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Grace peered into his eyes for a long moment. He wanted her to change her mind. He needed her to be honest with herself, about how much she felt for him. But there was a steely look in those eyes. He knew she wasn't about to say anything like that.
"Nothing else?" he repeated.
Her jaw tightened. "I think that would be for the best, Qazim," she said.
She watched him for a moment, gauging his reaction. Then she added: "What do you think?"
Qazim ran a hand through his hair. Tension swept through him. He knew he could not say anything that would jeopardize the decision she had made. He was sure that if he rejected this offer, she would walk right out of the apartment and go straight to the airport and he would never see her again.
And never see his child.
Qazim sighed heavily. "I agree, Grace," he stated. As he uttered those words, something heavy sank inside him. He tried to swallow his emotion, but found his throat impossibly tight.
Their eyes met across the room, and it seemed to Qazim as if there was suddenly a huge distance between them.
Already.
And they weren't even married yet.
Even though they had agreed to marry, that they would become man and wife, it seemed as if there was a chasm between them. He wondered if they would ever be able to bridge that gap, if they would ever be able to find happiness.
Grace seemed to be satisfied with that answer. She nodded and glanced, businesslike, at her watch. "I only came here to tell you my decision and to see what you had to say. I think it's best that I go," she said.
Qazim saw that her hand was shaking slightly, but he made no comment.
He was shocked that she wanted to leave so soon, but he also understood why she felt the need to do so. She had said what she'd come here to say.
Qazim nodded. "When will I see you again?"
Great thought for a moment. "Give me a day or two to settle," she said. "I still need to figure a few things out. And then you and I can get together and plan the wedding," she said casually.
That sounded so simple, the way she had said it. "Plan the wedding," he repeated. Qazim nodded. "I'll call you," he said.
Grace shook her head. "No. I'll give you a call when I'm ready," she said.
She walked past him and he felt a sudden impulse to reach out, slide a hand around her waist and draw her to him. But the moment passed as quickly as it had appeared.
He followed her to the elevator doors. "Can I get the driver to take you home?" he asked.
Grace shook her head. "No. There's a taxi waiting for me, downstairs."
Qazim didn't say anything. He had to allow her to do what she wanted.
Grace smiled at him weakly and then she entered the elevator.
The doors closed and she was gone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two weeks later, Grace stood in front of Qazim, in a marquee in the garden of his own palace, and in front of a gathering of over a hundred of the great and good of Qazhar society.
It was the day of their wedding.
Qazim was dressed in traditional white, flowing robe and headdress. He looked like the embodiment of the sheikh in every woman's fantasy, Grace told herself.
Grace wore an elegant white wedding gown, tailored to every curve of her body. Atop her head she wore a bridal headpiece, decorated with a tastefully arranged variety of small, multicolored stones and crystal.
She felt like a true bride. She was sure she looked like on, too.
