“Did you just describe my fiancé as virile? I have to tell you, that makes me feel just a little bit sick, mama.”
“Why should it? You are a woman, I am a woman. You have been through something that might make you cautious to approach your marriage bed…”
“Okay, moving on,” Charlotte shook her head quickly, changing the subject. “What are you doing here?”
Eloise tsked her disapproval. “Is that any way to speak to the woman who brought you to this earth?”
Charlotte lifted a brow, waiting for an explanation.
“I was shopping. And I wanted to check on progress.”
“It’s coming along,” Charlotte said honestly. But the thought of meeting with Ashad again made her doubt the wisdom of tackling her own negotiations.
“You know, your father is counting on this marriage.” Had Eloise detected the doubts that now plagued Charlotte?
“Why?” She heard herself ask, surprised by how close she was to admitting that the reality of tying herself to Syed now filled her with dread.
“He is a good man!” Eloise enumerated. “His family is good. His country powerful. And the trade deals that come into play as part of your marriage will boost our economy in a way it badly needs. Billions will flow into our country as a result of this union . Billions that will go into schools, hospitals, orphanages. You know the worries your father carries. You can alleviate them, and so easily!” Eloise tilted her head, her eyes studying her daughter. “You are very beautiful, Cherie,” she reverted to her native French. “And this marriage will be a true gift to your father.”
Nausea rolled through Charlotte, but she nodded. The wars had been costly for all. The infrastructure of Falina had been damaged. And the trade agreements with Kalastan would change all that. “I know that, mama.”
“Good. Make it happen. Make it happen fast.” Eloise tilted her head to one side. “And don’t forget to tell Ashad about the ball, hmm?”
* * *
“What do you mean, you can’t find him?”
Zahir sighed. “Syed has disappeared. No one’s seen him for days.”
“What?” Ash stared out at the disappearing sun, watching as a trail of fire seemed to leak from it into the sky. “I need to talk to him.”
“His cell’s not answering.”
“Yes, I tried that first,” Ash suppressed his impatience. “Is he in the desert?”
“Probably,” Zahir murmured. “It is where he tends to go, isn’t it, when he has things on his mind.”
“He’s not the only one who needs to think things through.”
“Perhaps I can help,” Zahir offered. “What’s on your mind?”
Ash gripped the railing. “Why was Syed offered to Princess Charlotte Shareef?”
“When my betrothal was set aside, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“As opposed to …”
“Me.”
A long silence sat heavily between them. Finally, Zahir spoke. “It was my father’s wish that you would marry … no. That’s a lie.”
“What? What is a lie?”
“Your mother and father,” Zahir spoke heavily, and Ash could imagine him rubbing his chin, as he did when deep in thought. “Were very strongly opposed to arranged marriages. They argued for me, for Syed, for all of us, to be free of such a notion. They felt an older generation had no place using their children for political gain. My father has abided by their wishes, even though I’m certain he would have liked to marry you off many times over.”
Ash closed his eyes, thinking of his parents fondly. “My parents were right.” He thought of the night on Syed’s balcony, when his cousin had asked him to find a reason to break the betrothal. He had advocated the wisdom of arranged marriages. He had extolled their place in royal life, relying on the way things had been done, rather than examining how they ought to be done.
“Perhaps,” Zahir’s response was noncommittal.
“Meaning you don’t regret your marriage?” It was a sharp question, and a rude one. Ash immediately felt the insult in the words. “Ignore that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Of course.” Zahir accepted the apology instantly. But the words were still there. “I don’t regret my marriage. I fought it for a long time. I think that’s very natural. I despised the idea of being told whom I was to marry. I realise now that I fought too hard. I fought out of fear of what Violet meant to me. Sometimes it is necessary to trust to fate. Don’t you?”
Ash disconnected the call, his mind pondering the statement.
Fate.
It was a notion he had never really bought into.
And yet …
He thought of Charlotte and a sense of intense rightness filled him.
