The Torn Prince

by Zee Monodee

  The hint of flowery candy-sweet scent tickled his nostrils again this close to her, and he inhaled it in deep, taking his fill. Still, as he stood there taking her in, he reckoned he’d had his drink, even if it had been just a sip. His excuse to remain here had run out.

  Taking a deep breath to fortify his resolve, he plunged in. “Do you want me to leave now?”

  His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for her answer. She slowly turned towards him, the stemless glass in her hand twirling the wine absently in its depths. Then a soft smile graced her lips.

  “No. Stay with me.”

  His breath came out in a rush—he hadn’t realized he had been holding it in. Gently, he drew closer to her and swept her hair to the side to drop a soft kiss on the bared collarbone that seemed to stand out a bit more prominently than before.

  Thinking about the hell she’d been through made a pang hit his heart. Her husband’s many infidelities must’ve wreaked havoc on her.

  He should’ve asked her to run away with him that very night. It would’ve saved her from all this undue hurt.

  “Stay with me,” she muttered again, right before he claimed her lips and kissed her with all the passion she stirred in him.

  When he pulled away, everything inside him was still swirling around. He pressed his forehead to hers, clasped her jaw in his palms. What would it hurt now to tell her how he felt? Nothing. He should do it.

  “I’ve wanted to stay with you ever since the very first evening, Rio. You captured my heart, and I fell in love with you right then in that room.”

  “Switz …”

  He was about to open his mouth to tell her his real name when he saw the tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “Hey,” he soothed. “What’s wrong?”

  Her lower lip trembled when she looked up at him with watery eyes.

  “I wish—” she started,

  “What?” he asked softly, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

  “I wish … you’d taken me away then.” Then she looked down and started sobbing so hard, her whole body shook.

  “Rio,” he murmured, cradling her in his arms.

  A quick glance around the room showed him a three-seater sofa in the far corner. Gently, he ambled her there and tried to make her sit. But she was crying so hard, all he could do was pull her to him and settle her in his lap as he sat down.

  She cried in silence for a long time, then the words started to flow. He thought he imagined a nightmare at first, but as his horror deepened with everything she said, his own tears unleashed.

  Gary calling her Millie had been a twist on the Indian word imli, which meant tamarind. He would tease her thus for her dark skin. And while this might be construed as harmless ribbing, the infidelities had been just the half of it. The visible half. Because, when he was alone with her, Gary Bicknell loved nothing more than to use his filthy mouth to demean her more, and then this had escalated to him using his dick—

  Zediah couldn’t even go there. Rio … what that man had done to her … The bastard had thought her consent was a given since she was his wife. Bullshit!

  And then something happened amid all this darkness. Rio, pressing her soft lips to the dip of his throat from where she lay in his arms. Her kisses then trailed down to his nipples, his abs. At the sudden stop when she reached the junction of his thighs, he knew what it meant. Her husband had so vilely taken this privilege from her. Zediah would never ask her to do it. Not until she wanted it.

  “Babe,” he coaxed as he pulled her up gently and brushed the hair from her face. “No. Not like this.”

  A pleading expression hung in her tearful eyes and in her parted lips. “Don’t deny me. Don’t deny me yourself.”

  “Never,” he said before claiming her mouth. “But let’s do this right.”

  She nodded softly and let him divest her of the robe, his hands reverently skimming all over her silky-smooth skin.

  Zediah kissed her once more. She should be made to feel whole, worthy, like the beautiful goddess she was indeed. With his hands on her waist, he urged her to her knees, making her straddle him. When she broke free and stared into his eyes, he bit his lower lip. She would be the death of him.

  “Take me,” he said. “All of me.”

  She did, sinking onto him, guiding him inside her warm femininity, wrecking him in pieces with the soulful manner she took her pleasure from him in the act.

  A moan tore from her mouth when she climaxed, and he cradled her to him as she fell, spent, against him, not bothering with his own fulfilment when it came.

