“I see,” she repeated. But she didn’t. How could he want to end it? How could he want her to go? Her heart was aching; her mind was reeling.
His expression showed no emotion. “It is for the best.”
Was it? How could it be, when it felt so wrong?
She made love to him that night without letting her mind think. She could not focus on the fact that soon she would leave, and never see him again. Instead, she busied herself with paying attention and remembering. Remembering every single tiny detail of their experience together.
“Here,” she said quietly, as dusk broke over the desert lands, and Radiz dressed to leave for the last time. She held the necklace to him, but he shook his head.
“It is yours, Miranda. And if you leave me your bank details, I will send you the amount we discussed.”
She knew it had been the terms of their deal, and that she had promised Steph she would obtain the money for her, but his promise left her feeling cheap and used. She had thought her heart was already broken, but it splintered further now.
He bent down, his eyes lancing hers with the force of his determination. “Goodbye, Miranda.”
She watched him go in a complete haze of shock. The whole time he was walking across the room, she expected him to pause. To turn back and say something. Anything that would explain why he’d so abruptly left her. The evening before had seemed perfect. Until she’d told him that she loved him..
Miranda closed her eyes, bitterly regretting having said anything so foolish. What had she expected? That he would return her love? That he would wrap her in his arms and promise her the world?
He’d got a single hint of how she felt and he’d dropped her like a hot potato. Yet still his hasty retreat didn’t make sense.
All morning, she kept expecting him to return. Hoping that he would change his mind. When a knock came on her bedroom door a little after lunch, she ran to it, a smile on her face.
But it was not Radiz. A man stood there whom she had never seen before.
“Good afternoon, madam,” he spoke in halting English. “I am here to convey you to the airport.” He handed her a bag of possessions – the handbag that had been taken from her a fortnight earlier.
She opened it and looked inside. Everything was there.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice an unrecognisable whisper.
Radiz did not appear. Her heart burned as she climbed the steps to his private jet. It was only when safely on board, and high in the sky, that she opened The Story of Priya for comfort, and saw that he had inscribed a message on the first page.
Try to stay out of trouble.
R
* * *
“You’re in a temper this morning, cousin,” Samir observed quietly, his dark eyes intent on Radiz. The Sheikh had spent the better part of the day pretending that Miranda was still in her suite of rooms. That he would see her that night, and everything would be as it always was.
He spent the day pretending that she wasn’t on her way to the airport, to be got rid of. Oh, she’d be transported in the utmost comfort, courtesy of one of his luxurious private jets. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d sent her away.
No conversation. No consideration. And with a minimum of courtesy.
It was fitting for their relationship to end as it had begun; with him calling the shots irrespective of her feelings.
He nodded curtly at Samir. “I do not tolerate fools at the best of times, and particularly less so today.”
“It was an oversight, Radiz. A simple mistake that anyone could make.”
The Sheikh compressed his lips, his eyes laced with angry derision. “Not me. Not you. It was a mistake borne of inattention. I was right to dismiss him.”
Samir would have laughed, if Radiz’s anger had been less apparent. “Mal has worked for you for eight years, and for your father before that. Surely a single mistake warranted a little more understanding.”
Radiz scowled, then flicked his pen across the desk. “Perhaps. Ask him to see me later today. I will discuss the matter with him.”
Samir nodded, but he did not stand. He was not willing to leave Radiz alone without understanding his inexplicably emotional mindset. “It isn’t like you to behave rashly.”
“Rashly?” He asked, then shook his head and held his hands up in silent acknowledgement. “You’re right.”
“Something’s happened?”
Radiz thought about denying it, but the desire to talk won out. He reclined in his chair, hoping he appeared relaxed and uncaring. “Miranda left today.”
Comprehension dawned, and yet it created even more confusion. “And you are upset? You wanted her to stay?”
“No,” he denied fiercely, his gut clenching at the very idea. The very possibility that he could be with her again. “It was stupid of me to get involved with her.”
