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His eyes narrowed. ‘Come now, Ms Burgess, how can you say no when there is so much on offer?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like an all-expenses-paid holiday in Qajaran, complete with a bird’s-eye view of a possible coronation and all the festivities surrounding it, along with a return flight home in the royal jet.’
A shiver ran down her spine. ‘Whose coronation?’
‘Mine.’
Ri—ight. So that was it. She did her best not to sway on her feet. Did her best not to look stunned. ‘So you’re kind of king-in-waiting, then?’
He nodded. ‘You could put it that way. Qajaran is currently without an Emir. Apparently I am next in line to the throne, if I agree to take the role on.’
A kind of king. Well, that was kind of funny when she’d thought he’d looked like a god on the bed only this morning. A demotion almost, and that thought almost brought a smile to her face when there should be none.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, not interested.’
‘How much, then?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘How much would it take? Everyone has their price—name it.’
She shook her head. She must be dreaming. That or she’d woken up on some bizarre television game show. Any minute now and they’d be cutting to a commercial break for disposable nappies or dishwashing liquid. ‘I told you, I’m not interested.’
‘Name it!’
She sucked in air. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to spend a moment longer in this man’s company than she had to. The night she’d spent with him was too fresh, too raw in her mind, the passions he’d unleashed in her still making her senses hum at his proximity as if his mere presence was enough to switch them on—but then she thought about the amount her cousin had stolen from her and the money she had assured Sally she would find...
He wouldn’t say yes, she told herself, there was no way he’d say yes, but if he really wanted a figure—if he really wanted to know how much it would take for her to agree to this crazy plan... ‘All right, you asked—two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That’s my price.’
And his eyes might have damned her to hell and back, but he smiled—he actually smiled—and her stomach dropped to the floor like a brick even before he said his next word.
‘Done.’ He turned and yelled for Kareem. ‘Prepare for the ceremony.’
Tora was reeling. ‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ he said, smiling like the cat that had the cream. ‘You named your price. I agreed. The deal is done.’
* * *
Kareem married them, neatly fitting the ceremony in between Tora feeding Atiyah her bottle and changing the infant’s nappy, the bride’s gown nothing more than black trousers and a fawn-coloured shirt with smudges of baby milk on the shoulder.
It wasn’t a ceremony as such. There was nothing more to it than for the two of them to stand before Kareem in his white robes and with her hand on Rashid’s, and for Kareem to utter a few words, before Rashid dropped his hand, jettisoning hers in the process, and saying, ‘Right, that’s that out of the way. Let’s get this adoption signed off, shall we?’
Out of the way? thought Tora, feeling stunned as she returned to her seat and changed Atiyah. So that was it, then. No You may kiss the bride. No congratulations or champagne or even a pretence of celebration. She was married to Rashid, according to Qajarese law, and it felt—hollow.
Marriage wasn’t supposed to feel hollow, she was sure. She’d always imagined getting married would be one of the happiest days of her life, with her father to walk her down the aisle and her mother proudly and no doubt tearfully looking on. Sure, that was before the glider accident that had killed them, but even now she would have liked to think of them somewhere up there looking down on her approvingly on her big day...
She gulped down on that bubble of disappointment before it could become something more.
This was hardly her big day though.
This was a means to an end for her, exactly as it was to him, the opportunity for her to obtain the funds she’d promised Sally, a formality in order for him to adopt Atiyah. After all, it wasn’t as if she wanted to be married to Rashid, even if he made her feel like no more than an adjunct to the process, like a box that had been ticked or a task on a to-do list that had been crossed off.
He’d dropped her hand as if he couldn’t bear to touch her. My God, what a difference, when last night he hadn’t been able to stop touching her.
