by Leslie North
She shrugged, not wanting to start another long discussion at this point. They were both tired and travel-worn and would most likely only say or do something foolish. “I told them I’m here for the baby and that I was doing my best one day at a time.”
Not a lie. Not the whole truth either.
“Right.” They reached the end of a wide hall. Huge oil paintings, portraits of men and women whom Isabella assumed were Feraz’s ancestors, lined the walls. He flung open a set of white and gold double doors that led into yet another sumptuous foyer, this one smaller and done in dark woods and Chinese ceramics. She followed him inside the circular space. On each side, opposite one another were two doors. Feraz pointed to the one on the left. “That is your suite. This one on the right is mine. Shall we meet out here again in say, half an hour? I will walk you back to the formal dining room for lunch. It’s been some time since you lived here in the palace and the hallways can be confusing. The servants will bring your bag in shortly.”
Isabella nodded then opened the door to her private rooms, waiting until she heard Feraz’s door close behind him before letting out a small squeak. This suite of rooms was bigger than her entire apartment in Queens. As she walked around, inspecting the sitting area and the bedroom and the bathroom with both a dual-head walk-in shower and a Jacuzzi bathtub big enough for five people, she couldn’t stop gaping. Why in the world would Roxanne walk away from all this? More to the point, what in the hell had her sister been searching for that all of this amazingness hadn’t been enough?
Isabella kicked off her shoes and used the facilities, then slumped down on the edge of her bed, unsure what to do next. She couldn’t change until the servant brought her bag, so she checked out the huge walk-in closet instead. It was still filled with her sister’s clothes. Isabella walked inside and buried her face in the soft silk of a dress, inhaling deeply Roxanne’s spicy perfume. Unexpected tears stung her eyes and she stepped back, swiping her hand across the back of her damp cheeks. She still missed her sister every day, missed talking to her and laughing with her, even if she didn’t always approve of Roxanne’s choices.
“I’ll make this work, sis,” she whispered up at the ceiling. “I promise.”
As if in response, the baby kicked again, and Isabella placed her hand on her stomach, smiling. “We’ll make this work, won’t we little guy?”
A knock sounded at the door and Isabella made her way out of the closet in time to see the woman who’d brought her the water place her bag on the dresser. The servant bowed slightly to Isabella then left again without a word.
She walked over and pulled out the paltry items she’d brought from home, a clean pair of maternity jeans, a few more clean T-shirts, a pair of sandals, underwear, socks, a baggy tent-like sundress that should still fit through the end of her pregnancy.
None of it compared to the high-fashion, designer duds that filled her sister’s closet.
Once more, despair overwhelmed Isabella and she sniffled. She felt like the lamb who’d wandered into the lions’ den, totally unprepared for the battle ahead. Not only was she a first-time mother, she was also not the woman she claimed to be. She was here in the home of her sister’s husband, pretending to be said sister, and ill-equipped for the charade. Yes, Roxanne had sat her down right after the IVF had taken and quizzed her on all things Nazrani. She’d tutored her in all the things that Roxanne said and did and Isabella had done the same for her sister. They’d thought the ruse would be short-term at best. Neither expected tragedy to strike and Isabella had never thought she’d be stuck living as her sister for the rest of her life. She liked being plain old Isabella, nerd and nice person. She didn’t want to be jet-setting, party-girl Roxanne.
Grumbling, she put her meager belongings away and was contemplating whether or not she had time to try out that gorgeous bathtub when another knock sounded on the door. Before she could ask who was there, Feraz walked in, looking dapper as always in fresh shirt and trousers. He’d left off the tie now and had the first few buttons of his shirt undone to reveal the strong lines of his tanned throat. She felt the crazy urge to nuzzle the pulse point at the base of his neck to taste the salt from his skin.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked, his dark gaze flicking over her.
“Sorry. I got busy exploring and didn’t have time to change.” Her stomach growled loudly as she slipped on her shoes once more.
