Princess of Zamibia
Delaney Diamond
Garden Avenue Press
Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
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Also by Delaney Diamond
About the Author
BLURB
* * *
“Live in the moment with me.”
That’s what he asked Dahlia to do, and she did, because after a near death experience, her motto was to live life to the fullest. She gave him everything. Her body. Her heart. Then it all came to an abrupt end. She didn’t anticipate he wouldn’t trust her. She didn’t anticipate she couldn’t trust him.
He wants his son.
Three years later, Prince Kofi returns and he’s not the same man. He’s bitter and angry and knows he has a son. He’ll do whatever it takes to bring his heir back to Zamibia, even if it means marrying the woman he believes betrayed him.
Dahlia must now raise her son in a culture she doesn’t fully understand, but when a nightmare strikes the royal family, will it bring her and Kofi closer together, or tear them apart for good?
Princess of Zamibia by Delaney Diamond
* * *
Copyright © March 2018, Delaney Diamond
Garden Avenue Press
Atlanta, Georgia
ISBN: 978-1-940636-59-7 (Ebook edition)
ISBN: 978-1-940636-66-5 (Paperback edition)
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Delaney Diamond.
1
Crown Prince Kofi Francois Karunzika, Conquering Lion of the tribe of Mbutu, heir to the throne of the West African nation of Zamibia, descended the royal plane onto the tarmac. He buttoned his coat, eyes narrowing against the cold weather as his four-man security detail marched with him to the waiting SUV.
He climbed into the back of the vehicle, while one member of his security climbed in the front and the others took a car that would follow. His assistant had arrived a day early and was sitting in the back seat.
“Where is she now?” he asked Kemal, a tall man with skin the color of licorice. A strip of blue-dyed hair ran down the middle of his head. Many of the Ndenga people—a tribe that lived on the coast of Zamibia—wore the decorative flourish as a sense of pride and a symbol of their affinity to the ocean.
“She’s still at work. She should be leaving soon to pick up the child and go home.” Kemal handed over the most recent photo of Dahlia leaving her apartment building that morning, holding a toddler’s hand. Noel Sommers, his son.
The air in the vehicle constricted. Kofi’s flesh and blood unfortunately carried his mother’s last name instead of his—a name that went back for centuries and for many years struck fear in the hearts of their enemies. A name that meant Noel had access to untold wealth and his veins contained royal blood.
He stared at the photo, trying to get a better view of the boy’s face, but he looked down as he walked. The image of Dahlia wasn’t much better, but Kofi didn’t need better. His vivid memory retained all aspects of her body: a round, striking face, full breasts, and a fantastic ass.
“How long before she gets home?”
“Over an hour. She rode the bus today. We should arrive at her address before she does.”
Kofi handed back the photo. “I’m going over there alone. Go to the hotel and I’ll meet you there later.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Kofi shot a grateful smile in Kemal’s direction. For five years he’d been a loyal companion, someone Kofi trusted implicitly and received honest feedback from. Kemal thought reaching out to Dahlia, an ex, and claiming his secret son was a mistake, but he’d come fully onboard once the trip was underway, and Kofi had made it clear this child would be the one to ascend the throne after him.
As soon as he learned about Noel’s existence, protecting the future king of Zamibia became a top priority. He hired a team to keep an eye on the boy and his mother at all times, professionals who blended into the background, but would be quick to defend should danger arise.
“I can handle Dahlia myself. I need you to make sure the penthouse is set and ready for my son’s arrival.”
“I’ll get to work.” Kemal climbed out of the SUV.
Kofi issued the order to drive to Dahlia Sommers’s address, and then he settled in for the ride.
“I’m telling you, she wants to steal your child.”
Dahlia pulled the collar of her coat higher around her neck as she stepped into the frigid weather. She’d clocked out and was going to the daycare on foot to pick up her son.
She chuckled into the phone at her best friend Angela’s ridiculous comment. “Would you stop? She’s being nice.”
One of her co-workers at the substance abuse center gave her a cute outfit for Noel. Before leaving, she’d thanked her co-worker profusely and tucked the gift into the satchel across her chest.
“Mhmm. Keep an eye on that woman. Ever since you told me she said, ‘He belongs to all of us,’ I’ve been worried. Next thing you know, she’ll show up at your apartment and snatch Noel right out of your arms. Because, you know, he’s her kid, too.”
“Have you never heard the expression ‘it takes a village’? She meant that in the nicest way possible, and you know how Noel is. Kid never meets a stranger.”
She was lucky to have a son with such an outgoing personality. Ever since he’d been born, she regularly shared photos and short videos of him with her co-workers. By the time she brought him in for the Christmas party a few months ago, the staff not only felt like they already knew him, they’d fallen in love with him. They showered him with affection and gifts, and her son ate up the attention like the little attention whore he was.
