CHAPTER TEN
“Your absence has been conspicuous.” She had changed clothes. It was the first time in his life Malakhi had paid any attention to what a woman wore. But what didn’t he notice about his bride?
“Has it?” Was he imagining the icy veneer to her expression.
He reached down to speak to her softly and she flinched, pulling away without dropping her smile by even a degree.
“What is it, Jamila?”
Her cheeks flushed. Had he called Leilani that? Or did he have a different name for her?
“Speaking to a guest,” she said flatly, her eyes skimming the crowd to give her a source of distraction.
“Which guest?”
She forced her eyes to meet his, but she looked away again almost instantly. “No one you know,” she lied. Though was it actually untrue? She doubted he had ever encountered that side of Leilani’s personality.
“I know everyone here,” he corrected. “And I know you, perhaps, best of all. What are you not saying?”
“Nothing,” she said softly.
“Why have you changed dress?”
“I spilled something on the other one,” she murmured, surprised that telling him the truth didn’t even enter her mind. “I was careless.”
A smile passed his lips briefly. “It is only a dress.”
“Yes.”
And this was only a marriage.
Evie felt as though a boulder had been placed on her chest. It was squashing her. Crushing her. She focussed her attention across the crowded ballroom. “Excuse me. I see someone calling to me.”
He followed the direction of her eyes. When he spoke, it was a single word, loaded with impatience. “Who?”
She flashed him a dismissive smile before walking away, her back ramrod straight.
It was only a marriage.
But it was her marriage.
Could she really do this?
Could she really accept the truth of what they were?
And what was the truth? Her mind was so utterly muddled that she could hardly disentangle the threads of reality.
She believed herself to love him, and yet how could she love a man capable of such manipulative dishonesty? She wanted him physically, but would she still feel that way after this discovery? And what of Leilani’s claim that he’d betrayed her privacy by talking about her sexual inexperience? And would he really bore of Evie and seek out more experienced lovers? Could she live with that?
Stars danced across her eyelids.
Panic was setting in. She moved quickly through the crowd, a polite smile pinned to her face but an urgency in her step that didn’t encourage interruption. On the edges of the party she turned left and skirted along the wall a little way before taking a doorway. With no idea where it led, she slipped through it and moved quickly, moving down a corridor until the din of the party was just a noise in the distance. Then, and only then, did she stop.
Her back was pressed against the wall but still the panic deepened. She could hardly breathe and her eyes were flashing with every colour.
She swore angrily under her breath.
What the hell had she been thinking? Out of nowhere, she saw Sabra’s face, smiling with that sweet way she had and Evie groaned.
Sabra would never have condoned this union.
She would have railed against Malakhi as Evie should have done! She would have told him, in no uncertain terms, to stop being such a bastard. To stop thinking with one rather virile part of his anatomy and instead use his head. His brain. His heart.
Did he even possess such a thing?
Surely not. For no matter how she looked at the matter of their wedding, only one conclusion could be drawn. Her husband had lied to her. He had lied to her and he had tricked her into the necessity of marrying him. Why?
Because it suited him!
Because he wanted Kalem to grow up in Ishala and she could have taken him home at any time. Before they’d slept together. Certainly before she’d agreed to marry him.
She swore angrily under her breath and paced to the other side of the corridor, her head bent in deep thought.
If he’d spoken to her? What might she have said?
She would have left. Because she’d known all along that there was danger in being close to him. Proximity was a double-edged sword. For years she had dreamt of him and she had jumped at the chance to become his lover.
She stopped walking and stared up at the ceiling. Shame coloured her cheeks. The morning after their first encounter, when she’d been resigned to return to Australia, he’d begged her to stay. He must have known that it would only have been a matter of time before she’d learned of the wills.
Oh! How foolish she’d been to forget her final conversation with Sabra. It had all been so rushed. Just a throwaway reference to the wills when they were walking out the door. Why hadn’t she thought of it? Why hadn’t she wondered?
She threw her head back and made a growling noise of self-directed anger.
“Here you are.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest racked with the effort of breathing in and out.
“Go away,” she said, without looking at him.
“Your husband sent me.” Fayaz analysed her appearance with a growing sense of concern. “He said you were not yourself.”
“I’m more myself than I’ve been in weeks,” she contradicted forcefully. “I just needed a minute.” Did Fayaz know? Had he been caught up in this web of lies? Had he himself lied to her? Whether by choice, or omission? Or had he been commanded to lie to her, by his ruler?
“You are as white as a sheet,” he observed calmly. “Are you ill?”
“Not at all.” Her smile was forced. “Please, just let me have a moment.”
“What has happened?”
“Nothing! Why do you think …”
“Evelyn,” the word was a sound of complaint. “I have come to think of you as a friend. You were dear to Sabra, and you are now married to Malakhi. Though I am but a servant, I consider them also to be my family.”
