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“I loved you, Zamir. That’s all. I met you, and I loved you. And you left me. And now you’re treating me like … like …”
Like what? Why was he so angry with her? Why had he barrelled her sleeping frame over his shoulder and onto his jet? Why had he refused to speak to her properly?
Because he had thought she had moved on to Ra’if, and had been driven senseless with jealousy.
“Why have you brought me here, of all places? Where you told me your father would hate me and your people would hate me and your servants would hate me?” She sobbed and buried her head again. “I need a minute.”
Zamir was drowning now. The water was over his head. He stared at her, lost and on edge. She was so beautiful, but so frail. He ached to pull her to him, but to what end?
“When you are ready, there is a bathroom you may use. Down that corridor, and on the right.”
She stared at him, her eyes huge in her face. What was she hoping he would say? What was she hoping to see in his expression? Contrition? Pity? Apology? She stood numbly and walked past him.
He let her go without another word. Only when she had clicked the door closed did he dip his head forward and release the oath he’d been silently swearing.
The bathroom, like everything else she’d seen in the palace, was exquisite. Olivia took her time freshening up, and it was such a relief to wash her face and run her fingers through her hair. She contemplated showering, but with no fresh clothes to change into, she decided to delay that pleasure.
Until when?
She frowned grimly. Until she knew just what he meant by bringing her to Dashan, she had no bloody clue.
Chapter 11
Being a damsel in distress was a role that sat ill on Olivia’s shoulders.
All her life, she’d fought for everything she wanted, whether it was clothes or a new job or the opportunity to travel.
But here in Dashan, she was completely dependent on the kindness of Zamir.
Just two days after stepping off his luxurious jet, and having seen him for only a handful of minutes in that time, she had come to understand that nothing happened within the walls of his palace without his express approval.
The night they’d arrived, he’d disappeared while she showered.
A beautiful dinner of rice and spiced fish was brought to her room almost immediately after she had emerged, and she’d eaten it sparingly.
The next morning, a personal shopper had come to take Olivia’s measurements and investigate her preferences when it came to styles and colourings of clothes.
Hours after the stylist had left, a hairdresser appeared, and then a beautician, employed to match a palette of makeup and create a bespoke range for Olivia’s use.
The clothes were excellent. But they were no substitute for the wearing of freedom.
Olivia was all too aware that she was essentially a prisoner, albeit one with a spectacularly gilded cage. And as seconds bonded into minutes, and minutes morphed into hours, and hours dragged into lonely days and nights, Olivia was left to wonder: why?
Why had he brought her here, if only to ignore her?
On the third morning, she woke early. An odd pre-sentiment was tingling down her spine, and she rose with an increasing sense of unease.
All of the clothes she’d been provided with were exceptional quality and undoubtedly expensive. They were also unstintingly modest, in what she presumed was a necessity in Dashan.
She pulled on an olive-green dress that fell to the floor and had wide bell-shaped sleeves all the way to the wrists. Despite the fact it covered her whole body, it was surprisingly cool, no doubt because of the linen fabric.
There were some books in a shelf across the room. She’d looked at all of them previously and dismissed them as too bland. But now, desperation and a gnawing sense of anxiety nipped at her heels.
When the door peeled inwards a little before noon, Olivia was not surprised. She’d been waiting. For what, she couldn’t have said. But the air had been thick with expectation all day.
Marook stood there, his expression neutral. Only his eyes seemed to smile at her with some of the kindness she remembered from their time in Vegas.
“Hello,” she was friendly. Perhaps too friendly, given that he was complicit in this little saga. But Olivia had scarcely spoken to a soul for days, and even Marook was a welcome break to her solitude.