  Something told him she wouldn’t be able to move from here, so he made her wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and he carried them back to bed.

  Watching her sleeping so peacefully against the cream-coloured sheets, he knew what he had to do. She had his heart; she was his future. He would ask her to come to LA with him, and if she said no, then he’d stay here with her. Damned, be his royal family if they couldn’t accept that.

  He should leave for Bagumi. The sooner, the better, then he’d just as quickly be able to come back to her.

  Just as well, she didn’t know he was a prince. He had a feeling he would be coming back to London a mere common man … and it was perfectly okay by him.

  As long as he had her.

  ***

  Present Day

  “But why did you tell Dad you were leaving for LA?” Isha asked on the other end of the line.

  He didn’t know why. He’d asked himself the same question so many times in the past year and a half. Would everything have been different? Would his father not have suffered from a heart attack after Zediah dropped the bombshell that he was leaving Bagumi? If he’d told them he was doing it for love, there might have been a chance.

  Then with everything else, the guilt he’d faced. The recrimination from the rest of the family who saw him as the cause of the king’s life-threatening episode had shaken the crown and still bore repercussions today. He’d thought it best to forget about Rio, and she also forget about him.

  It had never crossed his mind their second time had been unprotected and could have resulted in a pregnancy. They’d lost so much time, and he might never have known he had a son.

  He sighed. “You see, it’s all my fault. Don’t blame her.”

  “For sure, I won’t. You behaved like such an arse, Zed. Not to mention barging in there asking for your rights!”

  He huffed. Just a few moments ago, she had been all gung-ho about his rights in the deal. Yet, he knew he should take responsibility for this mess he had created.

  “You’re gonna have to say sorry, brother. Biiiig time!”

  This, he knew. Maybe she could tell him how, though? She was a woman, and she’d know how Rio must’ve felt when he’d all but bumbled his way through, thinking he was so high and mighty in her office today.

  “A little help here?” he asked.

  She huffed. “Okay, so here’s what you’re going to do first …”

  Chapter Five

  Tuesday turned out to be one of those days. By noon, Rio was pinching the bridge of her nose and praying for when she’d next be able to down another two tablets of paracetamol. She rarely had such headaches, probably kept at bay thanks to her morning meditation routine.

  But peace and mindfulness had flown out the window since Switz’s reappearance. So, she’d had to fall on the pills. She still had another three hours to wait, blast it, as she’d taken a dose just an hour ago. It felt like an eternity away!

  And where the hell was her assistant? Martha seemed to have melted into the woodwork lately. Rio was hardly able to get the woman in her sights to request a coffee or anything else. What was the matter? Martha had always been able to read her mind before, it seemed. Of course, in her hour of need, everyone would desert her!

  Just stop.

  Turning into a Bollywood or Zee TV soap opera drama queen would help no one. Tempted as she might be to lie
back on the whole ‘woe is me’ bed, it was a bed she had made for herself, after all. No one to blame but her.

  A knock came at the door of her office, and she called for whoever it was to enter.

  “I come bearing treats.”

  A brown paper bag dangled in the air before the person holding it made himself visible. She smiled in reply to Humphrey’s wide grin, then breathed in deep when he reached her side and dropped a light kiss on her cheek. It appeared he didn’t want to rush things between them—maybe it was how they did it in his world, which, surprisingly, wouldn’t be much different from her own traditional one. If Indian mothers had their way, the first kiss between a couple would happen on their wedding night.

  Thinking such thoughts caused a shiver to wrack through her. She hadn’t been with a man ever since the night Nour was conceived. Not only hadn’t she wanted to, what with being pregnant and then having a baby to look after, but no one had stirred her heart, much less her hormones, in all this time.

  Still the case. Switz didn’t count! She bit her lip. Was she doing Humphrey wrong, going into a relationship with him when she had, at best, tepid feelings for him?

