Billionaire Baby Daddies: A five-book anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  The courtyard was set at the heart of the family rooms. Many looked down on its verdant luxury. Evie had come to adore the space, with its large sandstone tiles, pots of spiky green plants and view of the ocean. She settled herself in one of the canvas chairs, her legs crossed, her body language relaxed despite the throbbing tension emanating through her. Moments later, Leilani appeared, shadowed by Amira.

  Damn the woman, she was effortlessly chic. Dressed in an aqua pantsuit with her dark hair flowing in luxurious curls over one shoulder, her lashes were so long they looked fake and her caramel skin seemed to glisten like dew.

  Evie stood slowly, trying to project a similarly elegant image, absolutely certain she failed miserably. So she smiled to compensate.

  “Your Highness,” Leilani murmured, her eyes shifting a little as she moved closer to Evie.

  And Evie realised Malakhi’s mistress was nervous. The surprise was profound. “Please, sit,” she gestured to one of the chairs and sent Amari a kind wink.

  Amari spun and moved back to the door, holding it open for another servant to move in and place a tray between the two women. It held not just tea, but scones and colourful biscuits as well.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Leilani said softly, her eyes still not able to hold Evie’s for longer than two seconds.

  “Of course.” Evie’s heart was swelling with compassion. “Why wouldn’t I?’

  Leilani laughed but it was a hollow sound. “I can think of at least ten reasons,” she said with a shake of her head. “Shall I start with the most obvious? I was horrible to you.”

  Evie stood, unaware that she too cut quite an imposing figure. She wore a pair of steel coloured culottes that fell to her ankles, forming the appearance of a skirt, and a matching shirt that had bell sleeves. A beaded necklace she’d seen at a market while on her honeymoon added a splash of colour to the elegant ensemble. She poured two cups of tea and handed one to Leilani before taking her seat once more.

  “You have reason to hate me,” Evie said finally, her smile lopsided.

  The silence was thick with emotion. Grief, compassion, sorrow, regret.

  “Yes,” Leilani said, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears danced at the corners of her eyes.

  Evie expelled a soft breath. “You have to know how little I mean to him,” she said finally. “You, of all people, know what a lie this marriage is.” She sipped her tea, hoping the water would wash away the pain of the truth.

  “You are still his wife,” Leilani said with a shrug of her slender shoulders.

  “For our nephew’s sake.”

  “What are you saying?” Leilani asked, leaning forward a little.

  Evie shook her head. “I’m only telling you that you have no reason to be jealous of me.”

  Leilani sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Your marriage ends what I had with him.”

  “Does it?” Evie wasn’t so sure. “On my wedding night you said …”

  Leilani shook her head desperately. “Please don’t repeat my words. They were vile. I was so upset.”

  “I understand that. If I was in love with someone and he married a virtual stranger, I would be similarly furious.”

  Leilani ran an elegant finger around the tip of her coffee cup. “I believe you do love someone,” she said finally.

  Evie’s heart flipped in her chest. How could she be so transparent? “I love my nephew,” she said finally. “I would make any sacrifice for him.”

  “You consider this marriage a sacrifice?”

  Evie chose her words carefully. She would not outright lie to the other woman, but nor would she open her heart to her. “I know that you would wish our positions reversed,” she said gently. “I’m sorry to you, for the love you feel that can’t be returned now.”

  “He does love me,” Leilani whispered. “He is as trapped by this situation as you.”

  Evie felt half-dead. The words were torture to the feelings she nurtured. Had he said as much to his mistress? Of course he had. She nodded to save herself from the humiliation of arguing. “Yes.”

  She sipped her tea, her eyes drifting towards the ocean. Where was the balm she usually took from its reassuring rhythm? Was he trapped? Is that how he felt? Her breath shuddered from her.

  “Neither of you will be happy.”

  Evie sipped her tea once more and fixed a smile tightly to her lips. It hurt. “This is hardly helpful,” she explained gently. “Our marriage, whatever you may think of it, exists.”

  “I know,” Leilani was chastened. “And I came only to apologise for my behaviour. We are both in his life. It is … simpler if we are not enemies.”

  We are both in his life.

  Jealousy was a flame in her veins. “We aren’t enemies,” Evie promised, but oh! How those words cost her!

  “Good.” Leilani stood, and she moved closer to Evie. Neither woman was aware of the man who, at that very moment, passed by an overhead window and happened to look down.

  Malakhi recognised his wife first. Her shock of fiery hair had been tamed into an elegant bun, but he could imagine how it would feel beneath his palms. Leilani, in comparison, was a study in formality and beauty.

  He could hear nothing of what was said, but the fact they were meeting like this was deeply displeasing to him.

  He had no wish for the two of them to speak. And he would make them both aware of that fact as soon as possible.

  * * *

  It was May fourth and Evie awoke with a pain in her chest. At first she thought it was because of her conversation with Leilani the day before. Then she believed it to be because her husband hadn’t come to their bed that night.

  And then, horrible, nauseating reality shifted into focus.

  May fourth.

  David’s birthday. May the Fourth be with you, she’d always teased, for he was a Star Wars buff and had relished the fact his birthday fell on the date.

