by Lynne Graham
‘Yes, that set is still one of my favourite pieces,’ she muttered sleepily.
* * *
Ella wakened still wrapped in Zarif’s arms. ‘What time is it?’ she whispered.
‘Almost six. I have to get up soon but you can lie as long as you like,’ he breathed lazily, sliding against her, the hard thrust of his intentions obvious to her even in her drowsy state.
Heat burned low in her body and she couldn’t believe it after the night they had shared. ‘I need a shower,’ she told him uncomfortably.
‘No, you smell of me and a long adventurous night of loving and you wouldn’t believe how hot I find that, habibti,’ he husked, long fingers rubbing at her engorged nipples and sliding lower to tease the most sensitive spot on her entire body. ‘You make me insatiable.’
But if that was his flaw, it was one she shared with him, her head falling back against a broad shoulder as he lifted her thigh and eased into her in a long, slow, gentle glide that left her bereft of breath and protest. Her body stretched to hold him and a piercing sweetness gripped her racing heart at how natural and right it felt to lie with him like that. With subtle erotic movements, he stroked her inner depths with fluid insistence and the pleasure rose and rose and rose until she couldn’t contain it any more and it spilled over into bliss as she gasped her excitement into the pillow beneath her.
When she wakened the second time she was alone and hot and she got straight out of bed to stand directly below the whirling fan on the ceiling and flinch at the tenderness that motion wrenched from the long night of loving, as he had called it. Only it wasn’t love, she reminded herself, it was just sex. Incredibly good and satisfying sex, she was willing to admit, but love had nothing to do with it. She showered and breakfasted and dressed, determined to go out and at least see the city rather than pass the day in aimless pursuits. Zarif had a purpose in life and she needed one as well, even if it was only the role of acting tourist for a year, she reflected ruefully.
Hamid phoned while she was eating to offer her a tour of the palace. She played for time. ‘When will Zarif be back?’ she asked.
‘He will be in meetings with the council most of the day,’ his chief aide informed her.
A germ of an idea occurred to Ella. ‘And those are like parliament...held in public? I’d like to attend today,’ she told Hamid cheerfully. ‘Perhaps someone could translate the proceedings for me.’
There was a lengthy period of quiet at the other end of the phone and then Hamid said that he would call her back. Frowning while she wondered if her every move had to be run past Zarif first, Ella ate another piece of croissant.
Zarif was having coffee with his personal staff at the new palace when Hamid phoned him to tell him what his wife wanted to do.
‘No woman has crossed the threshold of the council chamber before,’ his chief aide pointed out.
‘I hope you didn’t tell her that,’ Zarif retorted, thinking of how he had proudly declared that Vashir was not backward. ‘There is no actual rule against female attendance.’
‘But it still hasn’t happened.’
Lean, darkly handsome features furiously tense, Zarif took his phone into a private room. ‘I don’t care if you grab women in off the street to attend,’ he admitted tautly. ‘My wife will attend but I don’t want her to be the only female present. And I very definitely do not want her to realise that, until now, only men have come to observe how the ruling council works. She will think we are very old-fashioned and that our women are not politically aware.’
Hamid thought of his wife, who was a radical with equally radical friends, and knew exactly who to call. He came off the phone, stunned by his royal employer’s assent to breaking a tradition that had held firm for at least two hundred years.
‘This queen is going to make a difference!’ his wife carolled jubilantly. ‘Just like the King’s British grandmother—she’s going to be an innovator and drag this wretched country out of the ark.’
Gloriously unaware of the hopes she was raising with her simple request, Ella selected a dark-coloured outfit with a jacket from her new wardrobe, reasoning that such a visit was formal. Hanya came hurrying down into the palace foyer to join her as she awaited the limo drawing up outside.
‘I had no idea you had such plans. My cousin, Azel, would never have dreamt of entering the council chambers,’ she exclaimed, giving Hamid a look of reproof as if Ella’s wilfulness and unwomanly interest were to be laid at his door. ‘Azel said it was the men’s place.’
Ella gave the excitable brunette a tranquil smile. ‘The machinery of government is not wholly the province of men where I come from. I’m simply interested to see how the council works.’
The new palace was a massive domed building surrounded by a park composed of trees, fountains and walkways and it was extremely busy. Ella only became aware of the half-dozen palace guards accompanying her when they climbed out of the cars that had travelled in front and behind the limo. Feeling uncomfortably conspicuous and colouring from the intensity of the attention she was attracting, she was even more embarrassed when two of the soldiers stationed at the front entrance insisted on leading the way and clearing every other unfortunate out of her path. The buzz of comment around her grew louder and many phones were used to take photos.
‘Why’s there such a fuss about me coming here?’ she asked Hamid.
‘I have no idea, Your Majesty,’ Hamid lied dutifully for his royal boss. ‘But you must remember that apart from the official photo taken at the airport and published in the evening paper very few people have actually seen you and naturally they are curious.’
