Hashim sealed the container in an envelope. “I’ll have results within the hour. Have a little something to eat, but not too much, just something bland, and some water to drink.”
“Sheikha, do you feel okay?” Tariq asked, and because she was determined to stand, he helped her up, keeping an arm protectively around her waist as he led her to the sofa.
“Don’t be over-dramatic, Tariq. I passed out, that’s all.”
“Have you ever fainted before?”
Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “No, but there’s a first time for everything.”
The blood test results were returned in half the estimated time. And with them, came news that would change Rebecca’s life forever.
“You are pregnant, your highness,” Hashim announced with a smile. “From the levels of hormones indicated in the test, you must be around six or seven weeks. We won’t know until we do a scan. Congratulations, your highnesses,” he added cheerily. He left shortly afterwards, telling Rebecca that he would arrange for the best obstetrician in Assan to call on her the following morning.
She nodded uncomprehendingly. As the door shut behind the friendly doctor, she turned her attention to her husband. Staring straight ahead, his face unreadable, he was quite clearly as shell-shocked by the news as she was.
Who could blame him? Only hours earlier he’d thought he’d be able to get rid of his wife. Now, they were stuck with each other. For surely there was no way he’d let her go now. Not with his child in her belly. Why wasn’t she more upset? She wanted to escape marriage to a man who was incapable of fidelity, who obviously wanted to be rid of her, and yet, confusingly, her heart was bursting with happiness over the lifeform tucked safely inside of her.
“You weren’t going to tell me.” His cold-voiced statement broke through her thoughts.
She knitted her brows together. “I only just found out myself.”
“Is that even possible?” He demanded, standing and turning away from her, his spine held rigid.
“You heard the doctor,” she hissed, her anger stoked by his reaction. “I’m only six or seven weeks along. Too early to have noticed any difference. You know as well as I do that we gave this baby every opportunity to eventuate.”
The allusion to their active sex life would have caused her to blush if she were so inclined. Instead, it just made her heart stutter with pained remembrance.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He pushed on with his line of questioning. “Did you think my security agents wouldn’t have informed me when you started to show?”
“I didn’t think any such thing. There was no plan to deceive you, Tariq. If you think I’m the kind of woman who would keep such a thing secret, then you’re even more mistaken about my character than I realised.”
He expelled a harsh sigh.
“Tariq,” her pale blue eyes clashed with his accusing stare. “You’ve spent the last two months believing I married you to get my hands on your money. Do you admit now that your assumption was wrong?”
He inclined his head. “In that instance, yes, I have already admitted I was mistaken.” He looked away. “But Rebecca, you have vomited, you’ve been exhausted, did you truly not suspect...”
“I have a very limited point of reference but I would have thought the exhaustion could have been chalked up to our sleepless nights,” she said wryly. “As for vomiting, eating that goat’s cheek would have made me queasy at any time in my life. Other than that, I truly don’t feel any different.” She splayed her fingers protectively across her stomach.
“I guess those security guys did you a favour,” she mused a moment later, when he hadn’t spoken.
“How so?”
“If it weren’t for them, I’d be halfway to England by now.”
“With my baby.”
“With your baby,” she whispered.
“I don’t know if you are telling me the truth, Sheikha. The only thing I know for sure right now is that you’re not leaving my sight for the next seven months. What you choose to do beyond that is up to you.”
“Are you actually saying you would expect me to leave my child?” She stared at him, her mouth open with shock.
“If you can’t bear to be married to me, as you claimed only a little while ago, then yes, you will leave me, but you sure as hell won’t be taking our child out of Assan.” He was implacable, his voice firm and unwavering.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For the second time in her life, Rebecca felt her fingers itch with the desire to slap this man.
“If you think I would ever leave this baby, then you’ve got another thing coming, Tariq.” She pulled herself up to her full height, tilting her chin defiantly. “You’re stuck with me, your highness. I’m sorry if that ruins any plans you and Monique might have had.”
He clenched his jaw, visibly trying to quell his emotions.
“You should go to bed, Rebecca. It is late, and you must get used to thinking of the baby you are carrying.”
She let out a groan of annoyance. “You really are the most insufferably arrogant bastard.”
“Guilty as charged,” he nodded. “We can speak tomorrow about our plans for the future. For now, sleep.”
What a joke, she thought, hitting the pillow several hours later. She’d counted the mosaic pieces in the detailed little lamp beside the bed, and mentally unpacked her suitcases, but sleep continued to elude her. Despite the bone weary exhaustion that she’d felt only a little while earlier, she was now alert, and filled with adrenalin.
The most pressing matter to consider was this baby. Her relationship with Tariq was far, far from perfect. But she’d fallen in love with him, so their baby had been conceived with love. On her part, at least. As for Tariq, Rebecca groaned as she thought of him now, and the beautiful Monique. How had she missed the fact that they were seeing one another? She was blindly trusting and always had been, and she had wanted a friend. Were they signs she should have picked up on?
