by Trish Morey
He didn’t wait for her to finish stumbling over her sentence. He let her go, lifting his hands from her and stalking away, raking one hand through his hair.
‘He won’t marry you,’ he said softly.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard right. ‘Pardon?’
‘He won’t marry you.’ This time louder so there was no mistaking his words.
‘You can’t know that,’ she accused, her voice amazingly steady while all the time her mind screamed,How do you know? How could he sound so sure, so certain? There was no way he could know something like that.
His eyes told her he did.
Warning bells sounded in her head. ‘What’s this all about?’ she asked, trying to connect the dots between Khaled’s crazy intention to marry her and Paolo’s deep-seated resentment. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but somehow there was a connection. There had to be. ‘Why me? Why did you pick on me to be your bride?’
He shrugged. ‘I saw a picture of you. I heard about your reputation. Everything I learned about you fascinated me. I had to meet you. And when I met you, in the salon, I knew you were the one for me.’
She surveyed him coolly. ‘That’s too unbelievable for words.’
‘Why? Don’t you believe in love at first sight? It happened to my father. Why shouldn’t the same thing happen to me?’
‘Because unlike your mother, I already have a boyfriend. I’m not looking for a husband.’
‘Paolo won’t marry you because he can’t.’
Something inside her snapped. She’d had enough. She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. She didn’t want any more of his mind games. She didn’t need them. Now that he’d let her go she had better things to do with her time—like pack her suitcase and get out of there.
‘I don’t have to listen to this. I don’t know what you think you know and I don’t really care. I’m leaving.’
She turned for the door and his words came after her as sharp as a dagger. ‘Didn’t you hear me? It’s not possible for him to marry you.’
‘I’m not listening,’ she said, shaking her head as she reached for the workshop door to slam behind her. ‘I don’t care.’
She gave the door one hell of a swing, thinking her energies could have been much better directed at connecting her fist with one particularly arrogant sheikh’s jaw, but there was no resounding slam, no satisfying conclusion. She turned, growling in frustration, only to see him right behind her, blocking the space the door should have filled.
‘Don’t you want to know why?’
She put her hands over her ears as she headed for her bedroom. ‘No. I don’t want to hear what you think you know. Don’t you understand? I just want to get out of here. I just want to get away from you!’
‘Then you should care,’ he said, nonchalantly tracing her steps. ‘Because it’s obvious that, for someone apparently in love with you, he hasn’t been totally honest.’
That got her attention! She swivelled around where she stood, buried in the walk-in wardrobe, her suitcase in hand, already in flight. Just her luck that when she finally got to enjoy a dressing room large enough to swing a suitcase, she would have been more than happy to hit a few walls, or one particular sheikh, just for effect.
‘Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.’ She flipped open the suitcase on the floor, started tearing clothes from hangers and flinging them in while the prick of tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. But there was no way she was giving in to them. No way. ‘What would you know about honesty? You’ve lied to me from day one.’
‘But I never pretended to be in love with you.’
Her frantic movements stilled, her hands midway to the next item, as the fury inside her reached meltdown. ‘You’re mad!’ she said, dragging the shirt free from its hanger at last. ‘You must be, to think that I would stay here to be your bride. To even talk about love in such circumstances is a joke. I don’t want you as a husband and I certainly don’t want your love.’
She collected up the few remaining items from the shelves and tossed them on top of everything else before pushing past him to get to her bathroom and gather up her toiletries. She jammed the zipper bag on top and then bundled the whole pile to somehow fit the suitcase’s confines.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Where do you think? I’m going home.’ She flipped out the case’s handle, set it right side up on its wheeled base and puffed out her chest defiantly. ‘And then I’m going to marry Paolo.’
She pushed past him, unsure of how exactly she was going to get to the airport and how long she’d have to wait when she got there for a flight, but determined to get out now anyway.
‘That’safter his divorce comes through, I take it.’
She kept walking with barely a hitch, her heeled sandals clicking on the cool tiled floor, suitcase rolling behind. ‘Well, if that’s your trump card,’ she said without raising her voice, knowing he was still close enough to hear every word, ‘you just blew it. I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong Paolo. My fiancé has never been married.’
‘Oh, he never shared that piece of information with you, then?’
‘On the contrary. He had nothing to share. Like I said, you’ve got the wrong Paolo.’
‘Paolo Eduardo Mancini? Married an English student, Helene Elizabeth Grainger, in Paris on March twenty-fifth twelve years ago. Funny that he’d never share that news with you, his lover, his fiancée.’
Okay, so what that he had Paolo’s name right? She bit down on her bottom lip and forced herself further along the hallway. No way was she going to show him he was rattling her. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.