“Besides, you don’t know me very well if you think I’d let her get two feet with my kid before I tackle her.”
“Yeah, yeah, Superwoman. I would believe you, except I’ve known you since college and you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“My kid is different. I’d go to blows for him.”
Angela cursed under her breath and lowered her voice. “My boss just walked into the office.”
“You’re still at work?”
“Yes, unfortunately. I’m finishing up a report for these slave drivers.”
Angela always complained about her job, but she loved the challenge of being a senior consultant. It didn’t hurt that she made a hefty six-figure salary and traveled all over the country and the world.
“In that case, I’m gonna to let you go. Talk to you later.”
“Good idea. Much as I hate these people, I need this job. Kiss Noel for me.
”
“Don’t I always?”
Dahlia hung up and kept a brisk pace to the daycare, less than ten minutes away. She trudged along the roadway with her head bent low against the wind, cursing herself for not paying attention to the weather report.
The already cold March temperature dropped lower during the day, dousing Atlanta in unusually wintry conditions for this time of the year. Had she known, she would have driven her car instead of taking the bus. She’d lived in New York for years and didn’t mind using public transportation. In fact, she welcomed the option, which gave her a chance to listen to audiobooks and incorporate exercise into her daily routine by walking. But on a night like tonight, the cold whipped like fire against her skin and made her eyes water.
When she arrived at the daycare, one of the older attendants, Miss Martha, a plump woman with rosy cheeks and a ready smile for all the children, greeted her at the door.
Dahlia breathed easier in the warm entryway. “How was he today?”
“An angel, as always. I think he wore himself out, though. Don’t be surprised if he falls asleep before you get home. His eyes appeared a little droopy when I checked on him a few minutes ago.”
“I wouldn’t be so lucky.” They both laughed, and soon Dahlia was greeting her son, who scampered over with the biggest smile on his face.
He had her wrapped around his finger. It was the best feeling walking into the daycare and seeing his face—that sweet grin and animated brown eyes which never failed to bring a smile to her own face. Her heart swelled. God, how she hated to leave him every day.
“How’s my big boy!” Dahlia scooped him up in her arms and gave him a big, loud kiss.
He giggled happily and pulled back. “Mommy, can I have some candy?”
“No, no. No candy for you tonight, mister.” She’d never get him to settle down if she gave him sugar this late in the day.
Noel pouted, his brow wrinkling with displeasure. He resembled his father so much right then, her breath caught. Kofi’s face came to her at odd times, more and more as his little carbon copy aged into a closer likeness of him.
At twenty-seven months, not only did he mimic his father’s expressions, they shared similar features, including the same broad nose and the shape of their eyes. And she was as hopelessly in love with the little bundle in her arms as she’d once been with the man who fathered him.
Dahlia’s heart contracted painfully, and she shoved all thoughts of the tall African from her mind. She placed her son on the floor. “Let’s get you home and warm, okay?”
Crouching before him, she bundled Noel up in his coat, mittens, scarf, and hat to protect against the elements. They had a short walk to the bus stop and standing outside at the uncovered area could become uncomfortable in this weather. Hopefully the bus would be on time tonight and they wouldn’t have to wait long.
“Say bye-bye to Miss Martha.”
“Bye-bye.” Noel waved.
“Bye, Noel. See you tomorrow.” Miss Martha blew him a kiss and they were on their way.
2
Kofi settled his gaze on Dahlia as she walked slowly down the sidewalk with a toddler in her arms, bundled against the unusually cold night. She wore a green knit cap pulled low on her head to protect her ears. Dark hair styled in two thick braids peeked from beneath the knit cap to land past her shoulder blades. The child was wrapped just as warmly as she, his head resting on her shoulder as he appeared to sleep.
As she neared, Kofi’s stomach tightened and his nostrils flared—an instinctive response to seeing the woman at whose feet he’d once planned to place the world. He couldn’t quite see her lush lips from this distance, but he remembered their taste and how she’d trembled beneath him—his harsh breaths melting with her soft pants. His body tightened, every muscle tense. He could almost hear her breathless cries, feel her undulating hips as he drove into her with frenzied thrusts.
Against his volition, his heart rate accelerated, pumping hot blood through his veins. After three years he still couldn’t control his body’s immediate reaction to seeing her. He clenched his fists to fight the involuntary acknowledgment and swallowed the bitter taste of betrayal. He’d never wanted a woman the way he had wanted Dahlia Sommers. Never needed one as much. And that had been his mistake.