They’d never discussed the issue of fidelity. Before marrying him, Rebecca had done her research, though. Polygamy was outlawed in Assan, and harems and mistresses were all a thing of the ancient past. Or so she had believed. But, like any culture the world over, marriage certificates were not a guarantee of faithfulness.
But the very thing she loved most about Tariq was his character. He was strong, indomitable, and honourable. The idea that he’d been slipping away from her to sleep with Monique... if she didn’t know it to be true then she’d almost think it was impossible.
But it was more than possible. It was the truth. Cold, hard fact. Apparently everyone but her had known about it.
She pushed back the crisp white sheets and moved across the room, padding quietly despite the fact she was alone for miles. Out of her window, she could see Assan’s capital city. A blanket of low-rise buildings, with some lights twinkling prettily beneath the pre-dawn sky.
Her mother – her real mother – had always said that a cup of tea solved the world’s problems, and she’d grown to believe that was an incontrovertible truth. Wrapping a robe around her nightie-clad self, she pulled open her door and made her way through the palace. At the first security agent she saw, she made enquiries for the kitchen and was guided there in person.
“Thank you,” she said dismissively, impressing herself with how accustomed she’d become to giving orders.
The kitchen was more like what belonged in a five star hotel. It was enormous and modern, with every expensive piece of equipment imaginable on the stainless steel bench top. A gigantic cold room and several stoves left her gaping.
“Looking for something?” Tariq’s voice, unmistakable, made her freeze. Guiltily, she spun towards him, and at the sight of him in just a pair of cotton boxer shorts, her breathing became laboured. A million things were on her mind but leaning indolently against the door frame, so gloriously strong and desirable, meant that only one thought was left in her brain. Desire.
Damning her stupid body for wanting him despite t
he complicated situation they found themselves in, she looked away, trying to swallow down the wave of hunger.
“I couldn’t sleep,” her voice was strained.
A frown creased his face. “You must.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that easy, your highness. I can’t just shut my eyes and drift off. My mind was racing.”
He nodded slowly. “I was wrong to upset you as I did. Please forgive me.”
“For what, Tariq?” She sighed. “For cheating on me with my aid? Or for suggesting I would actually try to hide our baby from you?”
“We will not discuss it now.” He walked past her into the kitchen and retrieved a cup of something pale from the fridge. “Drink this.”
“What is it?” She eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s coconut milk and nutmeg. A guaranteed cure for sleeplessness.”
“If you say so.” She took a sip of it. “It’s delicious.” She drank more then passed the empty cup back to him.
“I came here for a tea.”
“That’s caffeinated.”
“I know. It just reminds me of my mum.”
His expression was neutral, carefully so. “Rebecca, I’m sorry that you are pregnant. Not that we will have a baby, of course, but that you must stay when it is obviously the last thing you want.”
She looked away from him, hurt making it hard to speak.
“Whatever you might think, I don’t for a minute regret this baby.” Still keeping her eyes averted, she said, bleakly, “Good night, Tariq,” and left the kitchen without a backwards glance.
The next week passed in a blur. The pregnancy was confirmed by an obstetrician, an American woman named Doctor Gainor, and incredibly, life seemed to have returned to some sort of normality for Rebecca. By tacit agreement, she began working more closely on the education reform initiative, and being based in the city meant she could meet with various officials and advisors more frequently than before. Her team of assistants had been brought down, with the noticeable absence of Monique. Instead of soothing her, the glaring omission of the woman she’d come to regard as a friend and ally filled her with sadness. Her absence was an ever-present reminder of Tariq’s infidelity, and if it weren’t for the pressing policy work, she would have given into full blown despair.
As it was, she found that if she pushed herself from early morning until dinner time, she was so exhausted that she collapsed into bed each night, without a moment to think of whose bed her husband was in.
The city of Fattid was beautiful. Her first impression had been correct. Ancient Souk markets were cluttered at the base of modern high rises, and the people were an eclectic mix of Assanians and foreigners, all happily jostling through life, side by side.
The smell of the city is what she noticed most keenly. Spices and sunshine, she liked to think, gave the air a balmy fragrance that made her soul soar. The palace was set apart from the hustle and bustle of Fattid by an enormous security fence. But even if it weren’t, the general respect towards the ruling house seemed so complete, that Rebecca never felt unsafe.
She leaned across her desk, a pretty ornate piece of carved timber with a dark blue marble inlaid top. The surface was cool beneath her bared arms. She flicked the gauzy curtain back, sighing as her eyes scanned the brightly topped tents that were set up just beyond the palace’s walls. A makeshift market with Bedouin traders was bustling and she suddenly longed to explore it herself.
“Fatima,” she said, not looking away from the window. “I’d like to go to that market. Can you arrange a security escort for me, please?”
“Of course, ma’am,” the small blonde assistant said smilingly, disappearing from the room to carry out her Sheikha’s wishes.
Rebecca returned her attention to the document she’d been trying to come to grips with all morning. A study in school attendance levels by region, compared to socio-economic averages, was important, but her brain was foggy from days and days of digesting so many other similar research studies.
