Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(19)
She leaned back against the cushions and swore she wouldn’t cry. For someone like her, a person who craved light and sound and activity, this silent cavern was torture. Just yesterday—had it really been only yesterday?—she’d been surrounded by people at Mrs. Lands’s party. And then she’d been in her office, with her beautiful store outside her door, listening to the sounds of people on the street and the low hum of her radio as it played the latest top-forty hits.
She hadn’t exactly been happy, not after the news from the clinic and Annie’s reaction, but she’d been far more content than she’d given herself credit for. Tears pushed against her eyes at the thought of all she’d left behind, but she didn’t let them fall.
Rashid al-Hassan was a tyrant. He’d swept into her life, swept her up against her will and deposited her here alone. And all because the stupid sperm bank had used the wrong sperm. She’d wanted to give her sister a precious gift, but she was here, a veritable prisoner to a rude, arrogant, sinfully attractive man who had all the warmth and friendliness of an iceberg.
He hadn’t let her call anyone until they were on his plane. She was still astounded at the opulence of the royal jet. It was one of the most amazing things she’d ever seen, with leather and gold and fine carpets. The bath had even been made of marble. Marble on a jet!
It had also been bigger than her bathroom in her apartment. There were uniformed flight attendants who performed their duties with bright smiles and soft words—and deep bows to their king. She could hardly forget that sight. Any time anyone on that plane had come close to Rashid al-Hassan, they’d dipped almost to the floor. He hadn’t even deigned to notice half the time.
It stunned her and unnerved her. She kept telling herself he was just a man, but there hadn’t been a single person on that plane who’d acted like he was. When she’d finally been allowed to phone Kelly and Chris—not Annie, goodness, no—she’d held the phone tightly in her hand and explained as best she could that she would be gone for the next week.
They’d taken the news of Rashid much better than she had. Kelly, always a hopeless romantic, had wanted to know if he was handsome and if she would have to marry him. Sheridan had clutched the phone tight and hadn’t told her friend that even though Rashid expected her to marry him, she’d rather marry a shark. She’d just said they were taking this one day at a time and would deal with a pregnancy when and if it happened. As if Rashid was reasonable and kind instead of an unfeeling block of stone.
Chris had told her to be strong, and not to worry about Annie. It would all be fine, he’d said. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from crying at the thought of Chris telling her sister the news, but she’d thanked him and told him she’d be in touch.
She spread her fingers over her abdomen. What would become of her if there were a baby inside here?
She stared up at the beam of sunlight filtering into her prison and pressed her fist to her mouth to contain her sob. Nine months as his wife in name only, his prisoner, shut away from the world—and then he would coldly divorce her and send her on her way with empty arms.
Despair filled her until she thought she would choke with it. Soon there was a noise at the entrance to her prison. A woman in a dress and wearing a scarf over her head came in and sat a tray down on a table nearby. Sheridan shot to her feet and went over to where the woman was removing covers from dishes.
“That smells lovely.” She was surprised when her stomach growled, especially considering how queasy she’d been feeling since Rashid had come to the store yesterday.
The woman gave her a polite smile. “His Majesty says you must eat, miss.”