  She pushed the sheets off her body as though they were suffocating her.

  His first birthday since the accident.

  She groaned under the weight of her grief and let the tears fall unchecked. She dressed quickly, pulling on whatever she could lay her hands on instead of the outfit her servants had laid out for her the night before. Hundreds of shoes were displayed elegantly in her palatial wardrobe; she chose the first practical pair she could find – a suede set of ballet flats.

  They had been made for her, and they fit like gloves. She moved through their suite quickly. At the door, she hesitated, but no one appeared to stop her. She refused to think about her husband; to wonder where he’d spent the night.

  This was what their marriage would be like and the sooner she adjusted to that reality the better. Her only defence was to perfect the air of unconcern that she’d been working on.

  Evie moved through the family suite with no real idea of where she wanted to go; only that the walls of the palace were now suffocating her.

  She slipped downstairs and moved into the courtyard she and Leilani had shared tea in the day before. At its edge, there was a gap in the pot plants, but she had to shift one to fit through it. She pushed at it, remembering how her mother had encouraged her to always be strong and courageous. Once it had shifted sufficiently, she moved through the gap and into a little uneven patch of soil. It was rough terrain, not meant to be navigated, but it offered the singular advantage of a way out of the palace without guards bothering her.

  She didn’t want to be spoken to or questioned. She didn’t want Malakhi to be disturbed – wherever he was and whomever he was with – because she’d simply needed to be alone. To be truly alone!

  The palace grounds, within the ancient wall, were extensive. Illuminated by the moon overhead, she moved quickly, gripping trees for support when the ground became uneven, until finally she found herself in a grass clearing. She recognised prickly fruit trees, meaning she’d ended up in an orchard. She walked through the rows, and at the edge of the last one, she sat, her knees pressed to her chest, her chin rest
ing on them, her arms embracing her legs.

  And there, like a little ball, she lay huddled against the dawn: free to bask in the entirety of her grief.

  Of course, Evie couldn’t really be discarded from palace life. When the first of her servants brought her morning coffee, her absence was discovered. A quick check with security showed that she hadn’t moved from the palace, and yet a more substantial investigation didn’t reveal her whereabouts. An hour elapsed between her bed having been found empty and Malakhi being alerted.

  His reaction was, at first, subdued. “She is probably swimming,” he said, remembering how she’d enjoyed the water. The morning was searingly hot, even for him.

  “No, sir,” the servant said softly. “All the pools have been checked. The palace has been checked. No one has seen her since yesterday.”

  And then, fear began to dredge his veins. “Is she with Kalem?”

  “No, sir. Fatima reports Kalem hasn’t been disturbed.”

  Malakhi stood, pacing the room. “She wouldn’t leave Kalem,” he said under his breath, his eyes focussed on the view beyond his window. “Where is Fayaz?”

  “He is in England, sir. You recall the trade negotiations?”

  “Of course,” he dragged a hand through his hair. “Double the efforts. She is somewhere within the palace.” A smile tugged at his lips despite his concern. “If she doesn’t have her little map with her then she is possibly lost in a library or underneath a piano.”

  “Yes, of course.” The servant bowed and disappeared, his goal clear.

  But Evie would not be found. Having stood with the sun, and turned back to the palace, she’d realised how far she’d wandered. At least a mile, and the terrain was uneven and the sun high and hot. Somewhere near the edge of the orchard, her gaze trained on the eastern wing, her mind focussed on her brother, she’d lost her footing and stumbled.

  Trying to walk was agony. At best, she could limp, and limp slowly. The sun scorched her pale flesh and she wished, again and again, that she hadn’t been so foolish. Thoughts of Malakhi’s criticism powered her forward, but a small part of her almost relished his angry response. Anger, surely, was better than the cold indifference they’d approached one another with since the wedding.

  Where were all the servants? She made a groan of complaint and sat down again. Her ankle was now about twice the width of her leg. It looked as though it had swallowed a balloon and gradually inflated it. She rested it, and sat for as long as she could handle the heat, and then stood again.

  She had no choice but to persevere. If she sat and waited to be rescued, she’d likely be found by that damned eagle first. With a grunt, she moved forward, dragging her sore leg and limping heavily on the other.

  It took almost an hour to reach the courtyard. She gripped the trunk of one of the trees with immense gratitude and then pulled past it.

  The relief of the palace corridor wrapped around her like water on a hot day. She knew it would take forever to climb the stairs to her room, and though she hated to be a nuisance, she flagged down a passing maid with an apologetic smile.

  She looked as though she’d seen a ghost and began to make hurried statements into the little communication device she wore at his wrist.

  Evie grimaced, imagining that she must, surely, look like death warmed up.

  “I require assistance,” she said above her, remembering belatedly that she was, in fact, the Queen, and that she shouldn’t have to wait for her to finish whatever else she was doing.

  She nodded jerkily but only seconds later, a flurry of servants appeared, and behind them, his traditional robe billowing in his wake, was her husband. Even at this distance, she could see that his eyes were flecked with anger and his features set in a mask of abject disapproval.