“Which makes us family?” She said with a roll of her eyes. “That’s corny.”
“It also happens to be true,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“I’ve already answered that.”
“But …”
“No!” She cut him off forcefully, her body language perfectly mirroring that of a cornered animal, being hunted by a far more powerful prey. The sense of fear was alive in the air; he could taste it. “I need a minute.” Her eyes were fevered. “I have done everything that’s been asked of me and now I just need … to be alone. For a bit. Please.”
“Okay, okay.” He lifted his hands, his smile kind and his manner deliberately reassuring. “I apologise for intruding. Can I at least get you something? A tea? Coffee? Wine?”
She was on the verge of declining him when she nodded instead. “A tea. A tea would be lovely.”
“A tea.” He walked away quickly, his mind running through all the possibilities of what might have caused her distress. And she was distressed; it was patently obvious.
The party was in full swing. Champagne had been circulating readily and the music was getting louder. He had been enjoying the event until Malakhi had alerted him to a potential problem.
“Well?” The Sheikh broke away from his conversation with the Prime Minister and Trade Minister as soon as Fayaz approached.
Fayaz couldn’t decide how to handle the situation. Evie had been adamant that she didn’t want to be disturbed. Relaying this message to Malakhi would have the exact opposite effect. Yet to lie to his ruler would be breaking a lifetime of habits.
“You’re right,” he said in their own language, his voice lowered. “She’s troubled.”
Malakhi rubbed a hand across his chin, his expression giving little away.
“Where is she?”
Fayaz hesitated. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed. I told her I would take a cup of tea …”
“I will take it,” Malakhi responded curtly.
Fayaz nodded. “She’s through those doors. In the corridor that leads to the banquet hall.”
“Good.” Malakhi cast one more glance towards the Prime Minister. “Would you send for a tea?”
Fayaz nodded. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment and Malakhi waited with burning impatience. “I have no indication of what has upset her, but I do believe something is very wrong.”
Malakhi stood impatiently on the fringes of the party, his eyes disconnected from the festivity, his body language forbidding interruption. And such was the power of his personality and position that no one came near him, until a servant approached cautiously, holding a small silver tray.
“Sir,” he bowed obsequiously, pushing the tray forward.
Malakhi took the cup by the handle and stalked away without offering a word of thanks. It was not his intention to be rude; but his mind was absorbed by the problem of his missing wife.
When he stepped into the corridor, she looked regal and serene, but utterly untouchable.
“My tea,” she murmured, her smile faultless yet obviously false. “Thank you.”
Her eyes shifted to his for the briefest of moments before dropping to the tea.
She wrapped her fingers around the cup uncaring for the heat that scorched her instantly. She lifted it to her lips and sipped the scalding liquid.
“What is it?” He asked, putting a hand on her hip and stroking her through the fabric of the dress.
With great effort, she stayed where she was. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do; nor did she know how to handle the situation. But revealing to him what she knew was a sure-fire way to sever her options. They were married now.
What she could have done three days ago was not necessarily an option to her any longer.
Three days ago she had an unquestionable legal right over Kalem. Now? They were husband and wife; King and Queen. Did it instantly confer those rights upon him also? And what would Sabra have wanted?
She had accepted his proposal because she had then believed that her sister in law and brother would have wished for them to raise Kalem as a family. Had that changed? Did his dishonesty render her belief mute somehow?
“Are you enjoying yourself?” His words were like caramel on her fraught nerves. If she didn’t take a great deal of care, they would soothe her and she might forget again.
“A great deal,” she said with forced cheer. “Your people are beautiful.”
“Our people,” he corrected without thought.
“Yes. Speaking of our people,” she sipped her tea once more to flush her dry mouth with liquid. “I should like to check on Kalem.”
“Fatima is with him,” he said, his voice deep.
“I know that, but I’ve hardly seen him this weekend.”
“It is your wedding night,” he teased, and now her spine tingled with anticipation that was as delicious as it was frustrating, for she knew she could not easily give in to her body’s desires. Not knowing what she now did.
“But this isn’t a real wedding,” she said, surprised by how calm she was able to keep her voice.
Silence throbbed around them; the space seemed to carry the weight of the world in its thready presence.
“Meaning?”
“We married for Kalem.” She sipped her tea once more. “Didn’t we?” Her eyes were focussed on his face, looking for any indications that she should have discovered earlier.
“That makes it no less real,” he said softly, finally.
“Yet you can’t be surprised that I would rather check on him than indulge this farce for a moment longer.”
“Farce?” He took a step back, his face impossible to read.
“You know what I mean.” She waved a hand through the air, her manner dismissive. “It’s lovely, but it’s just a show. For their benefit.” Her smile hid a pervasive grief. “Between us, we can speak plainly.”
“Yes.” His eyes glittered in his dark face.
“He’ll probably be asleep,” Evie said. “I won’t be long.”
