Relief was palpable as, with that thought in mind, he turned his attention back on their guests.
* * *
“He is asleep.” Fatima’s eyes showed that she, too, had been dozing.
“Oh!” Evie nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She placed the now-empty teacup down on a side table and smiled apologetically at the nanny. “I should have come sooner.”
“He was very tired tonight.”
Evie spun warily. “Why? Is he okay?”
“Yes, yes,” Fatima nodded. She made big gestures with her hands, while searching for the right words. “We do the sunshine and the swim. And the food. A lot of the food. ‘E growing boy, eh?”
“Yes.” Evie nodded, moving softly towards his crib. She put her hands on the timber rail, studying his sleeping body with a clutch in her heart. One little arm was thrown over his head and the other was out to his side. His face was angled towards an edge of the crib and his full lips were parted in repose. He breathed noisily – it was approaching a snore –and she smiled remembering the first time she’d slept in the same room as Sabra. The beautiful princess had snored like a freight train. Odd, for someone so otherwise graceful.
It had bonded Evie to the her sister-in-law even more.
“You know what I love?” Fatima was the only other person in the room and so Evie must have been talking to her; though in truth, she simply had words that needed to get out. “His arms. Look at the size of them. Even stretched as high as they go, they barely reach above his head.”
Unable to help herself, she reached down and placed a finger in his palm. He curled his hand around it, his breathing turning, briefly, into a sigh.
“Is he happy?” She whispered, pulling her finger away and lifting it to her lips.
“Yes.” Fatima came and stood beside Evie, surprising her by putting an arm around her shoulders. “You do goodness here. You and His Highness. I … the words hard for me. To marry, for a child, he do no wrong, he, how you say? He innocent. And you marry for him is goodness.”
“Yes,” Evie smiled unevenly. “I’d do anything for Kalem.”
Fatima hesitated and then, as colour blossomed in her cheeks. “I say not good things to you. That day. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Evie turned and cupped Fatima’s hands in hers. “You were grieving too. None of us was at our best right after their deaths.”
“I know Sabbie since she baby like this.” Fatima nodded towards Kalem’s sleeping figure. “She was just the same. This how she sleeps.”
“Yeah,” Evie nodded. “Except she snored.”
Fatima laughed, throwing her head back. “It’s true. Even like this, she did that.”
“I didn’t know that you were her nanny.”
“Oh.” Fatima nodded, her eyes shining. “I was just young. Like Amina. I knew nothing.” She pressed her hand into the valley formed by her generous breasts. “But I know love. I feel the love.”
“I know.”
“You know their parents die young too.” She clucked, shaking her head in sympathy. “Such shame.”
“I know.” And Evie had known, for she’d talked about it at length with Sabra. But never Malakhi. At the thought of her husband, her wedding ring started to feel heavy and uncomfortable.
She was married. She was his wife. Whatever she decided to do, she had to do something. She couldn’t simply hide out in Kalem’s nursery.
There was the honeymoon, too.
The honeymoon.
She almost groaned aloud.
The thought of spending weeks alone with him, travelling, posing for photographs, pretending to be a happy newlywed? She shivered. The idea of all the lying was impossible to tolerate.
But what else could she do? She’d made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.
And he’d lie with her.
Twelve
“Mal!” It was almost two o’clock in the morning and all he wanted was to leave the wedding.
Evie stood beside him smiling, like a statue. She was ice-cold, and he had a blood-boiling need to bring her back to life in his arms.
Only a concern for her welfare kept a lid on the desire that was raging through him.
He turned at the approach of his old friend Nilam. The brother of Leilani was nothing like her in looks. Where she was tall and slender, with legs that seemed to go on forever, Nilam was short and balding, his cheeks round and his lips thin. And they were frowning in that moment.
Malakhi didn’t like the way Nilam looked at Evie. His eyes seemed resentful; dark. Instinctively, Malakhi brought her closer to him and kept a hand possessively about her waist.
“Nilam, you have not met Her Highness?”
“No, I have not had that pleasure,” he said, flicking her only a cursory glance before returning his focus to the Sheikh. “I must speak to you urgently.”
“Evie, this is Nilam. He is one of my oldest friends.”
“How do you do?” She murmured, her smile polite. Did she know the connection to Leilani? Nothing was obvious from her features.
“Mal?”
Malakhi’s eyes narrowed. His friend’s lack of courtesy was not something he would tolerate.
“This is not the time,” he said.
“It’s important,” Nilam hissed. Obviously reluctant to speak in front of Evie, his whispered, “It’s about Leilani.”
But Evie heard and immediately her manner shifted. “Is she better now?” She asked, her face a study in calm concern.
“Better?” Nilam shifted a little, moving his weight from one foot to the other.
“Yes,” Evie murmured. “I saw her a little while ago. She had a migraine. She told me she was leaving the palace immediately.”
Nilam’s confusion was obvious. “Migraine?”
“I don’t know the word in Ishalan, I’m sorry. A severe headache. I told her I’d make her apologies to my husband. She agreed it was better not to disturb the event.”