No, if it had been rightness, it would have been Ashad Al’Eba contracted to marry her, and not Syed.
Marry her? Is that what he wanted?
Ash stared at the sky as realisation after realisation pounded through him.
He wanted her. He wanted to own her, and for her to own him. He wanted her with an intensity he’d never experienced about anything. Was that fate at play? Was it fate that had led Syed to send Ashad to Falina?
And could he steal his cousin’s bride? Was it stealing, if Syed no longer wanted her? Or could he solve everyone’s problems by seducing Charlotte into his bed – and convincing her to swap her betrothal to him?
CHAPTER FIVE
Charlotte,
I have meetings in the morning. Are you free for lunch?
A.
She read the email several times, and the racing of her pulse didn’t lessen. She flopped back against her pillows and stared at the ceiling. It was late. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t seen it?
And what would that accomplish, her mind challenged angrily. It was simply delaying the inevitable. Lunch. With Ashad? Impossible.
I’m not. Sorry.
She cringed as she sent it, wishing she could recall the email the second it had whooshed out of her phone. But her emotions were rioting all over the place and she knew only one thing for certain: Ashad complicated things beyond bearing.
Make yourself available. My embassy, 12 o’clock.
She read his reply with a fever of indignation.
I beg your pardon, but I am not at your beck and call. I told you, I’m not available.
She sent the email and was just about to turn off her phone when his reply came through.
I am well aware of your unavailability; there is no need to remind me.
Dinner, then. Your place.
That was a crazy idea. Dinner was far more dangerous than lunch, so too was her apartment. Though the idea of having him in her home, eating with him, laughing with him, called to her seductively, she knew it was opening the door to a world of problems she couldn’t face.
No. Lunch is fine. I’ll come to the Kalastani embassy.
She sent it and then she did turn her phone off, so that she didn’t see his reply until early the next morning.
I’m looking forward to it. Sweet dreams.
The final missive put her in a foul temper.
Was he playing with her? Was he trying to confuse her? And if so, why? Surely he had as much, if not more, reason to feel regretful for what they’d shared the day before. Syed was his cousin! He owed him more than to be making out with Charlotte.
So why bid her sweet dreams, as if he knew that her dreams would be filled with him?
Her morning was quiet. She went through her emails and calendar, checking her schedule for the coming month, diarising commitments she couldn’t make and sending notes to her assistant for the speeches she had to make. Though Charlotte preferred to speak ‘off the cuff’, she covered a variety of events and issues and a well-prepared list of information made her feel prepared.
She chose an exceptionally modest dress for the meeting. It was a pale gold and flowed to the floor. The sleeves were bell-shaped, emphasising her slender wrists, and the collar was buttoned right to her throat. It was floaty and ethereal, beautiful and feminine, but definitely not sexy.
Her dark hair she pulled into a severe style, dragged back from her face and pinned into a tight bun at her nape. She kept her make up minimal. Nothing in her appearance suggested that she was dressing to impress.
But, by the time her limousine arrived at the embassy, her cheeks had flushed pink and her lips were swollen and red from the manner in which she’d gnawed them during the drive. A breeze whispered past as she stepped from the limousine, loosening some of the hair around her cheekbones.
Unbeknownst to her, Ashad watched her approach from the top floor of his embassy, his eyes seeing every detail.
The enormous black doors were opened as she approached.
“Your highness,” a man bowed low, then lifted and met her eyes with a twinkling smile. “His Highness is expecting you.”
“I should think so, given that he summonsed me,” she murmured, falling into step beside the servant as he led her through the embassy. Instead of taking her to the office she’d first met Ashad in, he took her up yet another flight of stairs, the burgundy carpet beneath them exquisite. Charlotte wished she could make her own way to Ashad. She wanted to dawdle and explore, to study the artwork of Kalastan which was alike, yet different, to those of Falina.
At the top of the stairs and set a little down the corridor there was a pair of doors. Wide and bevelled, painted gold with black trim and a marble handle.