Her turquoise highlighter paused above a page that she’d already read several times, she forced herself to concentrate. A short while later, the door opened and with gratitude, she resealed her pen and stood. She wasn’t making any headway; the best thing for it was to stretch the legs and clear her head.
“I heard you’re planning a trip to the markets.” A statement. Not a question.
Tariq.
Rebecca turned to face him, her fingers fidgeting nervously by her side. She’d barely seen him all week. As always, just the sight of him made her heart race.
“I presume you’ve come to stop me?” She responded waspishly, lifting her chin defiantly.
“Incorrect. I’ve come to accompany you.”
“You?” She squeaked a little breathlessly.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
Her eyes flew to Fatima, who was staring beyond them to the cloudless blue sky revealed by the large windows. Rebecca inclined her head. “If you aren’t too busy...”
His amber eyes regarded her mockingly. “I’m not. Are you ready now?”
She nodded. Clearing her head was not going to be possible with this man by her side. Wishing she could develop an immunity to her husband’s sex-appeal, she walked across to join him. Up close, her nostrils were tickled by the unique fragrance he wore. She’d heard that scent was unmatched when it came to stimulating memory, and his was burned into her mind.
“These markets pop up from time to time. They move from city to city.” He explained as they moved through the palace corridors.
Walking beside him, his warmth emanated through his dark charcoal suit and made her legs feel a little unsteady.
They travelled the rest of the way in silence. A detail of two security officers joined them as they emerged from the palace and crossed the manicured courtyard leading to the outer walls.
As soon as the gates were opened, they emerged into the scurry of people trawling the tents for treasure. Rebecca froze, her feet planted to the spot, as she took in the incredible charm of the displays. Some stalls sold fabrics; bolt after bolt of brightly coloured cloth displayed artfully from gold hooks swamped her eyes with visual sensation. Spice stalls jostled for business side by side, each with pyramids of colourful sand-like towers of each individual seasoning. The aroma was incredible. Pets were for sale too, or perhaps they were livestock, she wondered, listening to the cacophony of chickens and sheep, side by side. Jewellery, too, beautiful and obviously hand-made.
Tariq’s fingers wrapped around hers, squeezing to get her attention. “It is busy today,” he said by way of explanation. “Do not let go of my hand. Although I do not generally worry about security, I don’t want to be separated from you.”
She would have said something pithy if it weren’t for the happiness the market had kindled inside of her. So she simply nodded.
“Come.” He urged her gently down one of the alleyways, pausing when she did, to look at books or knickknacks or local delicacies. Whilst the crowds seemed to part for them, showing that they were recognised, there was a deferential respect that prevented people from approaching them.
“Your people love you,” she observed after they’d walked the market from one end to the other.
“Our people,” he corrected quietly, observing her with a sidelong glance.
“Mmm,” her response was noncommittal, and to remind him of their war footing, she asked with a saccharine sweetness, “How is Monique?”
His eyes flared with an emotion she didn’t understand. “I haven’t seen her.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? A week of abstinence?” Then, with a dramatic pause. “Although, I suppose that a week without Monique doesn’t necessarily mean a week of abstinence.”
He squeezed her hand, his eyes were loaded with disapproval. “This is not the time nor the place for this conversation, Rebecca.”
“It’s not a conversation I want to have, anyway.” She answered bleakly, turning away and
trying to focus on a row of traditional carpets that were for sale in a stall across the way. But the pleasure of the markets had evaporated with their spat. “I’d like to return to the palace.”
“Fine by me,” he answered, leading her away from the markets and back towards the palace. Once inside the gates, he turned to one of his security guards and fired off something indecipherable in rapid Arabic. He did not let go of her hand, and when she went to walk ahead, he pulled her back to his side. “Wait, Sheikha.”
With a wave, he dismissed the security officers and led her through the courtyard garden to an enormous sycamore tree with a wrought iron seat beneath.
“What do you want?” She asked huffily.
“We are long overdue for this conversation.”
“What conversation is that?” She intoned hollowly, crossing her arms across her chest to still the shivering response that was overtaking her.
“The one where I correct your erroneous assumption about my relationship with Monique.”
Her eyes flew to his face, and for the briefest of moments, she felt hope bubble inside of her, but it burst just as swiftly. “I don’t want to hear lies, Tariq. The truth is hurtful enough, but attempting to play me for an even greater fool – I will not tolerate it.”
He sighed. “Rebecca, I am not a man who plays with the truth.” He placed his forefinger beneath her chin and lifted it with the lightest touch, wanting to communicate the truth with his words and his eyes. “Monique and I dated. But it is in the past. When you accepted the contract of betrothal, I considered myself a married man and I ended it.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “And yet you kept her within convenient reach, working for me? That makes no sense.”
“I regret not telling you this sooner. I will admit to a certain... resentment at having my life planned out for me by my parents. Initially, I showed less interest than I could have in the details of your staff.” With a self-deriding grimace, “I presume my mother thought Monique would be an excellent choice of individual to teach you how to look after me, given that she and I had been – close – for several years.”
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