“I see,” Nilam was still not reassured, but he was no longer making demands.
“Will it wait until tomorrow?” Malakhi asked his friend, his mind ticking over this interesting turn of events. Had Leilani had a hand in Evie’s apparent distress?
Nilam nodded, his smile genuine. “Tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow’s fine.”
After only a few more farewells to the last of the guests, Malakhi put a hand beneath Evie’s elbow and guided her from the imposing room.
They didn’t speak the entire walk back to their apartment, but it was far from a companionable silence. Evie imagined little sparks of electricity zapping across her breast, shooting pain and discomfort through her whole body.
When finally they appeared at the royal suite and stepped inside, Evie saw that it had undergone a total transformation. Enormous arrangements of flowers covered every surface so that the air was weighted with the sweet, sultry fragrance of desert blooms. The bed was covered in petals: not of a rose, but of something far more beautiful and sweeter-smelling. She took a step closer, curiosity temporarily over-riding every other sensation.
She lifted one to her nose, rubbing her fingertips along its soft petals.
“It is the flower of our house.” He came to stand beside her. She was so on edge that she flinched even at his proximity.
“Is it?” The words were whispered, he wasn’t sure he caught them properly.
“It was brought across the ocean from Spain. It has long since died out in Europe. It grows only here, on the coastal edge of our country.” He reached for a bloom. “You might have noticed it at the funeral.”
Evie shook her head. “I didn’t. I confess, I didn’t notice anything really.”
“No. Of course.” His broad chest lifted as he expelled a soft sigh. “It is traditionally used at funerals, weddings – the birth of children. When Kalem arrived, even though Sabra was far from home, the streets were lined with bouquets of it.”
Evie’s skin prickled with goose bumps, just imagining the sight he described. “What�
��s it called?”
“Rinathi Da Ikta. There is no easy translation, but it means something like Kissed from the Heavens and Blessed on Earth.”
“That’s lovely,” she said seriously.
He nodded slowly. “It is believed that making love on the blossoms of the flower will lead to the conception of a royal heir.”
She jerked her head to his, her mouth suddenly dry.
It was a moment of truth.
Could she sleep with him?
Knowing what she did now?
“You are tired,” he said softly, forestalling her objection. “This weekend has been long. You should sleep.” His eyes studied hers and he hesitated, perhaps hoping, for a moment, that she might object.
But she didn’t. Telling herself she was grateful for at least a little more time to consider her position, she nodded, and even summoned a smile up from the depths of her soul. “I am tired,” she agreed, dropping her gaze to the floor. It too was kissed by the glorious flowers.
And the moment she said it, she knew she’d made the wrong decision. Every single fibre of her body was screeching. She wanted him – no. She needed him.
None of this made sense, except the way she felt when they were together.
She blinked away tears of frustration as she forced herself to face him, unafraid of the connection they shared. He was studying her, and she felt as though he could see the filaments of her soul.
“I …”
He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. Not hungrily; not desperately. He kissed her sweetly, slowly, as though he could understand her through the touch of their lips. He tasted her too; her hesitations, her fears, her doubts.
“You should sleep,” he murmured, breaking the kiss and gently disentangling her arms from around his waist.
Why? Why did she feel such a dependency on him? On his body and his touch?
“What if I don’t want to sleep?” She said, so wistfully that his heart flipped in his chest.
“Evelyn …”
“Just …” she lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t talk.”
His eyes flared with silent challenge.
Her fingers moved to the zip on the side of her dress. She pinched it together, dragging it slowly down her body, her eyes not leaving his face. With every movement she dared him to stop her. To resist what was about to happen. He could only watch, transfixed.
Her fingers transferred to the opposing zip, loosening it so the dress fell forward, exposing the lace bra that concealed her neat breasts. She thought of the will and carefully removed the bra, placing it and the paper on the side table.
When she turned to face him, her sweet breasts exposed to him, he drew in a breath harshly.
His groin strained and his whole body was throbbing with a need that only she could quench. He forced himself to stay where he was, watching her slowly remove the dress that so beautifully showcased her figure.
Her eyes were haunted. Did she have any idea how much they told him? How her sadness blinked out at him, begging him to fix things? But how could he? The wound she suffered from could never heal. They had lost people they loved and life would never be the same.
Out of the ruins, though, came this.
Them.
The dress dropped to her feet in a rustle of fabric.
She wore a small scrap of fabric across her womanhood, and that was all. Her high heels were lost in the dress and she was grateful to shed them.
Why did she want him? How could she possibly put her physical needs so completely ahead of her emotional pain?
Because one wiped out the other.
Because in sleeping with him she could find relief. Dulling the reality for even the briefest of moments.
They made love as though they’d been doing so for years. Her body moved to anticipate his, they touched and kissed and tasted and teased, both taking something from the sweet perfection of their coming together.
They ascended the heavens together, their insatiable need temporarily answered. But Evie broke the spell as soon as her breathing had returned to normal. She pushed a hand to his chest, smiled in his general direction and rolled away, leaving only the mane of her magnificent hair for his inspection.
