Syed. Crap. Why did she keep forgetting about her intended husband?
“My parents signed a contract with your uncle the day after it happened. There had long been an understanding between them, first that I would marry Zahir, and then that I would marry Syed. But after they learned what had happened with Marook, they feared the truth would come out and that Adin would refuse to accept the arrangement. I was spoiled, you see. No longer the perfect princess bride to barter. And so they locked the arrangement in place in a way that could never be set aside. Not even if Syed wished it, or I wished it. Don’t you see that, Ashad? We are prisoners of this agreement.” She sobbed.
“Do you want to marry him?” He asked desperately.
“Didn’t you just hear me? I have to. I have to.” She pulled away from Ashad and walked slowly beside the net. He did the same, until they met at the edge. She guided him back to the chairs that surrounded the court, sitting beside the Tiffany & Co bag. “My parents never said they were disappointed, but I know they were. They had never liked Marook, and I had dated him to defy them.” Her smile was humourless. “I won’t defy them again.”
Ashad didn’t sit beside Charlotte. Instead, he crouched in front of her, his hands light on her knees. “Is this the same woman who stormed into my office, reminding me that we’re in the twenty first century?” He smiled at her and the world cracked open – she could see hope and light in his face and she wanted to reach for it.
“But I’m still a princess of Falina.”
“And I am a prince of Kalastan.” He leaned forward. “What if I told you I could fix this? Would you trust me again, Charlotte?”
“Fix it how?”
He lifted off the ground and sat beside her now, lifting the shopping bag. His eyes held hers. “Trust me.”
She did. She did trust him. She nodded slowly. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying.” She looked at him with confusion. “Are you going to tell Syed? And Adin?”
“That you were raped, many years ago?” His anger briefly popped into the words and he covered it with effort. “No, azeezi. That is your trauma, and while I am grateful you have shared it with me, I recognise that you chose to do so. Who you tell, and when, is exactly that – a choice. I will not add extra grievance to what you suffered by violating your privacy.”
She expelled a small sound of surprise. “How do you know just what to do? I needed you to say that to me, and yet I didn’t know it until you spoke. Thank you.”
He nodded, then handed the bag to her. “This is for you. I had meant to give it to you yesterday, but …”
“Yes.” She smothered the rest of his statement, not wanting to revisit what had happened the day before. She peered into the bag with interest. “What is it?”
“Have a look.”
With interest, she dug out two boxes, both larger than she’d seen from the jeweller. She opened the ribbon on one, her fingers deftly disposing of its satin length before cracking the lid off the top.
The most beautiful mask she’d ever seen was inside. It was designed to cover the eyes and nose only, and it was decorated with hundreds of diamonds. She stared at it with an expression of confusion.
“It’s beautiful …” She looked at him, then back to the mask. “I already have a costume for the ball.” She thought of the mask she’d been going to wear. The whole outfit was black – an incredible gown and mask that had been designed for her. Hope filled her now though – a hope borne purely of love and trust. “But I’ll wear this instead.”
And she would find a new dress – one that was as bright and beautiful as the mask warranted. “Thank you.”
He watched as she carefully placed the mask beside her and reached for the second box. She opened it, and at the sight of the garments inside, flushed to the tip of her head. “Ashad,” she said, the word choked from her.
For inside was the most beautiful bra and pair of underpants she could have imagined. The bra was made of a fine mesh material except for in the very middle of each cup, where there was a strange thickening of the fabric – it was coarse and had small beads stitched into it. She ran her finger over it, and then turned her attention to the front of the bra. There were strings of diamonds along the cups. In between, there was a diamond, perhaps twenty carats. The pants were no less stunning. The same mesh material, with delicate diamonds beaded down the front, and at the waistband, it looped three times, in what she imagined would create the impression that she had been tied up by diamond rope.
“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, the inappropriateness of the gesture making it impossible for her to enthuse over the gift even as her stomach knotted and her heart leaped somersaults.
