The Sultan Demands His Heir Page 15

  ‘I told you I was fine.’

  ‘You and I have different definitions of fine, habiba, especially when you’re not eating,’ he rasped, before turning to Joseph. They exchanged a few words in Arabic before the doctor departed. And Fawzi re-entered moments later.

  ‘Your Highness, your conference call is about to begin.’

  Zaid nodded curtly and his assistant moved to a respectful but expectant distance. Her heart dipped.

  ‘Zaid, we need to talk,’ she murmured.

  He faced her. ‘You’re carrying my child, Esmeralda,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘Nothing you have to say will shift the importance of that fact and our need to focus on it and it alone. From the moment you walked out of the bathroom, your arguments have become null and void.’

  Her insides trembled as she shook her head. ‘But you don’t know—’

  ‘Don’t I? You’re about to confess a less than stellar past association with your father.’ He barely blinked as she gasped. ‘But you forget that I know the sort of man he is. He’s a gifted con artist in whose web you were caught at a vulnerable age.’

  ‘There’s more, Zaid,’ she insisted.

  He stepped close, clasped her shoulders. ‘There’s always more. But what matters is that you wised up and walked away eventually. The estrangement was your doing, was it not?’ he pressed.

  Lips pursed, she nodded. ‘Yes.’

  A hint of a genuine smile cracked his lips, before his face grew serious again. ‘So you turned your life around. I don’t need any more proof that my decision is sound.’

  The sensation of sinking further into quicksand, despite the rope he was throwing her, escalated. ‘Please, Zaid. Hear me out.’

  ‘Your Highness?’ Fawzi prompted.

  Zaid sighed. ‘You will marry me, Esmeralda. For the sake of our child you will marry me and we will make this work.’

  A spurt of frustrated anger rose. ‘Just like that?’

  The fierce eyes that raked her face held a banked hunger that turned her anger into something equally primal. ‘Trust me, jamila, nothing that happens between us will ever be just like that. But for now you’ll stay here. Fawzi will summon Nashwa and Aisha. They’ll bring you a late lunch. You’ll nourish yourself. Nourish our child. And when I return, if you still insist on talking, then we’ll talk.’

  He left after that. As promised, her staff appeared, their barely suppressed chatter a marked indication that they were even more excited to be serving her in the Sultan’s private chamber. Their complete lack of judgement as they darted between the living room and the private kitchen, where Zaid’s personal chef was preparing what sounded like a feast fit for an army, forced Esme to examine Zaid’s words.

  By assuming the throne after his uncle’s long tyrannical rule and giving so much of himself to his people without asking for anything in return, he’d laid down a path of trust and dependability and set up the cornerstone for change.

  The protests, which had died down in the last few weeks, were a sign that Zaid was winning even those disgruntled citizens over. She knew through her own studies and experience with social work that marriage was almost always a better stability provider than single parenthood. And when that provider was the ruler of a kingdom...?

  Esme believed in her heart she could make it work. But should the truth ever come out, would Zaid forgive what she’d done?

  By the time she finished sampling a little bit of each dish set before her, she knew she needed to lay her cards on the table the moment Zaid returned.

  Except, when he walked through the doors five hours later, a single look was all it took to realise something was badly wrong.

  ‘I need to leave for Paris immediately,’ he announced.

  She struggled to her feet, and although he frowned when she stumbled slightly, he carried on walking towards his bedroom. Given no choice but to follow or shout the conversation, she trailed behind him.

  Two butlers were already packing suitcases, and Zaid was shrugging off his outer robe.

  She dragged her gaze from the ripple of muscle beneath his tunic. Already her chest was tightening at the thought of him being absent again much like he’d been for the past ten days. The possible reason for that feeling was a little terrifying but not enough to prevent her from asking, ‘Why?’

  ‘A deal I was supposed to finalise at the trade summit next week is in jeopardy. It’s been six months in the making. It can’t fall apart now.’