Samir matched Radiz’s posture, pushing back in his own leather armchair and studying the Sheikh carefully. “She is beautiful.”
“So? What is beauty in the face of dishonour? She is a thief. She tried to steal from my family.”
“You seemed to get over that swiftly…” Samir pointed out with a small smile.
“I let her obvious assets distract me. It was an aberration. She’s gone now, and it’s for the best.”
Samir nodded, but he wasn’t certain that he agreed. “Surely she could have stayed longer, if you were still having… fun together.”
Radiz scowled. “I suspect she was imagining herself to be in love with me.”
At this, Samir laughed, but his laugh was like the sound of jagged fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard. Radiz straightened, and stared down his aquiline nose at his dear friend. “That is funny?”
“Yes, frankly,” Samir sobered, but his lips twitched at the corners. “For God’s sake, Rad, you’re one of the most powerful men in the world and she’s… a very attractive admittedly, nobody! How dare she think she has any right to fall in love with you? Do you think she hoped you might have a future together?”
A future with Miranda? His stomach rolled, reminding him of the time he’d gone abseiling with a military regiment in the ancient caves to the west. His carabineer had malfunctioned, and he’d free-fallen the last twelve feet. He’d landed like a cat on his feet, and survived unscathed, but that feeling of dropping from height had made his stomach flip, as it did now. A future with Miranda was impossible to contemplate.
“I don’t know. I think she was seeing things that weren’t there. Keeping her here was, in the end, completely against my code of morals.”
“But if she was happy?” Samir persisted, shrugging his slender shoulders. “What harm could come of that?”
What harm indeed? What danger was there in her loving him, while he worshipped only her body? He had never been in danger of loving her back, after all. Everything about their situation prevented that. So why could he not separate her feelings from the equation? He shook his head angrily and responded with a flat tone, “She changed the rules. We had a deal. It included sex. Nothing more. When she offered me love, I realised I no longer wanted her.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Six months later.
“He’s adorable,” Miranda smiled in awe, staring down at beautiful, almond shaped eyes in the face of a delightful, chubby three month old. Eyes that were identical to the eyes she loved. The eyes that had haunted her sleep. “I can’t believe how much he looks like… you.” She finished lamely, her cheeks flushing.
Steph grinned. “He’s a carbon copy of my brother, actually.” At the mention of Radiz, both Steph and Miranda quietened. Miranda suffered her pain in silence, but Steph was obviously saddened. “Will you be right with him?”
“Of course,” Miranda rolled her eyes, and cuddled baby Hakim to her chest. He smelled like vanilla and cherries. She kissed his fluffy little head and smiled. “You are going to have to take him out in public at some point, you know.”
Steph nodded, her face ta
ut. “I just never thought this through,” she whispered, her eyes enormous in her face.
“What did you not think through?”
Steph shrugged. “How hard it would be to keep this secret from my brother. Tom is sick of hiding out when this should be the happiest time of our life. The effort of never being seen with a baby is taxing. I have backed myself into a corner and I can’t see a way out.”
“You have to tell him, Steph.”
“No!” She responded angrily. “Don’t you see, Mirry? This baby is the heir to the throne of Fasiya. There is no way Radiz will let me raise him in London. Tom will be cut out of the picture. Until Rad has children of his own, Hakim is it.”
“Well, maybe that will happen sooner than you think.” Her heart, barely repaired from the pain inflicted by Radiz, began to cleave apart again. “Don’t you think?”
“My brother will not marry nor have children until he has to. He’s far more interested in a succession of beautiful mistresses than family life.”
Oh, her heart. Her wounded, aching heart. Miranda ran her fingers over Hakim’s little head and sucked in a deep, calming breath. “Well, I’m sure he won’t be so unreasonable.”
“With all due respect, you don’t know him.”
Flashes of memory seared through Miranda, almost crippling her with their intensity. Radiz’s hands on her body, his body moving in hers, his lips tasting every inch of her. She paled visibly and busied herself rearranging Hakim’s swaddle.
