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Her words still echoed in his mind.
It was over?
Just like that?
He shook his head, defiantly unwilling to accept that.
Qazim had to admit he had been initially caught off guard. One moment he'd been kissing Grace, believing he'd finally claimed her as his own.
His beloved.
Then, shockingly, she'd blurted out those words. Almost as if she'd rehearsed them, he told himself.
At first, he'd been taken aback. The realization that she intended to leave had taken a few long moments to sink in.
At first he hadn't wanted to admit the truth to himself. He'd tried to reason with himself that he'd misunderstood her. That perhaps she didn't mean what she'd said. That maybe this was all some elaborate game Grace was playing with him.
He already knew how much she liked to toy with him, tease him with her wicked sense of humor.
But this time had been different.
At first, when she'd leapt from the bed and pulled on her clothes, all he'd been able to do was observe the beautiful sight of Grace carefully dressing herself. The instincts of his body had taken over, and he'd simply watched her.
There had been a disbelieving voice in his head, telling him that there would be some simple explanation for all of this.
He knew the explanation, now.
The memory of their love-making, earlier that evening, still quivered through every nerve in his body. He felt the coolness of the air on his naked body.
He sighed heavily and went to the bedroom and threw on a robe from his walk-in closet. He glanced at the clock by the bedside. Four o'clock. The morning sun would be rising soon.
Barefoot, he padded back into the living area. There was still a glass of champagne on the table by the sofa. He took it, and went out onto the balcony, sensing that he needed to clear his head.
He thought about Grace as he sipped the champagne. He knew his driver had been instructed to be on call for the entire evening, no matter how late.
As on so many other occasions.
Grace would find him waiting for her downstairs in front of the building, the limo ready. She was already familiar with the arrangement. She'd used it often enough, recently.
The driver would take Grace straight back to her apartment on the other side of the city. At least she'd be safe, Qazim told himself.
That was something. She'd be safe, even if she believed she no longer belonged with Qazim.
In any case, Qazhar city was as safe as any in the region. Crime was virtually non-existent.
Qazim gazed through the glass panel and out, beyond the cityscape, toward the distant desert horizon. There was already a hint of sunrise, a tinge of orange in the darkness. From this high up, Qazim could survey the kingdom.
His kingdom.
The place he belonged.
The place where Grace belonged.
He ran his gaze across the expanse below him. Sometimes he felt as if the whole thing belonged to him. He knew that was an arrogant thought and he felt foolish every time he played with it. As a child he'd wanted everything, wanted to own everything, possess everything. That desire had only partly been tempered by adulthood.
His brothers had warned Qazim against such hubris. Zaheer and Riaz both had found their own happiness. Had both been humbled by beautiful women. At least that was how Qazim saw it.
Would Qazim be denied his own happiness? Was it fair that he couldn't possess what he wanted.