  Esme wasn’t prepared to feel so bereft at the thought of his absence. ‘Oh...right. How long will you be away?’

  His whole frame brimmed with majestic confidence as he shrugged. ‘For as long as it takes to salvage it. I don’t intend that to be long at all.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll...see you when you get back, then.’

  He paused in the process of removing his keffiyeh. ‘No, you’ll see me every day while I’m away because you’re coming with me, Esmeralda.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I’m... Why?’

  His air of determination intensified. ‘Because for one thing we haven’t finished our conversation. And I’m hoping that once we do agree that marriage is the only course of action, you’ll spend the rest of the time consulting with the Royal Palace’s designated designers to pick your wedding trousseau.’

  A neat, efficiently presented argument. There was no way she could say no unless she was prepared to wait for days, maybe even longer, for Zaid to return from his trip. The thought of having that unfinished conversation hanging over her head, disturbing her sleep, didn’t fill her with joy.

  ‘Okay, I’ll go and get packed.’

  He slanted a very masculine smile her way as he reefed his tunic over his head and headed for his vast dressing room. ‘No need. It’s being taken care of as we speak.’

  It was the sight of his bare torso that robbed her of the heated response she’d planned. Esme was sure of it. Or perhaps the fact that she was still in his bedroom when he re-emerged five minutes later wearing a pair of grey chinos and a pristine white polo shirt.

  The casual clothes should have made him less intimidating. Instead, the power of his magnetic attraction seemed to expand even further, encompassing everything in its way. Her included. She watched him glide his fingers hurriedly through his glossy hair and found herself wishing they were hers. Her breath caught when he stopped before her.

  ‘Did you have lunch?’ he asked, his face pinched in serious lines.

  She nodded, a touch breathlessly, as her senses filled with his scent.

  ‘Good. We should be wheels up in an hour. If you wish to supervise your staff, I suggest you go and do so now.’

  Time seemed to trip into fast forward from then. A quick, refreshing shower and a change of clothes into white palazzo linen pants, matching wide-sleeved top and gold wedge sandals, and she was heading out to join Zaid in his motorcade.

  The jumbo-sized royal jet, its wings and tail painted in the same signature colours, stood waiting on the tarmac, its crew courteous and efficient as they readied their King for his journey. But, contrary to thinking she would get a chance to speak to Zaid, she was promptly installed in a sumptuous living suite with Nashwa and Aisha keeping her company, while Zaid cloistered himself with his financial advisors in a separate part of the plane.

  That theme continued when they reached Paris. Only with more people thrown into the mix. The royal party had hired the whole upper floor of the hotel on Avenue Montaigne, with she and Zaid occupying two separate bedrooms in the Royal Suite. Decorated with typical Parisian glamour, the hotel nevertheless held hints of eastern exoticism that made Esme feel at home the moment she walked in, although the thought that she was beginning to think of Ja’ahr as home struck and stayed with her.

  Despite the jaw-dropping elegance of their hotel, Esme felt as if she was on pins and needles as the days rolled by and every opportunity to talk to Zaid was thwarted. In her uncharitable moments, she suspected it was by design. But then she would catch a glimpse of him thro
ugh an open conference room door, see the haggard expressions of his advisors reflected a hundredfold on his face, and feel regretful. On one of those occasions his gaze caught hers as she hesitated in the doorway. Then his intense eyes dropped to her flat belly for a long moment before he resumed his conversation.

  The wordless indication that she and their baby were also on his mind only doubled her guilt.

  It was that emotion that stopped her from sending away the designers when they started to arrive on their sixth day in Paris. That and the undeniable fact that her period hadn’t made its prompt appearance on her due date. She’d found herself alone with Zaid for a rare minute in the living room a few hours after absorbing that reality.

  He’d taken one look at her and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I... My period didn’t come.’

