Nadir had forgotten all about Farah Hajjar. ‘I doubt her father will push it. He hates our family.’
‘It’s fine. I can deal with Farah and her insane old man. You just do us both a favour and go get your woman.’
‘Prince Zachim!’ Both men looked up as Staph knocked and shot through the door like a rocket, his breath heaving. ‘You need to come quick. The woman you put in the harem has disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ Zach frowned. ‘That’s impossible. I’ve put an experienced guard on the door.’
‘Yes, My Lord. He can’t find her.’
Zachim rattled off a string of curse words Nadir hadn’t heard in a long while. He smiled and came around the desk. ‘I’d love to stay and help but...’
His words faded as Zach, his mind already on the disaster that awaited him, strode out of the room.
Nadir headed for the door himself and stopped. ‘Staph?’
‘Yes, My Lord?’
‘What did you tell the wedding guests who have already arrived?’
‘Nothing, My Lord.’
Nadir gave him a faint smile. ‘You’re a sly old dog, Staph. I hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced.’
‘I would say not, My Lord.’
‘And Imogen and my daughter?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Where are they?’
‘In your suite.’
* * *
Imogen sorted out what she would need for Nadeena for the plane trip back to London and searched around for some sort of bag to put it into. Nadir had luggage in his dressing room but no way was she going back into his bedroom ever again.
What he had said to her before...she still couldn’t digest it because it felt as if he’d ripped a hole in her heart and inserted a stick of dynamite for good measure.
The only thing she was thankful for was that her daughter would never know how it felt to have an absent father because she would be used to having him part-time in her life and Imogen only hoped he would be good to her when he had her. That he wouldn’t have a string of stick-thin models parading through his house who— Oh, God. Imogen felt her stomach heave and leant against a chest of drawers to steady herself.
It was so ridiculous to feel like this because she had known all along that once the reality of marriage and parenthood set in then he would run a mile and she’d been proven right. And the prize? She shook her head at her reflection in the mirror. Her prize was a broken heart the size of Asia.
‘Imogen? Habibi? Are you all right?’
Imogen swung around at the sound of his voice, fire pouring out of her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’
He stopped short and she was thankful that she had wiped all her make-up off after her initial crying fit and dressed in her T-shirt and jeans. She intended to go home exactly the way she had arrived. Well, almost.
‘I needed to see you.’
To make sure she was all right? She couldn’t fault his manners. ‘Well, now you’ve seen me, please go.’