  She blamed her weakened ankle, but of course it was the sight of him that did it. Her knees buckled and she had to press hard against the wall to stop from falling to the floor. He moved towards her with such a dark intensity that she could do nothing but stare. The servants parted like an ocean, watching silently as he stood right in front of her.

  “Where have you been?” The question hid a swirling tide of feeling; they both knew it.

  Evie, mortified at the scene she’d created, dropped her head forward.

  With a sound of exasperation, Malakhi spoke in his native tongue, addressing the domestics. “Leave us.”

  They did, instantly, almost grateful for the opportunity to escape the tension that was thickening the air.

  “Well, Evelyn?” He hissed, when they were alone in the vast corridor. “My entire staff has spent the morning searching for you. And here you are, looking like the streets have spat your out for breakfast. So? What is it?”

  She grimaced at his description, but she knew it to be true. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.

  “Sorry?” His anger increased. He spun away from her, stalking down the hallway. “Sorry?” He whirled around to face her again, but didn’t close the distance. “Come with me. This isn’t a suitable venue for what I want to say.”

  Her foot was throbbing. Pounding. Pride kept her silent and Malakhi misunderstood. He presumed her stationary position was a result of reticence and doubled back, scooping her in his arms.

  “Put me down,” she said in shock. “People will see you.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” he snarled.

  To her intense relief, he turned into the first doorway that appeared and deposited her unceremoniously on the tiled floor. Evie yelped as her ankle was forced to bear her weight.

  He drew his eyes together, his expression showing anger, impatience and frustration. “What? What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she lied, looking around for a chair. There was one a little way across the room.

  He drew a hand through his hair. “Where were you?”

  “I went for a walk,” she returned stoically. When he turned away and strode to the large window she limped quickly to the chair, seating herself in it before he could notice the weakness in her posture.

  “A walk? In the middle of the night? Without alerting any staff? Without telling me?”

  “It was early in the morning, not the middle of the night. And you weren’t there to tell,” she pointed out tartly, immediately regretting the words for the care they showed.

  “So? You have an army of servants at your disposal. I cannot be on hand every minute of the day to counsel you to common sense.”

  “I don’t need you to do that,” she responded indignantly.

  “Evidently you do.”

  Their eyes were locked in a fierce battle of the wills. Evie felt her heart churning and breaking anew but she had no words to offer that could quench the torrent of what they were feeling.

  An invisible thread burst from one to the other and neither looked away at first. Finally, though, Malakhi made a sound from deep in his throat and came to stand just in front of her. When he spoke, it was with a soul that was deeply and irreparably tortured. The words seemed to be dragged from deep in his being.

  “I cannot lose you too.” He closed his eyes as though he’d revealed so much more of himself than he wished.

  “What are you talking about?” She snapped the question, certain she’d misunderstood. “I’m not yours to lose, remember? I’m my own person.”

  He swallowed; his Adam’s Apple bobbed visibly and then he pierced her with the force of his gaze. “But my life is contingent on yours.” The words were coated with heavy, pulsing emotions. “I can’t lose you.”

  Evie shook her head. Pain was spreading from her ankle through her leg, making her shiver. “What are you saying?”

  “For three hours I have not known your whereabouts. I have imagined the worst. I have imagined, perhaps, that you were also dead, like David and Sabra. And I faced the realisation that without you, my life would mean nothing.”

  A frisson of dangerous hope flickered beneath her skin.

  “I went for a walk,” she said carefully, keeping her eye
s averted to avoid exposing all of the wishes that burned inside of her.

  “I imagined someone finding your body. I imagined being told the news as I was when they died.” He crouched before her, putting his hands on her lap. “Please do not disappear again.”

  Evie felt a sob bubbling inside her. She swallowed it. “You’re the one who disappeared,” she said firmly, her voice surprisingly cold for the fluctuating emotions that were making breathing difficult.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Is it not what you wished?”

  “What? For you to go and spend your nights with Lord only knows who?”

  He lifted to his knees, so that their eyes were level. “Is this what you think? That I have been in someone else’s bed?”

  “No,” she said calmly. “I thought you were in the palace, in one of your many beds. But that you weren’t alone.”

  “Evie,” he groaned, breathing out slowly. “Why? Why would you think this?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said stoically. “This isn’t a marriage of love, remember? What you do is your business.”

  He recoiled and then shook his head. “When I believed harm had befallen you, do you know what I kept thinking?”

  “That you wished you’d never met me?” She said softly, her head angled away from him.

  “That I had never told you how I feel. That perhaps you had died, and you had never known the truth of my heart.” He cupped her cheeks with splayed fingers, holding her right before him. “I know you don’t want my love. That you believe it will complicate our arrangement. But I have loved you, Evie, since you decided to tempt Khadir with your delectable body.”

  When she went to say something he pressed a finger to her lips and continued: “I lied to you so that you would marry me. Not just because I didn’t want to lose Kalem, but because losing you would have ruined me. To have had you in my life and in my bed, and face the rest of my life without you – how could I do it?”

  Evie was shivering all over now, her whole body in a state of painful shock. “I don’t believe you.”