Gambling With the Crown(6)
He’d come to look forward to her marching into his room, in whatever city they might be staying in, and standing over him in her crisp black-and-white—or sometimes navy-blue or gray—business suits and ugly shoes as she told him about his day.
Emily was blessedly uncomplicated. The only female in his life who was. Thank goodness he wasn’t attracted to her, or he would no doubt ruin what was the longest relationship with a woman—unrelated to him—that he’d ever had.
He thought of her this morning, telling him to choose women based on intellect rather than bra size, and wanted to laugh again. She’d shocked and amused him at the same time. He’d asked her opinion, but that was not the answer he’d expected. Emily was always so circumspect that it hadn’t crossed his mind she had anything remotely sarcastic to say.
He’d loved it because it was so unexpected from his proper assistant. That was something he almost never got in his relationships with anyone: honesty. No one wanted to disagree with a prince.
His mobile phone began to buzz. He took it from his pocket and handed it to Emily. He was too tired to deal with anyone just now. She answered with that voice of hers that sounded so young and fresh, as though she was still sixteen instead of twenty-five. Kadir closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. Tonight, he would sleep the sleep of the dead. No parties, no manipulative fashion models, no distractions.
“Your Highness.” Emily sounded a touch breathless. Her pale green eyes were wide as she held out the phone. “It’s your father.”
CHAPTER TWO
KADIR GRIPPED THE balcony’s iron railing with both hands as he stared at Paris spread out below. The Eiffel Tower glowed ocher against the skyline as cars slid through the streets. He could hear laughter coming from somewhere in the hotel where he’d booked an entire floor, and a soft breeze slid across his skin, cooling him.
His father was dying. The phone call tonight played again and again in his head, filling him with so many emotions that he could hardly sort them all. He remembered a lion of a man when he was a child, a man who had both frightened and awed him. He remembered wanting to be important to that man, wanting his attention and doing nearly anything to get it.
If his father had had a favorite son, he was it. Not that that was saying much, since he’d often felt his father’s belt against his skin. But Rashid had felt it more. And Kadir had been so convinced as a child that if his father was angry with Rashid, then he might be pleased with Kadir—not to mention, if his father’s attention were on Rashid, Kadir would escape the harsh punishments his father meted out. So he’d encouraged his father to be angry with Rashid in any way he could.
Kadir raked a hand through his hair and thought about ordering a glass of some type of strong liquor. But he did not drink when he was alone, so that was out of the question. It was a matter of self-discipline and he would not violate his own rule.
He picked up his phone from where he’d set it on the table and willed it to ring. He knew Rashid would call him. Because Rashid would know that Kadir had been told the news first.
When he and Rashid had been children, he’d taken shameless advantage of his father’s apparently strong dislike of Rashid. When Kadir let the horses out of the stables, his father blamed Rashid. When he released his father’s prized hawk, Rashid got blamed. When he accidentally poisoned his father’s favorite hound—who thankfully recovered—their father had blamed Rashid for that as well.
Rashid always took the punishment stoically and without complaint. He never cried during the beatings, but he would return to their shared quarters red faced and angry. Kadir shuddered with the memories of what he’d caused Rashid to endure.