  But he didn’t seem to mind, did he? He, too, wanted a marriage of convenience that would flow like a tranquil river for the rest of their lives.

  Rio was done with trouble, with upheavals, with roller-coasters. Was it too much to ask to be granted some peace?

  “Earth to Rio.”

  She blinked out of her spell to look up into his face. With a soft shake of her head, she smiled. “Sorry. Got lots on my mind.”

  “These can help.”

  He shook the paper bag in front of her, and she caught whiffs of sugar and a hint of vanilla. Her suspicions were confirmed when he opened it, and her stomach chose right then to give a loud growl. The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing. Guess it would be a good thing to eat something. The pain meds she was taking would surely give her an ulcer if she kept up with her unintentional fast.

  Propping herself on the edge of her desk, she reached for the paper bag and delved a hand in to retrieve a thin ring of piped dough smothered in powdered sugar. Baked, not fried—the only kind of doughnuts she could eat ever since getting pregnant.

  And Humphrey knew it. He’d been there for much of the past year, a friend to her. A rock, despite waiting quietly in the shadows and not pushing her for more—for anything—at any point.

  How had she lucked out in finding such a man, much less nabbing him as her own?

  She could not let him down … and she wouldn’t.

  So she reached up with her left hand and softly clasped his cheek. She should have kissed him, but something inside her knew he was the kind of man who didn’t need things to be rushed, who valued consideration more than effusive displays. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back, his kind smile again, and something in her heart constricted. He was a good man.

  “Eat up,” he said. “I bet you didn’t have any breakfast.”

  She frowned a little at this but threw his comment off with a laugh. “Why would you say that?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Getting close to Christmas, Rio? Remember last year?”

  She groaned and rolled her eyes. He knew her too well. She did, indeed, seem to get caught up in a spiral as the holiday fervour gripped everyone around and even turned the kids into hyperactive bouncy balls of energy and passion. She quickly forgot to eat something substantial when things got busy—a morning smoothie didn’t count.

  So she forced herself to slow down and savour every bite of those little cakes. There would be some sugar high later and the subsequent crash, but she’d deal with it in due time. Right now, the carbs were a godsend.

  Humphrey settled into the visitor’s chair, content to let her eat. One more thing she liked about him—he didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with empty words. Not like Gary, who had needed to hear himself talk all the time.

  As the thought crossed her mind, she stifled the frown trying to seize her features. Why was she thinking of the arsehole now? Gary Bicknell had been good riddance from her life, never more so after Switz Bagumi had so mindfully brought her back to life when he had made love to her. When he had given her reins in their lovemaking—

  And she couldn’t be thinking of that! Not now. Not when she was almost engaged to another man. When Switz himself—Zediah—had stepped back into her world to upturn the fragile semblance of peace, she had managed to weave for herself.

  Humphrey got to his feet and placed a hand on her shoulder, which made her jerk softly as her gaze focused on his face.

  “You okay?” he asked, concern heavy in his tone. His eyebrows almost met over the bridge of his nose.

  Switz—Zediah—might be back, but this should have no bearing on her world. True, he was Nour’s father, and that wouldn’t change, nor would she try to shift this reality, as unpleasant as it now felt to her. But her future was with Humphrey. Some things were better left unsaid.

  She shook her head and gave him a wan smile. “Terrible headache this morning.”

  “Paracetamol?”

  “Just took a thousand milligrams an hour ago. Doesn’t seem to be doing its job.”

  He stayed silent for a few seconds. “Maybe coffee would help?”

  She nodded. “If I could find Martha. She seems to have disappeared today.”

  “Let me go get you some.”

  She gave him a grateful smile, and her hands flew to her temples once he was out of the room. This headache would be the death of her.

  The landline rang, and she reached for it with another scowl. Why hadn’t Martha fielded this call? This sure hadn’t been patched through.

  Still, she answered, and a huge sigh escaped her as soon as she heard the dejected greeting from Mila, one of the teachers.