“No worries. You look beautiful as you are.” He waggled his fingers toward her. “Come, let’s eat and then I need to get back to work. I’ll walk you to the dining room.”
7
The next day, Feraz was up early and ready to work. He spent the morning reviewing all the paperwork that he hadn’t gotten done the day before then met with his brothers before lunch to discuss plans for a new resort to be built near the island’s western shores. It was intended to draw in more international clients and boost Djeva’s status as a luxury destination around the world.
Before they’d concluded their talks, however, a knock sounded on Feraz’s office door.
“Yes,” he called, and his secretary peeked his head around the door.
“Very sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but today’s papers have arrived, and you asked to see them right away.” The older man, mid-fifties with graying hair, bowed slightly, not meeting Feraz’s eyes. Abdul had worked for Feraz since he’d taken over the reins of the country and had worked for their father before that. It took a lot to shake the secretary’s rock-solid, efficient façade, but from the way he was avoiding everyone’s gaze and the slight paleness of his expression, whatever was in those papers was not good.
“Thank you, Abdul. Please bring the papers in,” Feraz said, leaning back in his seat. Had to be those damned paparazzi who’d been hovering near the gates yesterday when they’d arrived. Roxanne was used to being splashed all over the front pages, even enjoyed it, he suspected. But Feraz did not like the attention, and only cultivated it when necessary for his political agenda. Just one more way he and his wife were unsuited. Except Roxanne had seemed anything but pleased by all the photographers and reporters jostling for her picture yesterday. She’d seemed almost shy, even. Maybe he could put that down to her pregnancy as well, but maybe not.
His thoughts swerved to his wife again. He’d done his best to not think of her this morning because he didn’t need the distraction, but now she rose to the forefront of his mind. Not that she’d ever really gotten that far away. She’d missed the family dinner last night, claiming a headache and fatigue and had dined in her rooms instead. This morning, he’d been up before dawn and hadn’t wanted to disturb her, so they’d not talked since the previous day at lunch.
Abdul hurried in with a stack of newspapers from around the world and Feraz picked up the top one, a tabloid from England. The headline read Randy Roxanne Returns Home. His stomach knotted and a muscle near his clenched jaw ticked. He tossed that one aside and looked at the next—Wild Bride Submits to Her Desert Sheikh At Last. Feraz swallowed hard as his brothers picked up on the source of his distress and snorted.
“Honestly, brother,” Raheem said, chuckling. “What did you expect? She’s finally getting her due for running around outside your marriage, I say.’
“What goes around comes around,” Rehaj agreed.
“Enough!” Feraz pushed to his feet, scattering the papers around his desk. He wasn’t given to bouts of rage, but once his temper got the better of him, look out. His brothers shut up and stared at him wide-eyed, their expressions shocked.
“I meant no offense—” Raheem started, but Feraz cut him off.
“I know exactly what you meant, brother.” He stalked over to the windows and stared out into the gardens where his wife was doing yoga with his sisters. What the hell was happening to him? Last week, he would have agreed with Raheem and Rehaj, would have laughed along with them. But now, the thought of his wife being made the butt of rude jokes ignited a storm of righteous anger inside him. He wanted to track down the scumbag
reporters who’d written such trash about the mother of his child and slam his fist into their faces. He wanted to burn every copy of those papers in existence before his wife saw them. He wanted to protect her against any insult, any foe.
He took a deep breath and forced his tense muscles to relax. The harm was done now and frankly, the press had printed far worse things about his recalcitrant wife in the past. But what they needed to do moving forward was give Roxanne and their marriage a facelift. Create a new, wholesome media persona for themselves as a couple before the birth of his son. How exactly that would take place, Feraz had no idea. Perhaps he should consult with Jess. She had good instincts for PR. Maybe she would have some ideas on implementing a new strategy to change his wife’s reputation from Randy Roxanne to devoted wife and mother.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Feraz said at last, clearing his throat as he turned back to face his brothers. “Rehaj, please contact the American developers and tell them we are a go on the resort project. Raheem, could you please oversee the environmental impacts to make sure our natural resources are protected during the building phase?”