It was a relief for Ella to leave the busy halls and corridors to ascend the stairs into the main council chamber. A gaggle of chattering women sat to the far left and she naturally moved in that direction as the men present craned their necks and then suddenly shot up and began to bow. An absolute hush fell and seconds later Ella was silenced as the dozen or so old men seated round the large table in the centre of the room also rose to their feet and ceremoniously bowed in her direction. Her colour high, she was trying to spot Zarif but couldn’t see him.
Thirty seconds later, he arrived through another door and the whole bowing and scraping thing happened again for his benefit. Ella would have followed suit had not Hamid rested an apologetic hand on her arm as he stood and told her, ‘You are the only person in the room who need not rise. It was a courtesy extended by the King’s grandfather to his British wife and will also be extended to you. Before the King’s grandfather married, Vashiri subjects used to kneel and touch their forehead to the floor in the royal presence, so bowing was also a big step forward...’
Taken aback by the information of how servile the response to royalty had once been, Ella nodded while abstractedly watching Zarif and smiling. He was the only man at the table wearing a business suit and he wore it to perfection. A man so old and wizened he bore a definite resemblance to an Egyptian mummy began to speak about a boundary dispute with a neighbouring country and recommended a heavily armed squad of Vashiri troops be sent to the area. Hamid translated fluently. Zarif spoke well and suggested that diplomacy be employed before the army became involved.
‘The sheikhs will not argue with the King when it comes to military matters because he was once a soldier and the army would follow him into hell, so there’s no point in them interfering,’ Hamid assured her. ‘But only in that field does your husband get a free pass.’
And so it transpired as Ella watched and listened to the discussion of various questions on the agenda, ranging from how best to deal with drunken tourists in Qurzah to the troublesome matter of the royal museum in the new palace, which was still not officially open after months of preparation. Zarif’s patience was astounding. There were several petty objections from the council, several of whom appeared to be of the opinion that allowing any private info
rmation about the royal family into the public domain even in the educational guise of a museum was unwise. Ella guiltily swallowed back a yawn because she was finding it very tiring to concentrate on the flow of constant translation in her ear.
‘Your husband takes a break in a private room for lunch,’ Hamid informed her. ‘He has asked that you join him there.’
Ella nodded and quietly stood up. Hamid asked if he might introduce his wife, Soraya, to her and signalled with his hand towards the group of women on the other side of the room. An elegant brunette with upswept hair and a bright smile moved forward and introductions were performed. Soraya was on the PR committee for the royal museum and, while frustrated by the fact that the project was moving so slowly, she was very much a working woman, plainspoken and direct in her manner, unlike Hanya. They chatted for a couple of minutes before Hamid intervened and swept Ella off.
‘This is a surprise, habibti,’ Zarif murmured with a slow-burning smile when Ella entered the room.
It had been so long since Zarif looked at her like that that Ella was momentarily thrown back in time. The forbidding aspect of his lean, strong features was washed away by the warmth and welcome of that smile and it flipped her heart inside her chest and shortened her breathing.
‘You suit dark blue,’ he remarked while the meal was being brought to the table, his attention ranging over the contrast of the honey-coloured skeins of her hair against the backdrop of the comparatively dismal colour. He had once thought blue eyes were dull and ordinary but the brilliant blueness of Ella’s gaze against her smooth pale skin never failed to attract his attention.
‘You can thank your mother’s wonderful taste,’ Ella said, and paused before she decided to just come right out and ask what politeness had urged her to suppress since the wedding. ‘Why didn’t your mother return to Vashir for our wedding or even come over for the UK one?’
Zarif’s mouth took on a sardonic twist. ‘Mariyah has lived abroad since my birth and has never played a role in my life.’
Ella was taken aback by that admission. ‘Why not?’
‘What are the two most important facts you need to know about the al-Rastani dynasty? One, we have always been a family with very few male heirs and, two, it has always been the ruler’s right to choose his successor,’ Zarif explained wryly. ‘My grandfather, Karim, had one son, Halim, and my mother was his only other child. When my uncle Halim was still quite young, his father decided that he was not suited to being a ruler—Halim does not perform well in a crisis.’
‘That must have been a devastating blow for Halim,’ Ella remarked with sympathy.
‘My uncle very much prefers his books and considered the life he led while Regent during my minority unpleasant and stressful,’ Zarif advanced ruefully.
‘You were telling me about your mother before I interrupted you.’
‘Halim’s wife gave birth only to daughters and, consequently, the lack of a male heir to the throne became a crisis. That was when my grandfather asked my mother to marry and provide the remedy.’
Ella pulled a face as she casually picked at her lamb and rice casserole with a fork. ‘And you were the remedy,’ she guessed.
‘But not an easy remedy from my unfortunate mother’s point of view,’ Zarif declared grimly. ‘She married an obnoxious playboy with a proven history of fathering male sons purely because she knew that all he was interested in was her money and that he would never seek to interfere with her life or mine.’
‘You’re referring to Gaetano Ravelli, who’s Nik and Cristo’s father as well?’ Ella prompted. ‘Was he obnoxious?’
‘Without a doubt, he was a very selfish, dissolute man. I actually never met him. He had no interest in his children.’
‘I know that Belle and Cristo are raising his children by Belle’s mother, who was his mistress for years,’ Ella admitted. ‘But I really know nothing else about him. Did your mother hold your genes against you? Are you estranged because you remind her of Gaetano?’
