His heart was still pounding with rage when he found Jasmine in the royal garden in the twilight, sleeping on a cushioned seat in a shady, quiet bower. A book was folded upside down unheeded in her lap. He stopped, staring down at her, marveling again at her beauty.
She slept peacefully, like a child. The wind blew softly through the trees, rattling the leaves, brushing loose tendrils of dark hair across her face. She was wearing a fitted black sweater over a high-necked white shirt and a long black skirt. And below that—red canvas sneakers.
Her lovely face was bare of makeup, and beautiful in its natural simplicity. Modest, simple, like a maid. She looked the part of a perfect wife and mother—the perfect heart of any man’s home. Of his home.
He took a deep breath, calming down beneath the influence of her sweet purity, of her innocence. He smiled down at her. Then his gaze fell upon her hand, and he saw she still wore Hajjar’s diamond upon her finger.
Jasmine’s dark brown eyes fluttered open. A smile lit up her face when she saw him. Her smile struck through his soul.
“Kareef.” The sweet lilt of her voice washed over him like a wave of water. “Oh, how I’ve missed you today!”
He sat next to her, taking her hands in his own. “I thought the day would never end.”
“And once again, you’ve caught me in the royal garden.” Her expression became bashful, apologetic. “Where I should not be.”
“The garden is yours,” he said roughly. “You have the right.”
She tried to smile at him, but her expression faltered. She looked down at her hand, twisting the ring on her finger. “For now.”
A spasm of unexpected jealousy went through him as he looked at that ring, the physical mark of another man’s ownership. “Take that off.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
“Take it off.”
“No.”
“You’re not going to marry him tomorrow.”
Her expression became mutinous. “I am.” She rose to her feet. “And if you can’t accept that—”
“We won’t talk about it now, then.” He caught her wrist. “Just come to the royal banquet with me tonight.”
She looked down at his hand on her wrist.
“This is how we would be discreet?” she said. “Beside each other at the banquet, as lovers for all the world to see?” She shook her head. He saw tears in her eyes. “Admit I was right,” she whispered. “The palace separates us already. Let’s end this cleanly. We must part.”
He looked at her with a heavy heart. How could he change her mind, when he himself could feel the truth of her words?
But taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “One more night.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“Attend the banquet with me. Give me one last chance to change your mind, to convince you not to marry him. One last night.” He set his jaw. “Then, if you still wish to wed him—I will say farewell.”
He watched her face as her expression struggled visibly between desire and pain. “You will divorce me?”
“Yes.”
“On your honor?”
“Yes,” he bit out.
She gave him a slow nod. “Very well.” She reached out to caress his cheek, then hesitated. She glanced wryly at her red high-top sneakers. “I will go get dressed.” She bowed her head, then looked up. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Until tonight, my king.”
A half hour later, Kareef arrived alone to thunderous applause at the grand ballroom. Five hundred illustrious guests clamored for his attention, clamored for his gaze—and he still hadn’t thought of a way to convince Jasmine to remain his mistress. Because there wasn’t a solution.
Jasmine wanted respectability. She wanted a family of her own. She wanted children.
As king, what could he offer her—except disgrace?
Greeting his honored guests, Kareef walked to the end of the long table, looking for one beautiful face. Where was she? Where had the vizier placed her? Without her calming presence, he felt like a trapped tiger in a cage, half-mad in captivity. He prayed to find her beside him at the table.
But when he reached his place, he stopped.
Seated on his left he saw the elderly king of a neighboring nation.
Seated on his right was a beautiful blonde of no more than eighteen, bedecked in diamonds and giggling behind her hand as she stared up at him with big blue eyes. He instantly knew who she must be: Princess Lara du Plessis.
Silently cursing his vizier, Kareef sat down. His hands clenched on the fine linen tablecloth of the table. He stared dismally at his plate setting of 24-karat gold-patterned china and crystal stemware filled with champagne. Where was Jasmine?