“Of course.” Raheem rose, along with Rehaj and all three men started toward the door. “How are plans for the official state dinner coming?”
“No idea.” Feraz held the door for his brothers then followed them out of his office and down the hall, letting Abdul know he was breaking for lunch. “I was just going to head out to the gardens to discuss things with Jess and the others while we eat. Care to join us?”
“Can’t,” Rehaj said, pulling out his phone. “There’s another cabinet vote this afternoon and I need to meet with a few of the advisors before then. I’ll see you later.”
Feraz turned to Raheem. “What about you?”
“Sorry, brother. I’m due back at the wildlife refuge. We have a lioness who’s ready to give birth and I don’t want to miss it. Speaking of babies, when is your wife’s next appointment with the doctor here?”
“Tomorrow.” Feraz glanced out the windows toward the garden again. “I hope I did the right thing by bringing Roxanne here.”
“What other choice did you have?”
“None, I don’t think.” Feraz sighed. “I just want her to be happy and for the baby to be healthy and for us to live together as a normal couple from now on.”
“Have you told her that?” Raheem asked.
“We haven’t talked much since our return. I’m hoping perhaps after my lunch with Jess that I can speak to Roxy and figure some of this out.” He watched his wife move gracefully through her poses despite her awkward proportions. Her belly seemed much bigger than five months, but when he’d asked Dr. Phillips about it back in Manhattan, she’d said that each mother carried the baby weight differently and that with this being Roxanne’s first pregnancy she was carrying hers all in front. As Feraz watched her from across the courtyard, he had to agree. Roxanne had turned to face away from him and her backside in those yoga pants looked just as firm and well-curved as usual. A tingle of awareness shot through him and headed straight for his cock. Feraz cleared his throat and adjusted his suit jacket to hide his unexpected arousal. “Right. Well, good luck with your lion birth, brother.”
“Good luck with your conversations,” Raheem said, that hint of amusement back in his tone. “We’ll have lunch later in the week.”
Feraz waved as his brother walked away, then headed outside to the gardens where the ladies were finishing up their exercise.
Jess placed one hand on her hip as he walked up, using the other to shield her eyes from the sun. “Is it lunch time already? I need to take a quick shower and change first.”
“Go ahead, Feraz said. “I’ll meet you in the dining room in an hour?”
“Great. Thanks.” She picked up her mat and said her goodbyes to Roxanne before heading off with the other sisters.
His wife picked up her towel to wipe her face and Feraz couldn’t seem to stop staring at her flushed cheeks and the tiny bead of sweat that ran down her neck to the valley between her breasts. She’d worn a black tank top to match her yoga pants, nothing overtly revealing or tight, yet he didn’t think he’d ever seen his wife look sexier.
She chugged down half a bottle of water, then smiled up at him, her eyes narrowed. “How are you today?”
“Good. Great.” Feraz tingled with anticipation around her, which was a pleasant change for a worldly, experienced man such as himself. “How was your yoga?”
“Nice. The stretching helps me with my sore back and gets the circulation going in my feet again, which helps.”
Feraz half-listened to her as she spoke, concentrating more on his wife’s full, pink lips than her words. He didn’t know about circulation to the feet, but right now, he definitely had some increased blood flow to other parts of his body.
Then images of those lurid newspaper articles rushed back to his mind and his need was mixed with no small portion of protectiveness. He forced his mind back to the task at hand. “I was hoping if you had time later today, that we might talk about things, between us, the future.”
She picked up her yoga mat, then nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”
* * *
Two hours later, Isabella sat in the sitting area of her suite, doing her best not to fidget as she waited for Feraz’s knock on her door. She’d had lunch in her rooms again, showered, changed, then paced the floor to try and clear her head. She’d thought the yoga might do more than stretch her muscles. She’d hoped it would help dispel the fizzing stress inside her since they’d landed in Djeva, but no such luck.