Her body was curled like a conch shell, angled away from him. The moon fell across her as a mythical blanket, shimmering magically on her skin. Moistened by perspiration, she glistened as she sighed deeply in her sleep.
Gently, he reached over and pulled the sheet higher then lifted a single Rinathi Da Ikta blossom from her hair.
He placed it on the edge of the bed before turning the other way. She had begged him to make love to her. Their bodies had moved in complete unison. And yet he knew she would not welcome his sleeping embrace.
And so he kept his distance, wishing he had the courage to take her in his arms.
* * *
“Come.” He stared at the back of the door, his face ghosting with the distraction that had engulfed him all morning. Thoughts of their wedding night had swamped his mind. Was she still asleep, as he’d left her hours earlier? It was only just ten o’clock now, and their night had been late.
He felt himself stiffen involuntarily, recalling the way he’d taken her. The way she’d arched beneath him, welcoming him and teasing him with her softness. The way her arms had reached for him and her mouth had curled distractingly, parting only to release her passion-infused breath.
She’d withdrawn from him almost instantly.
She couldn’t have expressed her distance any better had she read a manual. Her back had been turned to him all night.
The door pushed inwards and Nilam was the unwitting recipient of Malakhi’s scowl.
“Mal.” Sensing his friend’s mood, he paused just inside the door. “Is it not a good time?”
“Not particularly,” he said shortly, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “But that’s not your fault. What is it?”
“Remember I said I needed to speak to you?”
“Yes.” He kicked back in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of himself. “About your sister.”
Nilam buried the bone of resentment. It wasn’t his place to point out that Leilani had been, until very recently, not just Nilam’s sister but the Sheikh’s lover as well. “Yes.”
“Evie said she wasn’t well. Has she recovered?”
Nilam’s cheeks flushed. “Your wife was not entirely honest.”
Malakhi’s eyes narrowed warningly. “In what way?”
Nilam shifted uncomfortably, crossing to the windows that overlooked the ancient wall of the palace. “You remember the papers you asked me to look into?”
“Sabra’s will? Of course.”
“It was binding. Legally.”
Malakhi nodded. “I know.” His expression didn’t shift. “It is a redundant conversation now. My marriage to Evie makes Kalem as much mine as he is hers.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat.
“So? Destroy the papers.”
“Mal…”
The Sheikh leaned forward, pinning his friend’s back with a dark stare. “You are skirting around a confession. It has something to do with this? And your sister?”
“Yes.” Nilam turned but couldn’t look at Malakhi properly. Guilt was written all over his figure. “Leilani saw the document. In my office. She made a copy.”
Heat spiralled through Malakhi. “She what? For what purpose?”
Nilam was shaking now. For the first time he felt genuine fear of his friend. “I don’t believe she had a plan when she copied them. I know only that she was angry and hurt. You know how she cares for you.”
“Go on,” Malakhi demanded coldly, doing his best not to react until he had all the information.
“They argued last night. Leilani and Evelyn – Her Royal Highness. Leilani had consumed far too much liquor at the party. She was not herself.”
Malakhi shut his eyes for a moment, compiling the facts that he had. It was not enough to paint a proper picture. �
�And?”
“She showed the will to your wife. And threw a glass of champagne at her.” Nilam’s face had drained of all colour. “She knows how badly she behaved. She is beside herself today. Honestly, Malakhi, I fear for her, for what she might do to herself. I have left her under my father’s guard because she has become incoherent with her shame.”
“She ought to feel shame,” Malakhi hissed, standing quickly. “You tell me she took this document – a private legal document entrusted solely to you – and showed it to my wife? She chose to meddle, knowing what this marriage means to me, and the kingdom?”
“She loves you,” Nilam said quietly. “It’s not a defence. She had no right to act as she did. The mortification she feels spreads through our family, Mal. You must believe that. I come to you today with my sincerest apology and offer my immediate resignation.”
Malakhi spun to face his friend. His chest moved in time with his hurried breath. The dress. She’d changed. Why hadn’t she told him the truth?
“I will never forgive Leilani for this.” He was reaching for his watch, slipping it back onto his wrist. The gift from Sabra got in the way when he worked, but he always wore it otherwise. “My decision to marry Evelyn was in the best interests of everybody. Had I not married, she would have left the kingdom with the child. This could not be allowed to happen.”
“I know that,” Nilam said urgently. “I told Leilani as much. And if she hadn’t been drinking, perhaps she would have thought twice about telling Evelyn the truth.”
Malakhi shook his head. He stormed to the door and wrenched it inwards. “You will not resign,” he threw over his shoulder. “Not yet, anyway. Let me see how badly your sister has messed up before I make that decision.”
He slammed the door behind him, causing Nilam to jump.
In all his life he had never seen Malakhi Sitar-Omari so obviously filled with worry.
Thirteen
She was not asleep.
Her slender frame was silhouetted by the bright sunshine. She wore a simple, flowing dress. A pale green in colour that, he imagined, would bring out the flecks of magic that danced in her eyes. Her hair was not yet brushed. It was out, long and a little messy.
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