Pursued by the Desert Prince(29)

As one week turned into two, then three and more, it became obvious that  he didn't need her. He took his rightful place on the throne and seemed  fully in control of all he surveyed. Infinitely resilient and  autonomous.

Now she felt vulgar for having sent the text in the first place. All she  had wanted was to reach out to him in that moment when he must have  been so anguished, but who was she to think she had anything a king  could need?

It hadn't struck her until afterward that her presence at the wedding  might have been the catalyst for his father's heart attack. Kasim had  been so remote as he'd made his announcement that the king had been  taken to hospital, so very stately and contained, yet she had sensed his  agony.

Now she wondered-did he blame himself? Her?

She wished she hadn't been so quick to climb on her high horse at the  oasis. She should have stayed there with him. No, that was selfish. It  might have made things worse with his father. Of course, how could the  outcome have been any worse than death? Still, she had been so preachy  when really, she had been doing what he had accused her of. She had  hidden behind her family because she loved Kasim so deeply, it scared  her.

And leaving without having spent a full night at the oasis didn't mean she hurt any less now.

She hurt for both of them, so much so she went online yet again and  walked straight into a statement from a source "close to the king." A  marriage was being arranged and an announcement would be forthcoming.

She couldn't tell if it was an older statement made by his father or something Kasim might have said recently.

Either way, it rattled her all over again and drove her away from looking at any kind of screen for days.

She had to get on with her life.

But she couldn't make herself go back to Paris. She had come to Spain  from the wedding, to lick her wounds, allowing her mother to mollycoddle  her now that Trella was so much better and spending the bulk of her  time in Paris.

Trella had finally confided a few details about her night with the  Prince of Elazar to Angelique and was dealing with the fallout from  it-big fallout-but she was fiercely determined to handle things alone  and not lean on her siblings again, particularly her twin. It was both  admirable and worrying, but Angelique had to let Trella muddle through  and just impress on her sister that she was here if she was needed.

Even though she felt as useful as a milquetoast.

Thank God they had Sus Brazos, the family compound. "Her arms," it  meant, referring to the safety of their mother's arms. They had taken to  calling it that when Trella had retreated here.

Trella might have come to see the family stronghold as a prison, but  Angelique needed it rather desperately. The gated compound overlooked  the Mediterranean, ever inspiring with its expansive view. The buildings  were a gleaming white, the main villa obscenely luxurious and  up-to-date even though it had been built when her parents first married.  The staff were all such longtime employees they were a type of extended  family.

It made her feel safe and cosseted in every way, which allowed Angelique  to relax as she ate quiet meals with her mother, walked the gardens,  sunbathed and sketched, turned in early and tried to heal her broken  heart.

The days were very predictable here, which was part of its charm. And it  was also why she was so stunned when she was interrupted while watching  seabirds diving into a churning pool out on the water. She had a guest  at the gate, she was told.

"The King of Zhamair."





CHAPTER TWELVE

ANGELIQUE WORE A summer dress in pale pink with tiny ivory polka dots.  It had a high neck, but bared her golden shoulders and accented her  slender waist and long legs, falling in layers of tall slits and sharp  points. Her hair was in a high ponytail and she pressed her lips  together over what he suspected was a fresh coat of lipstick. She seemed  breathless as he was shown into their lounge.

"Welcome," she said, pressing her palms together. "My mother isn't here,  I'm afraid. She had a luncheon with friends. She'll be sorry she missed  you. Shall I order coffee? Your Highness?"

Kasim felt like it was their first meeting all over again. She was  treating him like a stranger and was too beautiful for words, emptying  his mind of all but base masculine thoughts. His perfectly tailored suit  felt too tight.

Still, he found himself letting out his breath, relieved to finally see  her, but exasperated by the fact he'd had to chase her down in Spain  when he'd expected to find her in Paris.         

     



 

"Excellency," he corrected absently. "And no to coffee."

Her mouth twitched, probably thinking he sounded pretentious. She had  never been particularly impressed by his station, which was part of her  charm for him.

She sent a jerky nod to dismiss the maid and said, "Let me guess. You'd prefer to stand?"

"I would. Why is that funny?" he demanded as he heard the tiny noise she  tried to stifle. "I've been sitting for hours, traveling to Paris then  here."

"Paris?" The news arrested her.

"To take Fatina to see Jamal." It had been a bittersweet joy to embrace  his brother again. As he'd met his brother's partner, and left Fatina to  reunite with her son, Kasim had felt as though his last barrier to  being with Angelique had been removed.

But now, as he entered the inner sanctum of her world, and recalled how  she'd been treated like a museum exhibit at his sister's wedding, he  wondered if he was taking too much for granted. The wife of a king was  not exactly a low-key profile. Why would she want to take on such a  position? He was struggling with the elevation in circumstance himself  and it was only one notch.

"He does live in Paris, then? I wasn't sure," she said.

"Hmm? Oh. Jamal. No, he doesn't. It was complicated." A cloak of  weariness fell over him. He wanted to throw off his gutra and shave his  beard and be the man of lesser responsibilities he'd been when they'd  first met.

But he was king now. And was expected to marry.

"It has been a very complicated, demanding few weeks."

"Of course. I'm so sorry about your father. I should have said-"

"Your mother's card was among the rest," he cut in. "My mother appreciated the gesture."

"She must be devastated. And poor Hasna, to lose her father on her wedding day. How is she?"

"Grieving. We all are. They curtailed their honeymoon." But he was glad  his sister had such a stalwart support in her husband. It was one less  weight on his own shoulders.

Angelique nodded, mouth pouted as though she wanted to say something,  but knew there was nothing to say. As she looked at him, her eyes  brimmed.

"Don't." He flinched, took a step toward her, then veered away, running a  hand down his face in frustration. "I'm so tired of tears, Angelique."



She swallowed, trying to choke back the emotions swamping her. But she  couldn't take it in! He was here, and so blindingly handsome. His eyes  were dark and unreadable, but riveting. His mouth was stern, tension  pulling at that sexy mouth of his.

He wore his beard, precision trimmed to frame his face, and also his gutra.

He had come to her world, but still had one foot in his.

Her heart panged because she felt firmly shut out of that side of his life. Shut out of all of it, really.

She drew a breath, but didn't know what to say.

He looked her over in the way he did sometimes, like he was taking in  her hair or clothes or the set of her shoulders or the angle of her  foot, but really, he was seeing what those things revealed. Like he was  reading her. Seeing her.

It made her feel so transparent it was painful. She struggled to hold on  to her composure. "This is just really...confusing. I'm not sure why  you're here."

"After ignoring your text, you mean?"

She shrugged a shoulder, cheeks stinging with embarrassment all over  again. "It wasn't appropriate of me to send it. I realized afterward  that our going to the oasis may have contributed..." Her voice dried up.  She didn't want to think she was to blame for his father's death.

"Maybe it did." His shoulders lifted and fell. "I certainly believed I'd killed him when I was being crowned."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, hating herself for being his weakness,  the thing that he'd gone after to the detriment of his father and his  relationship with him.

"He had a heart condition. His heart had been failing for years." His  mouth curled with irony. "But I didn't respond to your text because I  blamed myself for his death. I blamed us."

Her worst nightmare. Her heart plummeted. There went the small dream she  had formed at his arriving here, the one she hadn't really let form.

"I even blamed you for bringing that damned necklace from Jamal. I was  not the man you asked me to be," he said with self-disgust.

And this was his punishment. The ultimate sacrifice, losing his father.  He wasn't trying to dump that on her shoulders. She saw he carried it  alone, but she felt awful all the same. Wanted to help him.