‘We’re not estranged, but we are basically still strangers,’ Zarif admitted, his dark golden eyes unusually sombre. ‘She handed me over at birth to her parents to raise and when my grandparents died, Halim took over. Mariyah knew that I would never fully be her child because my grandfather planned to make me his heir and would insist on overseeing every aspect of my upbringing. Karim ensured that I attended a military school, went straight into the army and that I married Azel. After my mother divorced Gaetano she asked my grandfather’s permission to live abroad. She has lived in Italy ever since and the only visits she has ever made back to Vashir were to honour my grandparents’ passing and to see Halim, shortly after his terminal illness was diagnosed.’
‘Have you ever actually tried to connect with her?’ Ella prompted.
‘Not in the sense that you mean. Although when I approached Mariyah for help with your wardrobe it was because I knew she would enjoy the challenge...and perhaps I wanted to make her feel a part of my life, even if it was only in a small way.’ Zarif shrugged broad shoulders and sighed in frustration, spelling out the reality that he hated to talk about emotional things. ‘But as people, what would my mother and I have in common now? Although my mother was born royal she hated the restrictions and sacrifices that being royal forced on her. She refuses to even use her title. She forged a successful career as a fashion stylist in the film world and enjoys the freedom of her anonymity.’
‘I still think it’s sad that you have no contact.’ Ella was thinking unhappily of him growing up without a mother while wondering if his grandparents had been loving replacements or more concerned about guaranteeing that they raised the most suitable possible royal heir to the throne. Military school, the army and a very youthful marriage to a chosen bride, the cousin he had grown up with. Such a rigidly conformist background did not suggest to her that Zarif had been allowed much licence to develop as an individual in his own right. From an early age, he had been denied the freedom to choose that which other people took for granted. She believed that the presence of a protective mother might have ensured he had more fair and liberal choices.
‘My life is what it is and my mother and I inhabit different worlds,’ Zarif retorted wryly.
Her cell phone pinged with a message and she pulled it out because her mother had been seeing her heart specialist that morning and had promised to relay her latest test results. But the name that popped up on the screen was Jason’s and she put the phone back in her bag because she was in no hurry to read what her brother might have to say. Doubtless it would be another boastful text about wildly entertaining drunken parties or the ludicrously dangerous ski runs that he loved to do.
‘I’m afraid I have to get back to work again,’ Zarif revealed. ‘Are you staying on for the second session?’
‘No, I think I’ll go and do a bit of shopping this afternoon.’ Ella drained her glass of water and slowly stood. ‘So, you’re going back to deal with the old fossils, are you?’
Zarif’s brilliant dark gaze glittered with wicked appreciation. ‘I try to be a democrat.’ He reached for her hands and pulled her close, his thumbs massaging her fragile wrist bones. ‘I’m dining with you tonight.’
Her pink-tinted mouth pouted as she looked up at him. ‘To what do I owe the honour?’
‘You want an honest answer?’ As she nodded, Zarif laughed. ‘Your show of interest in government. Until today no woman had ever set foot in the council chamber and my uncle is so shocked by news of your interest that he suggested I am leaving you alone too much!’
Her eyes widened and then glimmered with matching amusement. ‘And you said Vashir wasn’t backward?’ she teased.
‘I lied. I wanted you to love it here as much as I do and I didn’t want to line up all the flaws for your edification at your very first viewing.’
His mouth settled down over hers and her lush lips cl
ung to his with a sudden fervour she could not restrain, hunger winging through her slender body in a wave she could not suppress. Zarif yanked his proud dark head back up, studying her with raw heat in his burning gaze. ‘Later,’ he husked sexily.
‘Hold on a minute!’ Ella exclaimed, digging into her bag with a tissue and stretching up on tiptoe to wipe the stain of pink from his wide, sensual mouth. ‘The King can’t be seen in public smeared with lipstick.’
Ella was still smiling without knowing what she was smiling about when she climbed into the limousine. She thrust the stained tissue back in her bag and then remembered Jason’s text. With a rueful look in her eyes, she dug out her phone to read her brother’s message.
RUNNING OUT OF MONEY. NEED A CASH INJECTION... 100,000 WOULD TIDE ME OVER.
Ella studied Jason’s demand with wide, discomfited eyes and her mouth tightened. Jason really did have no shame. She texted back in haste.
I WILL NOT ASK ZARIF FOR MONEY FOR YOU.
HE’D BETTER PAY UP IF HE DOESN’T WANT HIS MISTRESSES IN DUBAI REVEALED TO THE MEDIA.
Hollow with shock and horror, Ella sat transfixed, staring at the screen of her phone. They were driving through the city centre by the time she got a grip on her roiling emotions. She lifted the phone to communicate with Hamid, who was seated beside the driver. ‘I want to return to the old palace. I’m too tired to go shopping this afternoon,’ she announced.
Mistresses? In Dubai? Her tummy dropped to the soles of her feet and her facial bones were clenched so tightly that her face felt frozen. Was it true? Was Zarif entertaining multiple women in his bed, just as his ancestors had done in the days of the harem?