is necessary so that I can join His Highness on his visit to the Children’s hospital.”
Anya’s surprise was obvious, but she covered it reasonably quickly. “This is a quick handshake event.” Anya’s desire to dissuade was obvious. Ella ignored it.
“I’m aware of that. I’ll be ready at a quarter to eleven. Please return to collect me then.”
Anya stood blankly for a moment and then nodded, retreating quickly.
Ella felt considerably better, having laid down this instruction. The prospect of doing something real felt good, but even better was the prospect of showing her fiancé that she couldn’t simply be boxed up in a beautiful, gilded cage, and given crumbs of attention only when it suited him. She felt better for having taken back a little of the control.
She felt better, until the appointed time came and went with no sign of Anya. Pacing her suite, it was after eleven before Ella realised that her chief of staff wasn’t coming, and the appearance of power had been all an illusion.
“The infrastructure needs haveto be met with more thought than this,” Elon muttered, tempted to swipe the hastily provided plans aside. He was on a short fuse and had been all day, ever since his chief of staff had approached him with a request from Ella’s chief of staff – that she join him on an official duty.
It hadn’t been an unreasonable request, and yet he’d instantly pushed back at the idea. He’d wanted to see her, he’d wanted to see her in a way that was gripping and consuming, and so he’d sought control of that by rejecting her request. But it had left him in a foul mood all day, and rather than feeling in control of any damned thing, he felt as though he were spiralling out of it.
“These are simply guidelines, your highness,” the city architect offered by way of an apology. “A starting point, to determine the scope of our work.”
“The scope of your work is to bring water from the mountains into these communities.” He jabbed his finger at several points in the plans, towns that existed on ancient wells and pipelines that had, long-ago, become insufficient.
He wanted to be alone in his room, away from people, away from Ella, and away from anything that reminded him of her. Elon didn’t drink often but in that moment he sought the oblivion a bottle of scotch could offer.
“Is there anything else?” He demanded, fixing the architect with a gaze far more scathing than was deserved.
“No, sir,” he bowed as he stood, scrambling to grab the plans. “I’ll come back tomorrow, with something better.”
Inwardly, Elon grimaced. He wasn’t a man to let his temper get the better of him. “Take a week,” he offered. “Do not rush the plans. I would prefer them to be good than to be hastily repaired.”
The architect’s eyes widened; he nodded and fled.
Elon pushed back in his chair, staring at the door with a belligerent scowl. There was one last meeting in his calendar before he could disappear. Perhaps his apartment wouldn’t be far enough. Unconsciously he turned to the mashrabiya window to his left, the delicately carved wood forming a lattice that concealed much of the view. But he could see enough – piercingly blue sky, white sand, baking sun. It had been too long since he’d ridden out and now the desert called to his soul, begging him to be out in the wild, untamed freedom of those sand-filled planes.