Although it could explain why Paolo had been so cagey…
No!
She trusted Paolo. She had no reason at all to doubt him. Whereas she had no reason to trust Khaled. No reason at all.
‘You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid,’ she tossed over her shoulder with a wave of her free hand as she kept walking.
‘Then maybe you’d appreciate seeing the wedding video? Or perhaps the photographs. I have an extensive collection.’
Video? Photographs?This time her steps faltered as the air evaporated in her lungs.
‘Why should I believe you?’ She didn’t turn and her voice was barely more than a croak. Surely it couldn’t be true? And if it was, why hadn’t Paolo told her?
All this time!
All this time they’d been dating and seeing each other and not once, even just once, had he intimated that he was already married, that he already had a wife. Why the hell wouldn’t he have admitted to something like that?Dammit —he should have told her!
‘In the end it’s not about what you believe. It’s about the truth. Yourfiancé has already been married for twelve years.’
She squeezed her eyes shut as her head dipped to her chest. ‘Then I want to call him,’ she said before sucking air deep into her lungs and looking back at him over her shoulder. ‘Now!’
Five minutes later she was holding on to the receiver in Khaled’s office, clutching the phone with white-knuckled fingers, waiting while the phone rang in an apartment somewhere in New York. She couldn’t sit, nervous energy wouldn’t let her limbs relax.
She had to stand, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other as she waited for the call to be picked up halfway around the globe, all the while trying to ignore the arrogant Jebbai ruler who sprawled unconscionably in the well-worn leather armchair opposite. He obviously had no trouble relaxing and that only added to her fears. The one hope that he’d back down on his crazy claims at her insistence on phoning Paolo drizzled away. He must be so certain that what he was saying was true.
She turned her back on his smug demeanour and glanced at her watch. What time was it in New York now? Some time in the night—he had to be there—she had to discover the truth now—or she didn’t know what she’d do.
Eventually the phone was picked up and Paolo answered. ‘Yes?’ came his v
oice, thick with sleep and husky as if he’d tumbled straight out of bed to answer the phone. Something squeezed in her heart as she clamped her eyes shut, trying to staunch the flow of tears still so closely threatening. She knew that voice, had once rejoiced in it as he’d held her in his arms, had whispered to her how beautiful she was and that she was the most important person in the world to him.
But now it wasn’t love she felt, love to warm and sustain her and hold her true. Now it was icy panic clamping her inside, compressing her last frantic hopes.
‘Who is it?’ More alert now, she could tell.
‘Paolo,’ she whispered, her voice set to break.
‘Sapphy,bella . Is that you? What’s wrong? Has something happened?’
The once oft-used term of endearment sliced a cold path through her with ruthless efficiency. If what Khaled said was true, she’d never been his darling, his sweetheart. Someone had held that place long before her.
‘Sapphy? Are you still in Jebbai? What’s Khaled done?’ There was fear in his voice too, laced heavily with alarm. Was this just the normal concern of a person woken in the middle of the night to what could be devastating news, or did his reaction signal a deeper dread?
She swallowed back on a sob. ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she lied, feeling her whole world splitting apart as easily as fabric snipped at the edge and ripped in two. ‘Just tell me one thing…’ She hesitated, knowing that this moment was about to change her life, change all her perceptions about living and love, and teach her about betrayal. This moment would be the start of her new life, in whatever form that took.
‘Is it true—are you married? Do you have a wife?’
Silence met her questions, a damning silence that fractured whatever threads of hope remained intact. They were gone, shattered, smashed in his soundless affirmation of the truth.
‘It’s true, then,’ she said on a sniff. ‘You should have told me.’
‘Sapphy, listen to me. I couldn’t tell you—’
Even though his silence had already screamed the truth, his words cemented the facts with a cold, hard reality that shook her.
‘I have nothing more to say to you,’ she uttered with finality, her voice as chilled as her heart. ‘Goodbye, Paolo.’
‘Sapphy, listen to me—’
She dropped the receiver back onto the cradle. ‘Goodbye, Paolo,’ she whispered, shivering now, her arms hugged closely to her chest as the shock of deep sudden loss took hold.
Strong arms surrounded her and pulled her close. For a moment she wanted to struggle—what was this? The victorious barbarian staking his claim? But she sensed none of that with his warmth. Instead she felt compassion, even some kind of understanding, and she sagged gratefully into him, welcoming the solace and comfort he offered.
His strong heartbeat thumped loud in his chest, its rhythm steady and firm and as rock-solid as the man holding her.
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered against her hair. His lips brushed her scalp in the barest of kisses and the warmth from the contact radiated down through her as her breathing steadied, her heart rate calming to match his.