Thoughts of Radiz still had the power to turn her blood to lava. Six long months and still she worried she couldn’t function without him.
“But I know you. I know you won’t be happy living like this. What are you going to do? Never let Hakim leave your flat? Invent constant excuses for shirking your security detail? You are a princess, Steph. You’ve done an amazing job keeping this secret, but how the heck can you expect it to last? You said it yourself, Tom’s upset by all the lying.”
“I know, I know. That’s what I mean. I simply can’t see a way out.”
“Yes you can. You just don’t like it very much. But there’s only one answer. You have to tell your brother. You have to explain that you want to live here, with Tom, and hope that he understands.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“A bridge you can’t cross until it appears. Just… hope for the best. You might be pleasantly surprised.”
“Mmmm. I’ll think about it.” She squared her shoulders and reached for her coat. “I’ve got my phone. I should only be a couple of hours. Bottles are in the fridge. You know the nap routine.”
“I do indeed,” Miranda agreed, her voice over-happy for the baby. “Little Master Paper Pants and I will be just fine.”
“Great, thank you so much. I don’t remember the last time I had my hair done.”
“And yet it looks gorgeous, of course,” Miranda grinned.
“Oh! And Tom’s mum is going to stop by sometime today. She has a book or something that she wants me to read.” Miranda rolled her eyes and poked her tongue out. “Thanks, Mirry. You’re the best.”
“I’m not going to let up on you telling your brother the truth though. I’ve bought you time, but the problem isn’t going anywhere.”
Steph nodded and waved, but Miranda could tell Steph was already mentally in the hair salon.
She looked down at Hakim, with those soulful, knowing eyes and sighed. “You are like your uncle, dear boy. You’re probably going to be a lady killer too, in twenty years time.” She kissed his forehead and popped him on her hip. As she walked through the apartment, he made happy, babbling noises, his sturdy little body pleasantly weighty and energetic. “Shall we read a story?” She asked, reaching for one of the touch-and-feel books she’d given him the previous week.
Selling that ridiculous necklace Radiz had given her had at least enabled her to be a more full-time helper to Steph, without any financial worries. When she thought about what it had cost, her blood boiled. Had he really thought he could palm her off with expensive gifts? Given that she’d gone into the relationship demanding money, it made sense, but it still hurt.
Three renditions of the same book and Hakim’s eyes were drooping. She changed his nappy and was in the process of warming his bottle when a knock came at the door. “Oh, that must be your granny,” she remarked in the same baby voice. “Maybe granny will give you your bottle,” she said, scooping him out of his bouncer and cuddling him to her chest.
“You’re just in time,” she smiled warmly, puling the door wide and freezing, when Radiz stared back at her.
It would be difficult to hazard a guess as to who was more surprised. Radiz’s face blanched, his flecked eyes flew wide, as he stared at the woman he’d conveniently sent packing, with a baby on her hip. In his sister’s apartment. As for Miranda, she began to shake wildly, her whole body trembling like jelly on a tray. She hugged Hakim tight, and were it not for the baby, she would have fallen into a faint.
Neither spoke for a full minute. Miranda was mortified to realise that her first thought was one of gratitude that she’d come from brunch with her father and was therefore dressed in something a little prettier than her usual jeans and shirt. She was wearing a floaty dress, black with small white swallows hand painted over the fabric. Her hair was braided and coiled around her head like a crown. Ironic, really, when she was royally offensive to Radiz.
Her heart was racing, shock at having been caught out in such a position making a fine bead of sweat break out on her forehead.
“What is this?” He demanded, his voice strange, coming to her as if from a faraway place. She propped a shoulder against the doorframe, her eyes filling with stars. She held Hakim tighter, and mentally tried to draw on some of his chubby strength.
“Miranda, what the fuck is going on?’
She winced at his uncharacteristically foul language, and rearranged Hakim. Radiz’s eyes fell to the infant, and he startled. “Is this… is he… mine?”