  The brush of knuckles on her cheek was at variance with the almost reproachful look in his eyes as he nodded. ‘I know,’ was all he said before yet another group of business-suited men walked into the room.

  With the confirmation that she was well and truly impregnated fixed in her mind, Esme sat in the designated throne-like chair in her suite and watched row after row of exquisite gowns being wheeled into the room.

  Apparently, His Highness had requested a full trousseau and new set of clothes for her honeymoon. For the Ja’ahrian wedding, her traditional wedding gown was being prepared in a secret location she wasn’t to be privy to.

  Esme went through a cycle of frustration, anxiety and anger as she inspected the beautiful gowns. But her mind kept returning to one kernel of hope that wouldn’t disappear.

  Zaid had arranged for all of this despite knowing that her past was less than exemplary. If he was prepared to take a risk for the sake of their child, was she not doing it a disservice by attempting to stand in the way of her child’s rightful inheritance?

  The only thing holding her back was her secret.

  She would tell him. She had to before anything irreversible happened. But in the meantime she squashed down her churning feelings and carried on choosing the clothes that were to her taste.

  Nashwa and Aisha’s enthusiastic applause the moment she tried the clothes on confirmed her choices. With that out of the way, a knot of anxiety eased and Esme allowed herself to relax a little.

  Zaid walked in as the stylists were transporting the clothes to her bedroom. He took one look around, then his eyes zeroed in on her.

  ‘You’ve chosen your trousseau.’ It wasn’t a question, but confirmation of what he’d willed her to do all along.

  Her breath emerged shakily as she replied. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you will marry me?’ This time it was a question, but one he knew the answer to already.

  On a silent prayer, Esme swallowed. ‘Yes.’

  * * *

  If she’d thought the events since their arrival in Paris were hurried, the momentum once she’d given her consent was nothing short of warp speed. The morning after, Zaid presented her with a staggeringly beautiful yellow diamond set in Arabian gold. Tears were already prickling her eyes at the sheer beauty of the stone when he informed her solemnly that the ring had belonged to his mother.

  The moment would have been perfect, magical even, had it not all been witnessed by his twenty-strong staff and captured on camera by a professional photographer drafted in for the sole purpose of documenting Zaid’s formal proposal. After that, a formal announcement was made in Ja’ahr.

  Zaid stood in the centre of the room, his hand holding hers, surrounded by his staff as they watched a televised version of the announcement.

  The rock of anxiety that sat in her belly doubled in size as the camera panned over the crowds gathered in parks and stadiums to await the news. At the replay of Zaid’s proposal, they erupted in deafening cheers.

  Inside the hotel suite, his staff also applauded as Zaid leaned down and murmured in her ear, ‘I told you they would welcome you with open arms.’

  Almost instantly, Esme’s popularity exploded.

  But then so did the delicate trade talks Zaid had been painstakingly stitching together.

  Meetings went on late into the night, tempers frayed and were lost. When he emerged from a conference room three days after their engagement, still looking haggard and frustrated, Esme’s heart lurched. Then it dipped even further when he approached her with a grim, resolute look.

  ‘Fawzi is instructing your staff to pack for you. You’re returning to Ja’ahr this afternoon.’

  It was the last thing she was expecting. The last thing her heart seemed to be prepared for. ‘Why?’ she blurted, knowing she was in deep trouble where her feelings for Zaid were concerned.

  ‘I’m going to be here for a little longer. And you need to return and ensure the wedding preparations are under way.’

  She didn’t want to leave, but now she’d agreed to marry him, any objection would be seen as dragging her feet. But there was still an issue between them.

  ‘Zaid, we still need to talk about my past.’

  His hand slashed through the air. ‘Enough with this need to talk!’

  Frustration and anger welled inside her. ‘This is important—’

  ‘So is this wedding. Perhaps you ought to concentrate on the future and stop dwelling on the past?’ he bit out.

  ‘All I need is ten minutes,’ she insisted.