And it hit her then.
Her life hadn’t changed when she’d discovered the truth about Paolo. It had changed the moment Khaled had stepped inside the Milan salon. He’d been the catalyst, the trigger that had turned her life upside down.
When Khaled had kissed her that first time in the workroom, he’d forced her to face up to her ambivalence in her feelings for Paolo. She could never have betrayed someone she loved deeply by falling into the arms of another man. Now it had been Khaled again who’d proved her relationship had been a sham from the beginning.
Whatever his motives were for doing it she had no idea, but she certainly didn’t have to thank him for it.
It was time to regain control of her life.
She peeled herself away from his chest, aware of his reluctance to let her go and dipping her head so she could wipe away the traces of tears before he could see them.
‘I’m sorry you had to find out that way.’
‘Are you?’ she snapped. His gentle words did nothing to ease her pain and everything to cement her resolve. ‘It seemed to me you were only too happy to throw that knowledge in my face.’
‘It was time you knew the truth.’
‘Why? What does it have to do with you anyway? Did you think I would be so devastated by the news that I would happily fall in with your crazy plans to marry you? I’ve just rid myself of one lying man. Why the hell would I launch myself straight into the arms of another?’
His jaw looked as if he was grinding his teeth together. Then he whispered, low and menacingly, ‘Never put me in the same category as Paolo.’
‘Why the hell not? Why are you doing this? Paolo said you two had been involved in some feud years ago. I told him he was being crazy, that no one probably even cared any more. But you do, don’t you? You care so much it’s like a poison in your system. Tell me, what did he do? Why do you hate him so much?’
Anger set the planes of his face hard and cold. ‘You’re upset,’ he said, his voice revealing a barely controlled fury.
So he was mad, good for him. It wasnothing to how she was feeling.
‘Damned right, I’m upset,’ she said. ‘And I’ll stay upset until I get out of this place. You don’t have to become the barbarian. For the most part you appear to be a civilised man. You have no need to act like some petty despot. And if you have any respect for me at all, if you think anything of me, you have to respect my wishes. Let me go. I have to go.’
He looked down at her, the depths of his dark eyes swirling, his brow knotted, and her hopes lifted. Was he relenting in his mad desire to make her his wife? Had he realised he’d inflicted enough damage on her already?
‘I can’t let you go.’
Fury blasted through her. ‘Then I’ll go in spite of you. I’ll find some other way of getting to the airport and I’ll go anyway. Because I won’t stay here.’
She stormed her way to her suitcase propped up near the door and grabbed purposefully at the handle.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘I’m not staying here. I’m definitely not marrying you.’
‘So you keep saying, but that changes nothing. You cannot leave Jebbai now.’
‘You can’t keep me here. I want to go home.’
‘But not today,’ he said. ‘Not for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘I have to get away,’ she said, half-demanding, half-pleading.
‘You have no choice, as it turns out,’ he snapped, his voice cold and imperious again. ‘The airport is closed.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘YOU’RElying.’ Her voice seemed surprisingly level under the circumstances. ‘This is just some pathetic attempt to keep me here. But it won’t work. I’m leaving.’
‘Unfortunately it’s true. Insurgents from neighbouring Jamalbad have been stirring up trouble along the border. This is the second such infraction in a few weeks—the first happened while we wereen route from Milan. It seems someone thought that my absence then was an opportune time to stir up trouble.’
She thought back to the plane flight, his sudden disappearance, the urgent discussions going on around the communications equipment.
‘I remember,’ she said. ‘Yet in spite of that danger, you still brought me here.’
‘I would never have brought you here if I’d thought it was serious. My guards believed they’d dealt with the problem. It now appears they missed the ringleaders. They’ve still been out there, stirring up trouble. We’ve closed the airport as a precautionary measure.’
‘For an entire day?’
He shrugged. ‘It is best to be prudent—perhaps it will be closed for less.’
She looked ruefully down at the suitcase and let go of the handle. It was like letting go of a lifeline. He’d told her she would be safe here. Now she couldn’t get away even when she wanted to.
And how she wanted to.
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She wanted to be as far away from this desert ruler as possible. Her previous life had never seemed calm—the fashion industry was madness as well as maddening, but compared to the way her feelings and emotions were being tossed about now it was a cakewalk.
She didn’t want to stay near Khaled. If his scheming methods to get her here weren’t frightening enough, his quiet declaration that he didn’t have to force her to marry him and that she would come to him of her own accord scared her even more.
He was kidding himself! Not that she wanted to hang around to prove his theory wrong. But neither did she want to stay and be subjected to the pull of his fiery magnetism.