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They rode in strained silence until the limousine entered an airfield and stopped in front of Anwar’s private jet. She recognized the black and gold family crest emblazoned on the outside, featuring a sleek and powerful falcon with razor-sharp talons piercing its prey. Lucy gripped the door arm and momentarily considered screaming as Anwar opened the car door and gestured for her to exit.
Keep calm, she told herself. Keep calm and act like everything is working out for your highest good, she repeated, referencing the affirmations she had memorized since being banished from Anwar’s kingdom.
She reluctantly exited the limo, feigning supreme nonchalance as Anwar pressed the small of her back and guided her up the stairs to the aircraft’s luxurious cabin.
This can’t be happening.
“The other night in the gallery—the way the light caught the silk of your dress, your silhouette, the way my hand felt—” he said.
Oh, no. He knows.
“Are you pregnant,habibti?”
Lucy, whose parents had lied about everything, suddenly found herself trapped. She nodded, forcing her lips together, fighting a response to the question she knew would surely follow.
“Is the child mine?” His hand lingered over the aircraft door, the gateway to her freedom.
How could she lie? Hiding, running, and fleeing was one thing, but lying was quite another. Hadn’t she vowed she would never be like her parents?
She entered the cabin and collapsed into the leather-padded seat. Leaning into the softness, she anticipated Anwar’s rage barrelling upon her when he discovered the truth of her deception.
She saw his gaze ease down the width of her belly. She shifted awkwardly, breaking the tension between them, and glanced around the cabin. She was surrounded by luxury. Muted desert tones, aesthetically pleasing curvaceous leather couches, and elegant marble tables gilded with gold caught the last rays of the sun. Anwar’s jet oozed luxury and style, yet she felt like she was in a gilded jail. One stolen glance at Anwar told Lucy her captor was determined to throw away the key.
“Yes,” she whispered. Her gaze drifted to the carefully crafted interior doors reminiscent of angel wings. All she wanted was her freedom. Now, her mere admission sealed her fate. "The child is yours," she said, facing him.
His expression froze. He regarded her as a vessel, an inanimate object to possess for this ruthless purpose.
“When is the child due?”
“In twelve weeks.”
“And the sex?”
“What about the sex?” Lucy said.
“Do you know? Boy or girl?”
“We are having a boy,” she said, revealing her scan results.
"I could not be happier,” his voice held no emotion as he turned and glanced out the windows.
“You’re happy?” she said incredulously.
He turned and regarded her intently, a vague concern in his gaze.
“Feelings have nothing to do with it. The fact is, my circumstances have changed.”
His circumstances were none of her business. Lucy was resolute in that. Her eyes darted to the cabin door, desperate to escape, but she knew it was too late. She saw Anwar’s brows furrow.
"I need an heir,” he said fiercely. “A legitimate heir, not a bastard child. And for that, I will need a wife.”
CHAPTERNINE
Lucy stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what he’d said. The fact was he was left with no choice.
“Why, out of all the women at your whim and call, would you want me, the runaway, as your very inconvenient and fraudulent wife?” she said tersely. “I’m sure you have plenty of lovers queuing for the opportunity to legitimize your legacy.”
He frowned. “These are precarious times. Neighboring warlords have their eyes on Avana. They covet what we have. The happiness. The wealth. The freedom. They seek to destroy. They distort the Arabic faith in their grab for power. Imposing Sharia Law on their people, silencing, shrouding, and shaming their women. Denying them education and the equality my brothers and I have vowed to ensure for our people.”