His gaze shifted to the child, and he leaned forward, anxious to get a good look as they came into the light spilling from the front door of the building, but the child’s face was hidden from view. He’d hoped to catch an in-person glimpse of the son he found out existed only days ago. Once the private investigator told him and sent the damning photos of a toddler who looked almost identical to him at the same age, he dropped everything as quickly as he could and traveled to the United States.
His eyes narrowed on the mother of his child as her feet hesitated at the bottom of the steps. She looked up the street. For a moment he thought she saw him in the SUV, but then she turned and hurried into the building, clutching the child protectively in her arms. Almost as if she sensed his presence and knew why he came.
Kofi’s jaw firmed as he sat back in the leather seat and rested a wrist on his knee. He would wait until she was settled in her apartment, and then he would go up. No rush. He’d found her and knew the truth. And with the truth came the only option for action available.
He would take his son, next in line to the throne of Zamibia. He would not leave the country without him.
Tonight, the sense that she was being watched was particularly strong. Unable to shake the feeling, Dahlia darted into the apartment building. The disturbing sensation started a week ago. At first she thought it was her imagination, but on quite a few occasions—once at the grocery store, several times on her way to work, and twice walking home with her son—the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The feeling unnerved her, but she thought she was being silly. Who would be following her and why? Yet with a son to care for, she couldn’t be too careful.
The empty lobby didn’t do much to alleviate her feeling of unease with its unpleasant, musty odor and discarded junk mail littering the dirty floor. She found some solace in the security camera mounted overhead, but not for the first time she wondered whether the contraption actually worked.
Dahlia turned the key in the mailbox and removed the envelopes resting inside. As usual, mostly junk mail, but also the gas bill had arrived. With the unusually cold and long winter, she expected a high invoice. She sighed heavily and Noel stirred against her chest, prompting an automatic smile to her lips. She planted a kiss on his covered head.
Poor baby. He must really be exhausted. Normally he babbled incessantly on the trip home from daycare, but he’d slept the entire way. Shifting him in her arms, Dahlia marched down the hall on the first floor, where she let herself into the apartment. She tossed the mail onto a side table and flicked on the floor lamp.
The space outside may be dreary, but inside these walls, she had created a cheerful, homey environment. With the landlord’s permission, she’d painted the walls mustard-yellow. The living room contained mismatched furniture she purchased at garage sales, but she used beige furniture covers and brightly colored pillows to create a cohesive color scheme. On a table next to the loveseat was a black-and-white photo of her and Noel. The walls were covered with other framed black and white photos of buildings and must-see sights around the city she’d taken as a photography hobbyist.
She entered the only bedroom, which wasn’t very large, but allowed for a double bed fitted with a brightly colored bedspread and a crib for Noel in a corner. Compared to how she’d lived before, her little place wasn’t much, but it was comfortable, and it was home.
Dahlia undressed her son, laughing to herself at how he remained deep in sleep as she removed his clothes and put on his pajamas. She placed him in the crib and stroked one plump cheek with her finger.
She named her son Noel, the French word for Christmas. Born a few days early, he arrived into the world at three o’clock on Christmas morning. A he
althy baby boy was the best Christmas gift she’d ever received.
“Good night, my little prince,” she whispered affectionately.
After changing into sweatpants and an I love Atlanta T-shirt, Dahlia went into the bathroom, unraveled her hair from the thick braids, and using her fingertips rubbed oil into her scalp. Next, a trip to the compact galley kitchen, where she made a cup of chamomile tea. She sat down at the table and flipped through her mail. She wrote checks for the water and electric bills since their due dates were the most pressing, but put off paying the gas bill until her next paycheck in two weeks.
Satisfied, she sipped the warm tea and shuffled back out to the living room and was about to turn on the television when a loud knock sounded on the door. She jumped at the sudden, loud boom, and a little bit of tea sloshed over the brim of the cup and trickled onto the carpet.
What in the world?
She’d moved to Atlanta the summer before Noel was born and didn’t know a lot of people, didn’t get much company, and no one she knew would show up without calling first. Carefully, she set down the teacup and padded across the carpet. Before she covered the short distance, another knock sounded—harder this time and more peremptory.
Dahlia stopped in her tracks, heart racing. She knew in her soul this couldn’t be good. She crept to the door on tiptoe and peered through the peephole but couldn’t see well since most of the lights in the hall were out. The landlord failed to replace the fluorescent bulbs, though she’d reminded him several times already. A tall bulky man, so tall she couldn’t see his face, stood off to the side with his massive arms folded before him. The other man, standing in the center of her view, stood with his face in shadow, his features indiscernible. Yet he was very, very familiar. Achingly familiar.
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