  “Huge pileup near Chalk Farm, Rio. I’m stuck, and there’s no parking space where I can leave the car and hop it on foot to you.”

  She groaned upon hearing this. “Your class starts in ten minutes.”

  “I know! And I’ll get there ASAP, but could you please step in until I get there? Might take me about an hour, hopefully, less.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. A glance at the day’s schedule made her stomach bottom out. Mila was scheduled to teach the kids nuevo tango today.

  “Cheers. I owe you one.”

  And she wouldn’t let the woman forget! Cutting the call, she heaved another sigh and trudged around the desk to open the bottom drawer.

  “Here,” Humphrey said as he entered the office. “Coffee.”

  “Bless you,” she muttered, battling with a recalcitrant buckle.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Changing shoes. Mila is caught in traffic, and I have to step in for her class which starts shortly.”

  Thank goodness she kept a pair of dance shoes in the office. A relic of her teaching days, but it would still do. As long as the heel didn’t break down on her during a routine. But she’d bought a pair which had cost a fortune at the time; it should last a while still.

  Next, she reached for the travel cup. She downed a long swig of coffee, welcoming the caffeine that gave her a boost and seemed to sharpen her focus while easing some of the vice holding her forehead captive in its grip.

  Getting up and letting herself find a steady stand on the three-inch heels, allowing her weight to spread evenly across her footing, she inhaled deeply. She called forth the teacher who had once lived inside her. It felt like ages ago since she’d last summoned this persona which embodied loose limbs, nimble muscles, and a hefty dose of resilience and patience. Dealing with raucous teenagers and young adults would take their toll on a saint even.

  Stopping by Humphrey, she clasped his hand in hers. “Come on. Let’s tango.”

  He laughed. “I doubt it.”

  They made it to the floor in the adjoining part of the level, and the hoots and hollers started in earnest.

  “Miss Rio on da f
loor!” one of the youths cheered on.

  “Can it, Travis,” she replied good-naturedly.

  It wouldn’t do to give this veritable clown an avenue to take the mickey. As one of the longest-standing students in Tempo, he knew her from the first days at the NGO when she’d striven to teach them yoga to open their joints and loosen and strengthen their muscles. She’d then risen through the ranks to become their chief choreographer who had ended up putting together their performance for the foundation’s gala three years earlier.

  She’d done it to music produced by Switz Bagumi. Yes, with Dilmas, but the original score had been all him, a mix of rhythmic beats that had taken them through Africa and Brazil via Argentina. Her choreography had merged elements of tribal dances with capoeira moves and a sensual tango canyengue.

  Thrown off-kilter as the thought of Switz assailed her again, she, however, shook herself and urged the students, about a dozen today, to sit on the polished wood of the floor in a semi-circle. At the same time, she explained the fundamentals of tango before segueing into what they were supposed to cover in the lesson.

  “So you’re saying any music with a good beat can be tango-ed on?” a girl named Clara asked.

  “Nuevo tango, yes. You can impress the moves and the complicity on any track. Some might fit better than others, but it is doable,” she concurred.

  Movement at the back of the room caught in the periphery of her eye, and absently, she raised her gaze. Hopefully, it would be Mila making it in.

  Breath got knocked out of her when she saw who now stood in the studio, the front door closing soundlessly behind him.

  Switz Bagumi, dressed once again in a tailored suit, the gunmetal grey of the delicate fabric bringing out the quicksilver gleam in his dark eyes even more and making his dark skin gleam softly like the hard outer chocolate on a Mars bar. Another treat she’d had to discard because of how it made her think of this man.

  Switz. So gorgeous. And so deceptive … He brought nothing but disaster.

  Yet, she couldn’t tear her gaze off him, still finding it hard to reconcile his face with the features that looked so much sharper and even ruthless. He no longer sported the long twisted locs to soften his countenance and bring a playful element to the confidence he still carried like a weapon.