  He clawed his fingers through his hair. ‘That’s ten more than I have right now, Esmeralda. I merely came out here to say goodbye.’

  ‘If all you wanted was to tell me I was being shipped out, perhaps you should’ve sent Fawzi. Or a text message.’

  He growled under his breath. ‘I do not wish to fight with you.’

  ‘You don’t wish to do anything with me, except throw directives and expect me to jump when you say so!’

  His gaze dropped to her stomach. ‘In your state, I would prefer less jumping and more co-operation,’ he suggested, with a possessive throb in his voice that was directed solely at his heir.

  Pain struck somewhere in the region of her heart. ‘I’m well aware that I’m merely a vessel for your heir, Zaid, but perhaps you might spare a thought for my state of mind, too?’

  He looked puzzled for a moment. That moment passed almost instantly when Fawzi appeared like an unwanted apparition.

  ‘Your Highness, your presence is needed.’

  Zaid exhaled noisily. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Esme couldn’t stop her mouth twisted in bitterness. ‘Of course you will.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Esmeralda—’

  She waved him away, her gesture carefree despite the pain and anxiety twisting her insides. ‘It’s fine, Zaid. I understand completely where I stand in the pecking order. So I guess I’ll see you when I see you.’

  Then she did what he’d done to her many times since their arrival. She left him standing there, staring after her.

  The return journey to Ja’ahr was uneventful, probably because she retired to the master suite the moment she boarded the jet and spent the whole trip curled up with her pillow for company.

  Zaid couldn’t have spelled it out more conclusively if he’d tried that she was merely a means to an end. He’d brought her to Paris to apply pressure on her to marry him. The moment she’d agreed her place on the chessboard had become redundant.

  And it wasn’t as if he’d hidden his motives. Zaid had been upfront about this marriage being for the sole benefit of his people and his heir.

  So why did it hurt so much? The answer mocked her in the dull thudding of her heart. Zaid’s feelings might be purposefully basic, but along the line hers had gained strings and bows and hopes for a happy ever after with no basis in reality. And even now she feared it was too late.

  Melancholy born of that realisation stayed with her long after they landed back in Ja’ahr and into the days that followed. Lost in her gloomy world that not even the joy of the child growing in her womb could shake, it took a while to realise the mood of the people h
ad shifted slightly.

  When she started to pay attention, she saw TV reports and debates that questioned her suitability as the daughter of a criminal to be the first lady of Ja’ahr. When further questions arose about her father and her past, her anxiety grew. But then so did her sense of finality. Maybe it was all for the best. Maybe the decision would be taken out of her hands by the people who mattered. Ja’ahr’s citizens.

  Ironically, her thoughts manifested into reality the very next day, a full week after her return from Paris with almost zero contact from Zaid.

  Nashwa’s announcement that she had a visitor came as a surprise. An unpleasant one when she realised just who her visitor was.

  The chief of police, Ahmed Haruni, was pacing her private office as if he owned the place. Black, beady eyes fixed on her as he lazily replaced the paperweight he’d been examining when Esme entered. Unlike most people did since her betrothal announcement, he didn’t bow to her.

  Esme didn’t care about that as much as she cared to know why he was there. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  He didn’t leave her hanging for long. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Scott. There are a growing number of concerned Ja’ahrians who believe this proposed marriage is a mistake.’

  Despite her own growing feelings in that regard, her heart lurched. ‘And let me guess, you’re one of them?’

  The small man shrugged. ‘I love my country. It would be remiss of me not to speak up before it’s too late.’

  ‘Why are you bringing this to me? Why not take it up with your Sultan?’

  He spread his arms wide, a mildly contemptuous look on his face. ‘Because he’s not here. He’s chasing flimsy deals when he should be here, looking after the welfare of his people.’

  Anger spiked through her pain. ‘The reason for his absence is not flimsy, I assure you.’

  ‘I did not come to debate that with you.’