It was only as she began the two-hour wait for her flight that Esme got an inkling that something was going on. First the attendant came to inform her that her flight was delayed for a further two hours. Then the area around where she sat slowly started to empty of people. When she realised they were being herded away from her, Esme looked around and caught a few phone cameras pointed her way. Next she realised the bodyguards she thought she’d dismissed were still very much present. And a few more were fanned out close by.
Esme rose from her seat as a hum built in the gathering crowd. When someone pointed at the window behind her, she turned. And swallowed hard at the sight of the royal jet parked on the tarmac.
In the next instant she saw Zaid, robes flowing, ruthless intent stamped on his face as he stalked towards her.
When he reached her he said nothing. Not with his lips anyway. His eyes however, blazed with fury, censure and disappointment.
‘Zaid—’
‘We are in public, jamila, and that is the only thing saving you from being placed over my knee and spanked to within an inch of your life,’ he growled, nostrils flared. ‘Now you will smile and take my hand and we will walk out of here and return to the palace.’
Her heart leapt wildly. Then plummeted just as hard.
‘I can’t.’
The tendons in his neck stood out as he struggled to control himself. ‘You can and you will. I’m not letting you go, Esmeralda.’
‘But, Zaid, the chief of police—’
‘Has been thoroughly and conclusively dealt with.’ He held up the letter she’d written to him, his eyes as cold as chips, although she caught something in there too. Something that made her heart lurch wildly. ‘This changes nothing, Esmeralda. You’re not leaving me. This wedding is going to happen, so get used to the idea.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE JA’AHRIAN MARRIAGE ceremony was like nothing she’d ever witnessed. Celebrated over a seven-day period, each evening at sunset, she and Zaid met before a different set of marriage elders to repeat vows of faithfulness, honour and devotion, after which they hosted a banquet for the thousand-strong guests and dignitaries who’d accepted their invitation.
Had she been in a different state of mind, sheer awe would have rolled through her, each moment steeped in vivid Technicolor. But the pain and bewilderment lodged in her heart made names and faces blur into one, even as she pasted on a fake smile until she was sure her face would split in two.
She was gazing entranced at fireworks that marked the official end to the celebrations when she felt Zaid’s eyes on her.
His refusal to accept her backing out of the wedding had been absolute, his fury at her going back on her word catastrophic.
Esme would have fought and rejected both had she not realised, at the moment she’d seen him walking towards her at the airport, that she was irrevocably, for better or worse, requited or not, head over heels in love with Zaid Al-Ameen.
* * *
He’d made the right decision. His wife, his Queen, and the future mother of his children was beautiful, poised, and a natural with his people. Many had come to the gates of the palace to offer her flowers. After the ceremony, before they departed for their honeymoon, she would take her place next to his and thank his people for their support in a live broadcast.
All this could easily not have come to pass. He should have acted sooner to deal with Ahmed Haruni but he’d needed that final piece of evidence that the man had been inciting others to overthrow Zaid’s rule. He could so easily have lost Esmeralda. The knowledge still had the power to shake him. Even now, watching her, he knew how close it had all been.
But no matter. They were married now. And Zaid couldn’t wait to show her off to the world. More than that, he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. To reacquaint himself with the delights of her body. And then perhaps the infernal hunger that dogged him would ease. He mentally shrugged. But who cared if it didn’t? She was his wife. His partner in life. They would always have each other.
So why did he feel a kernel of unease gnawing at him each time he saw a shadow cross her face?
He shook off the bad feeling. The doctor had declared her healthy and strong, her pregnancy thriving. And if the feelings swirling through him grew into something else...why not?
He firmly broke off the conversation with the talkative minister and returned to his wife’s side. Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of it, grimacing inwardly when he felt her stiffen slightly. His behaviour at the airport had left a lot to be desired, he knew. But he intended to work on it. ‘It’s time to say our goodbyes.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Already?’
‘They’ve had seven days of you. It’s my turn to spend time alone with you.’
He made sure their goodbyes were quick, and the prepared speech was gratifying but brief.
Then, finally done, he instructed his driver to deliver them to his jet. It was time to make Esmeralda his wife in every sense of the word.
* * *
They flew to the Bahamas before boarding the royal yacht moored in Nassau. Although travelling in extreme luxury had its perks, Esme was still tired when they finally arrived on board. Turned out keeping her emotions under constant guard did that to a woman. She may have admitted her feelings to herself, but she didn’t intend to admit them to