Malakhi didn’t say anything, but as Evie brushed past him – careful not to touch him – he started to move. He walked just a step behind and when Evie emerged back in the ballroom and made to turn left, he put a hand gently on her elbow. “This way is more direct.”
“Oh.” She nodded, rallying her features into an expression of calm.
“You do not have your little pocket map?” He said with a smile, attempting to draw her out, walking beside her through the crowd.
“No room for it in the dress.”
“Ah! Yes. I see that.” And his hand ran the length of her back, stroking her and sending little arrows of desire shooting pleasure beneath her skin. What exactly did that make her? What kind of fool? How could she still want him?
Because sex is all this is! Of course it was. She had thought herself in love but surely that was just a foolish, naïve idea. Something she’d told herself to make sense of the maelstrom of her desire. Lust was far more likely.
At the doors to the event, she turned to thank him, but he was so close that her face brushed the fabric of his robe. She stepped back so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash.
And he saw it. He noticed the panic. And a thousand questions slammed against him. But he asked none of them. His mouth was a grim slash of determination. “I will come with you.”
“No!” Too fast. He heard that too.
She lifted her teacup between them like a talisman. “I’ve got my tea for company. Besides. Think of the rumour we’d start if we disappeared from the wedding.”
He shook his head dismissively. “I care not for rumours.”
“Sure you don’t,” she murmured in disbelief. “You stay. I won’t be long.”
He watched her go with a growing sense of annoyance. Soon, she would return, and they would leave immediately.
In the privacy of their suite of rooms, she would be herself once more. In their bed she would be his Evie. The Evie who was incapable of denying her pleasure. The Evie who fell apart when he touched her.
Relief was palpable as, with that thought in mind, he turned his attention back on their guests.
* * *
“He is asleep.” Fatima’s eyes showed that she, too, had been dozing.
“Oh!” Evie nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She placed the now-empty teacup down on a side table and smiled apologetically at the nanny. “I should have come sooner.”
“He was very tired tonight.”
Evie spun warily. “Why? Is he okay?”
“Yes, yes,” Fatima nodded. She made big gestures with her hands, while searching for the right words. “We do the sunshine and the swim. And the food. A lot of the food. ‘E growing boy, eh?”
“Yes.” Evie nodded, moving softly towards his crib. She put her hands on the timber rail, studying his sleeping body with a clutch in her heart. One little arm was thrown over his head and the other was out to his side. His face was angled towards an edge of the crib and his full lips were parted in repose. He breathed noisily – it was approaching a snore –and she smiled remembering the first time she’d slept in the same room as Sabra. The beautiful princess had snored like a freight train. Odd, for someone so otherwise graceful.
It had bonded Evie to the her sister-in-law even more.
“You know what I love?” Fatima was the only other person in the room and so Evie must have been talking to her; though in truth, she simply had words that needed to get out. “His arms. Look at the size of them. Even stretched as high as they go, they barely reach above his head.”
Unable to help herself, she reached down and placed a finger in his palm. He curled his hand around it, his breathing turning, briefly, into a sigh.
“Is he happy?” She whispered, pulling her finger away and lifting it to her lips.
“Yes.” Fatima came and stood beside Evie, surprising her by putting an arm around her shoulders. “You do goodness here. You and His Highness. I … the words hard for me. To marry, for a child, he do no wrong, he, how you say? He innocent. And you marry for him is goodness.”
“Yes,” Evie smiled unevenly. “I’d do anything for Kalem.”
Fatima hesitated and then, as colour blossomed in her cheeks. “I say not good things to you. That day. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Evie turned and cupped Fatima’s hands in hers. “You were grieving too. None of us was at our best right after their deaths.”
“I know Sabbie since she baby like this.” Fatima nodded towards Kalem’s sleeping figure. “She was just the same. This how she sleeps.”
“Yeah,” Evie nodded. “Except she snored.”
Fatima laughed, throwing her head back. “It’s true. Even like this, she did that.”
“I didn’t know that you were her nanny.”
“Oh.” Fatima nodded, her eyes shining. “I was just young. Like Amina. I knew nothing.” She pressed her hand into the valley formed by her generous breasts. “But I know love. I feel the love.”
“I know.”
“You know their parents die young too.” She clucked, shaking her head in sympathy. “Such shame.”
“I know.” And Evie had known, for she’d talked about it at length with Sabra. But never Malakhi. At the thought of her husband, her wedding ring started to feel heavy and uncomfortable.
She was married. She was his wife. Whatever she decided to do, she had to do something. She couldn’t simply hide out in Kalem’s nursery.
There was the honeymoon, too.
The honeymoon.
She almost groaned aloud.
The thought of spending weeks alone with him, travelling, posing for photographs, pretending to be a happy newlywed? She shivered. The idea of all the lying was impossible to tolerate.
But what else could she do? She’d made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.
And he’d lie with her.