“I want you to wear them to the ball. Think of me as they touch you intimately. And afterwards, I want to remove your dress so that you are wearing only these, and your mask. I want to obliterate any thought from your mind but pleasure, and me. Will you do that for me, Charlotte?”
A shiver of anticipation was bundling through her. “Ashad…” she thought of her parents and Syed, of Marook and her past, and then she thought of Ashad and her nod was determined.
“Because I don’t care who you’ve been with, or who you are to marry. I know only that I need you, and I think you need me too.”
She nodded again. “Yes. I do. I will.”
* * *
Ashad left shortly afterwards. As he stood on the edge of the tennis courts, he reached down and squeezed Charlotte’s hand one last time; a small gesture that spoke of a big promise. “Trust me,” he mouthed and she nodded, her smile radiant.
“I do.”
Emerging down the path at that exact moment, followed by a servant who carried a tray of refreshments for the Kalastani delegate and the Falinese princess, Eloise froze, so that the servant almost bumped into her. She watched the interaction with a deep sense of unease.
It was over within a second; and for all she knew, he was simply reassuring Charlotte about the wedding.
But then, Eloise knew a thing or two about unrequited love. Her own experience gave her insight and knowledge.
She recognised it between the two of them and she turned on her heel, anger pinking her cheeks. “Take it back,” she snapped at the servant as she stormed into the house.
So her daughter had fallen for the wrong prince, had she?
Well, well. Eloise would have to act to put all thoughts of that from Charlotte’s mind. It would not be easy, but Eloise was nothing if not determined.
She reached for her phone and dialled the number. It connected on the third ring.
“We need to speak; there might be a problem.”
CHAPTER NINE
The first thing Charlotte noticed when she put on the bra was the purpose for the stitching and beads in the middle of the cups. At first, it was just strange, but as she wore the bra and applied her make up, her nipples became achingly aware of the sensation. The friction was causing desire to pool in her gut, and she knew it was by design. Every shift she made, every movement, heightened her awareness.
The bra was something a man gave to his lover, knowing that it would keep her in a state of arousal.
She pursed her lips, wondering if she should remove it, knowing she wouldn’t. Because it felt good. Incredible. Not as incredible as his fingers or mouth would have, but it was an excellent stop-gap, until she could be with him.
And she would.
Telling Ashad the truth about Marook had freed her. She was no longer a prisoner of her past. She had told a man the truth and he still wanted her. He didn’t think she was a slut; nor did he blame her for what had happened.
Syed, she refused to think about.
The dress she’d hastily selected hung on the door to her wardrobe. She walked to it, her eyes assessing the material, her fingers reaching to feel it.
The dress was truly spectacular. A princess gown, the likes of which she’d never imagined wearing.
She dislodged the hanger with care, draping the gown against her body. It had cap sleeves that would conceal her bra, and a modest neckline, that dipped only slightly in the centre. It was fitted to the waist, where it flared into an enormous skirt – a skirt that swooshed as she walked and had been filled with even more diamonds.
A knock at the door sounded and she held the dress against her front.
“Hang on,” she called back, perplexed. Then, “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Mika.”
“Mika!” She grinned. “Come in.”
Her friend and servant pushed the door inwards. She had dressed for the ball already. “Oh!” Charlotte made a sound of approval. “You look perfect.”
And she did. Mika had chosen a green dress that perfectly matched her eyes, and a classic black mask with emeralds framing the outline. Large peacock feathers had been attached to one side, and her lips were painted a dark red.
“You do, too. Or rather, you will. Why are you not ready, Char? Your mother is already greeting the first of the guests.”
“Oh!” Charlotte bit down on her lip. “I hadn’t realised the time. I’ll just be a moment.” She dropped the dress lower, preparing to step into it, but Mika’s indrawn breath had her pause.
Mika was staring at the bra; it shimmered in the light like a pool of glitter and diamond dust. The enormous stone in the middle caught her attention.