Feraz had said he wanted to talk, and that was good. She needed answers. Answers about what he saw for their future, what his plans were for after the baby was born, why he’d kissed her on the plane…
Sure, husbands and wives kissed all the time. But Roxanne and Feraz were estranged. He hadn’t seen his wife in at least six months and from what Roxanne had told Isabella there’d been no love lost between them anyway. She’d thought this was a safe bet coming here to the island with him. No fuss, no muss, no risk of any messy emotional entanglements.
Then boom. The kiss that rocked her universe.
Up until now, she’d been so busy with getting situated in the palace, meeting all his family and all the servants, becoming acquainted with a new culture and new customs, that she honestly hadn’t spent much time thinking about it, but now, alone here in the quiet, her mind ran through that kiss on endless loop. The feel of Feraz’s muscular body pressed to hers, the taste of him on her lips, the scent of his cologne, all of it created a tsunami of want inside her that threatened to draw her under if she wasn’t careful.
And in Isabella’s situation she couldn’t afford to be anything but careful.
She exhaled slowly and pushed to the edge of the sofa to get up when a brief knock sounded, followed by Feraz just walking in unannounced. She reminded herself that he thought she was Roxanne, his wife. He wouldn’t ask permission to enter his spouse’s rooms under normal circumstances. And while this wasn’t exactly normal, she didn’t want to cause any more friction between them than was necessary. She needed Feraz on her side if she wanted this to work.
“Hey,” she said, fumbling awkwardly to her feet, grunting slightly as her side pulled a bit. She’d been nervous about switching caregivers mid-pregnancy, but Dr. Phillips had highly recommended her colleague here in Djeva and reassured Isabella that all would be fine. It was too late now to worry, and she would actually be glad for a recheck the next day. The baby had been even more active than usual, almost as if there were more than one in there, and even her maternity clothes were getting tight at this point. Her eating hadn’t changed. In fact, she’d actually missed some meals due to all the chaos of traveling, so she couldn’t have gained that much weight. Maybe it was her swelling getting worse.
“Don’t get up on my account,” Feraz said, rushing to her side. Ever the gentleman. Isabella had always liked that about him. Roxanne use
d to make fun of his formal ways, calling them stuffy and old-fashioned, but Isabella found them charming. He helped her back onto the sofa, then took a seat in the armchair across from her. “How are you feeling? Did you have lunch?”
“I’m fine.” She shifted slightly to relive pressure off her aching hip and forced a smile. “And I had lunch here, in my suite. Gave me a chance to catch up on my emails and stuff.”
“Good. Tomorrow we’ll have lunch together, before your doctor’s appointment, if that pleases you?”
“Yes.” She smiled again, genuine this time. “That sounds lovely. Could we go out? I’d love to see more of the city.”
“Of course.” He sat back, beaming with pride, his teeth white and even against his tanned skin when he grinned. Isabella knew from her reading how much work he’d put into restoring his country economically and he deserved to be proud of his achievements. He was a true leader, a man to be reckoned with, a sheikh. From beneath her lashes, Isabella couldn’t help studying his lithe graceful form in that fine tailored suit he wore. The way the material clung to his muscles and trim torso, his long legs stretched out before him, those hands. What she wouldn’t give to feel his hands on her again, stroking her, holding her, making her feel the same pleasure she’d felt in his arms aboard the plane.
She put an abrupt stop to that line of thinking.
Her presence here was a total charade, a lie put in motion by her dead sister and her mother to get what they needed. Isabella’s wants and needs didn’t factor into this at all. The sooner she remembered that, the better.
Silence stretched taut between them and she suppressed the urge to fidget again beneath his dark, watchful stare. Finally, she asked, “So, what did you want to talk about?”
He sat forward, drawing the material of his jacket tight across his broad shoulders. “What are your plans for after the baby is born? I’ve told you what I desire, but what do you want?”