Soon, the other sisters all took their turns as well, their cold expressions gradually warming to Isabella and her unborn baby. Everyone except Jess, that was. Finally, the oldest Nazrani sister leaned closer and met Isabella’s eyes. “If you hurt my brother again, we will have a problem. Understand?”
“Understood,” Isabella whispered. “And it’s a boy. You’re going to have a nephew. No names picked out yet.”
“A boy?” Jess said, her tone quiet with reverence. “May I?”
“Yes.” Isabella bit back a smile as Jess laid her hand over where the baby was moving again. “Feel it?”
Jess nodded, and the women exchanged a look, not exactly acceptance, but Isabella would take what she could get at the moment. Jess grinned and sat back at last. “Good. Now we must discuss plans for your official return dinner.”
6
Feraz listened to his brothers chatter away on the limo ride back to the palace, but his mind was on the woman in the next car behind them. He’d not planned on riding separately from Roxanne from the airport, but as usual his family had taken over and waylaid his plans. He loved them all, but they could certainly be a nuisance.
He hoped his sisters weren’t being too rough on his wife. They’d made no secret of their dislike toward her treatment of their brother and while he appreciated their concern, he could take care of himself. Regardless of his wife’s indiscretions, it took two to make a marriage—or destroy one. He’d not exactly been the most attentive spouse once they’d said their vows. He’d been busy trying to rebuild his country and ensure its
future success. And Roxanne had always been so cold and disinterested back then. Still, he should have been more sympathetic to her needs and vowed to do better now, especially since they had a child involved.
My child.
The words still sent a thrill through him.
As did that kiss he and Roxanne had shared in the plane.
It had been so long since he’d kissed anyone, let alone his wife. Perhaps that explained his strong physical reaction. His pulse still raced from that brief interlude, his skin felt hot and stretched too tight, and his blood pounded through his veins. The way she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d tasted, her tiny moans and whimpers as he’d plundered her lips.
It was enough to make a saint a sinner.
Feraz was no saint, and he was not about to stay celibate forever. He was a man with wants, needs, and right now he wanted his wife—with a passion that surprised even him. Too bad she was acting like a scared church mouse at the moment instead of the lusty vixen he remembered.
Time changed everyone. Maybe time had changed Roxanne too.
They pulled up to the huge wrought iron and gold gates of the palace then drove down the long drive to the entrance. All the servants were out front to greet him upon his arrival, and so was his mother, Zuhra. At barely over five foot, many people mistook her size for meekness. Those people learned quickly that big attitudes came in small packages.
“Mama,” he said in Arabic and headed in her direction once he’d gotten out of the limo. The glare from the red carpet beneath their feet made him squint as he kissed his mother on both cheeks. Morning sunlight beat down from the endless blue sky above and the temperatures were already on the rise. Despite his lingering jet lag, there would be no time to rest for him today. He had a full agenda of meetings and a pile of work on his desk to catch up on. As sheikh, he liked to keep his hands in all areas of business in his country. His brothers often said he should delegate more, but Feraz remembered all too well how much their father had pushed off his plate and onto others. That’s what had led to the downfall of Djeva, in Feraz’s opinion, and he would do everything in his power to keep that from happening again. So he stayed busy, and overworked.
“Finally brought that wife of yours to pasture, I see,” Zurha whispered in his ear. “I was sorry to hear of the passing of the other twin. Isabella, yes? Always thought she’d have made a much better wife for you than this one.”
Feraz kept his face stoic in the face of his mother’s comment, though, truthfully he’d been thinking the same thing himself prior to the flight back here. Something had shifted inside him during the journey, however. Perhaps it was the conversations he’d had with his wife on the flight. Perhaps it was the way she’d cuddled into his side to sleep and refused to let him go. Perhaps it was the immediate and deep connection with her he’d felt during their kiss, as if finally he’d found the one. Strange that, since he’d never experienced that before when kissing Roxanne, but regardless, he wouldn’t refuse the gift of her compliance.
Whatever it was, he wanted desperately for this to work and to finally have some peace and contentment in their relationship, if only for the sake of their child.
My son.
“She looks well enough, I suppose,” Zuhra said, giving his wife an appraising stare as she emerged from the second limo and headed over toward Feraz. “All the tests were in order, I presume?”
“Yes, Mama,” Feraz said, his gut pinching over the fact he’d had to prove paternity at all. It was an old Djevian custom and law meant to protect the sheikhdom from usurpers, but it still rankled. “All is in order. Please be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” Zuhra said, not looking at her son. “Trusting her is another story. She will need to prove her loyalty to me before that will ever happen again. She hurt you, my son, and for that she needs my forgiveness.” The small older woman squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly. “She will need to earn both before I will consider her a true part of this family again.”
Feraz sighed and gave his wife a small smile as she reached them, taking her trembling hand in his. The dark circles beneath her eyes had faded a bit and some color had returned to her cheeks, though he did not like the tightness around her lips. He felt the crazy urge to pull her into his arms again and kiss her until her tension dissipated.
That would not be wise, however, considering the legion of press and reporters who were now gathering outside the gates at the end of the drive. With their technology and telephoto lenses, he was sure they were picking up every gesture and expression as if they stood right here next to him on the red carpet. The limo drivers had done their best to lose the paparazzi on the drive here, but they were too persistent these days to disappear for long.
“Mama, you remember my wife, Roxanne,” Feraz said, leading his wife to stand in front of his mother. The two women exchanged cool glances and Roxanne made an attempt to curtsy, though it was difficult with the pregnancy. Feraz put his arm around her waist to help her straighten then pulled her into his side, both as a show of solidarity and just because it felt so good to touch her. “She will be living here with us at the palace until after the child is born at least.”
“Is that so?” Zuhra said, appraising Roxanne from head to toe. “I shall look forward to our discussions then, Miss Germain.” She’d deliberately not called his wife by her married name and Feraz felt Roxanne stiffen beside him at the slight. “Your sister and I used to have the most delightful conversations. Isabella was so knowledgeable about the world and had great insight into people. My deepest condolences on her passing. She was a great woman.”
With the harsh sun, he was afraid his wife might pass out on him. Feraz took her arm and directed her toward the door of the palace. “I believe this heat is a bit much. I’ll show my wife to her quarters now, Mama.”