Miranda’s insides clenched at the very idea. The notion of carrying Radiz’s baby, of having a piece of him to love and adore. “How could he be?” She asked quietly, her mouth dry. “I only left Fasiya six months ago.”
“You… you lied to me.” He was genuinely shocked. His face was pinched, his expression scathing and yet rich with disbelief. “You lied to me about Mastepha.”
Bile rose inside of her. She was about to be sick. She thought of Steph and panic bubbled in her veins. Poor Steph, who had wanted to hold onto this secret for a little longer, now had no option but to face the truth. Miranda nodded slowly, her blue eyes wide in her heart shaped faced.
“I cannot believe I actually let you get away with his. You are friends with her.” He narrowed his eyes. “You were in her apartment because she asked you to be. You were sent there to bring back the jewels. Because she needed money.” His eyes again dropped to the baby. “This is her child.”
Miranda’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. “I…” she closed her eyes, struggling to fathom the position she was in. “I think you should speak to her.”
“I came here to speak to her,” he said with quiet anger. It was so much worse than if he’d shouted. His rage was a contained force. And his message was clear. He was in London to see Steph. He’d had no intention of looking for Miranda. Strangely, the knowledge was reassuring. Their situation was in the past. Far, far in the past. It no longer mattered to him. All that mattered was Mastepha, Tom and baby Hakim. They were her friends and her duty was to them.
“She’s not here right now. If you leave your number, I’ll ask her to call you when she gets back.”
His eyes showed surprise for the briefest of seconds. “You’re actually attempting to dismiss me?”
A thousand pithy replies formed on Miranda’s tongue. She wanted to say something to him about how being dismissed hurt. But she didn’t. Because this wasn’t about them. “I’m certainly not inviting you into her home. And as for this,” she ran a hand over Hakim’s head, r
eassuring him, “it’s not my place to explain.”
“You’re kidding me,” he said angrily. “You’re trying to wash your hands of your part in this?”
“I’m not,” she denied, her voice calm now, despite the way her body was quivering. “But Steph is the one who owes you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything.”
The sound of the lift doors pinging open came from just behind them. Miranda looked past him, to see Tom’s mother bustling down the corridor. She’d evidently been to the markets, for she was weighed down with shopping bags sprouting leafy greens from the top. Under her arm was the proffered book. “Beating the Blues”, the title screamed, and it brought a small smile to Miranda’s lips. Mastepha was not suffering from Baby Blues. She was the happiest she’d ever been, excepting the fact that she was unable to contemplate returning to her home country.
“Oh, Mirry, I see you’ve been left holding the baby again.”
“Hello, Wanda,” Miranda replied, ignoring the passive aggressive remark. For whatever reason Tom’s mother had decided to be critical of Steph, Miranda wasn’t having a bar of it. “Steph’s just gone for some much deserved alone time. And you know I’m always happy to help with this beautiful little man.”
“Hello, Hakim,” Wanda leaned forward, her pale face creasing into a thousand happy lines as she brought her nose to Hakim’s and rubbed it in an Eskimo kiss greeting. “I think you’ve grown in the last two days.”
“Hakim?” Radiz looked as though he’d seen a ghost. His eyes dropped to the baby again. “She named him Hakim?”
Miranda nodded, hating that she felt sympathy for him. His surprise was understandable. His emotionalism natural.
Wanda lifted her eyes to Radiz, observing him with obvious fascination.
“Wanda, this is Mastepha’s brother, His Highness Sheikh Radiz Zamin of Fasiya.”
“The child’s grandmother?” He asked, his voice regal and dripping in ice.
“Yeah.” Wanda eyed him suspiciously. “I’m Tom’s mother.”
“The father.” His eyes narrowed as he turned back to Miranda. “You lied about all of it.”
At the Sheikh's Command: She Was His Prisoner First, His Lover Next. But Would She Be His Princess? Page 10