The Sheikh’s Bargain Bride(49)
She switched off her cellphone and flung it across the sofa. He had gone and he wouldn’t even take any of her calls. She sat stiffly, her arms crossed, staring, unseeing across the room.
He’d told her he was giving her her freedom and he had. She looked down with distaste at the papers he’d had sent through to her, strewn across the coffee table: deeds to the Paris house—hers; huge monthly income—hers. She had everything she could want. She looked around at the luxurious house—of the best quality but so simple and honest in its design, so Zahir. She had everything. She had nothing.
He had gone forever.
She repeated the words to herself. Trying to make herself believe them. But she couldn’t. How could so much disappear into nothing? A conjuring trick, magic, maybe. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Like a mirage of water on a hot, dry desert perhaps it was a trick of the light, an imagining that would disappear in time, with nothing greater than a change of light? But she sat watching dust motes barely move in the quiet of the room, watching the late sun slant mellow beams of light over the floor and feeling the quiet emptiness of the place that she knew wasn’t going to change. Because it wasn’t only external; the emptiness also lay within.
She walked over to fridge and plucked out a bottle of champagne—the one she’d chosen to celebrate her exams with Zahir, still imagining that he’d show up. But he wasn’t here was he? It was just her. And she had more to celebrate than her exams. She had her independence that Zahir had given her.
She popped the cork and poured herself a glass. So tense she was nearly shaking, she watched with exaggerated concentration the pale gold liquid effervesce in her glass, her mind remembering Zahir’s last cold exchange with her. She didn’t notice the glass was full and didn’t stop pouring until it was too late. And even then she didn’t care. Simply watched as it flowed over the glass and pooled onto the highly polished wood of the table. What did it matter? She stopped pouring though and just stared at it and swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Of course it mattered.
She swung around and held up the glass to—no-one.
“To me and my success.”
But she didn’t drink. You didn’t drink when you were pregnant—bad for the child. That’s what everyone said.
She felt a wave of nausea overwhelm her at the smell of the alcohol and only just made it into the bathroom in time. Hands still clenching the sides of the bowl, she looked up into the mirror at a face pale, drained, eyes darkly shadowed and lifeless despite the extra life within her.
Who would want her now, looking like this? She’d lost weight again and she knew Zahir liked curves on a woman. Perhaps she’d already been replaced by a woman more curvaceous, less demanding, easier to fit within the strict parameters of his cut and dry life.
Then the fears that had been lurking at the back of her mind surfaced loud and clear.
He might not want you but he will want your baby.
He could want all he liked. He’d never find out. She wasn’t showing much and she’d have to make excuses to Matta for the last few months to stop the cuddles. But she could arrange for him to be in Qawaran during the last few months. Thank God for the Qawaranian robes she still wore. They hid everything. And when the baby was born? She couldn’t even think that far ahead.
She wandered back to the table and flicked the deeds to the house open with the bottom of the glass. Champagne had spilled into the paper, its stain spreading through the expensively textured paper.
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered. “Everything I ever told Zahir I wanted he’s given to me now.”
The silence within the house contrasted to the shouts of children below in the square gardens below.
She turned—tension, anger and frustration merging into one—and threw her glass against the marble fireplace. It splintered into hundreds of pieces, shattering and skittering across the hard, wooden floor.
“Everything!” she shouted. “He’s given me everything except what I wanted all along.”
She jumped up suddenly and tried to warm the chill that seemed to be seeping into her; frantically she rubbed her arms up and down, trying to stimulate the circulation that appeared to have gone into shock.
“No. It’s OK.” She paced. “I wanted freedom. I’ve got freedom.” She stopped, suddenly realizing what exactly freedom meant. “I’ve got freedom from everything. I’m cut off, alone.” She sat down and put her head in her hands. She groaned. She’d never meant that to happen, had never imagined for one minute that she’d actually want to keep her connection with someone.