The Sultan's Harem Bride

‘You have?’ So his grandmother hadn’t been as blindly trusting as he’d thought.

She nodded. ‘Her life’s an open book, and most of the pages are about work.’ She paused. ‘This project is important to her. She wants very strongly to make it a success. She won’t jeopardise that by biting the hand that feeds her.’

Asim choked back a comment about taking the money and running. The press would pay handsomely for candid snaps of his sister right now, and even more for an insider’s story on her state of mind, true or not.

‘But why write this book? She’s used to the quick adrenalin fix and high profile of current affairs. Why walk away from that at just twenty-eight? She’s on the way to big things.’ He’d done more checking of his own last night. ‘It’s too convenient.’

‘You’re too concerned with conspiracy theories, Asim. She and I have corresponded for some time. Even before Imran...’ The old lady sucked in a shuddering breath. Her fingers knotted in her lap. ‘He’d suggested she contact me and I believe she views it as her duty to your cousin to see it through.’

‘Duty?’ Asim bit out. ‘It’s a little late for that now he’s dead.’

His grandmother shook her head. ‘You can’t blame her for what happened. You read the reports. You know she was as much a victim as Imran.’

Reluctantly he nodded. Logic told him the old lady was right. But Jacqueline Fletcher’s presence here still felt wrong.

Not to Lady Rania. ‘How can I turn my back on her when it was the last thing Imran asked of me?’

Asim watched his grandmother battle tears and his gut clenched. In seconds the clever, feisty woman he loved was gone, replaced by a fragile, grieving old lady whose distress tore at him. He felt as if someone was slowly disembowelling him with a rusty spoon. She’d always seemed indomitable but his cousin’s untimely death had aged her as not even the loss of her son and daughter-in-law had.

Imran’s loss had shocked them all. But for his grandmother it was a blow from which Asim feared she’d never recover. Unless she had something else to focus on.

With a sigh, he sank onto the arm of her chair and covered her age-knotted hands. He knew he’d regret this.

‘You really want Jacqueline Fletcher here?’

Her hands stilled. ‘I promised Imran.’

In their family a promise was an unbreakable bond.

Imran and Jacqueline Fletcher. Just how close had they been? The question had taunted him through the long night.

Asim closed his eyes, thrusting aside the futile wish that his grandmother’s peace of mind could be achieved through other means. The only way forward was to take control of the situation, however unpalatable, and mould it into what you wanted.

‘And if she proves unworthy of your trust?’

‘I may be getting on in years, Asim, but I’m not in my dotage.’ The indignation in her tone was a relief. ‘I’m still a good judge of character. And talent.’ She gestured to the papers on the table. ‘Read those and tell me she’s not gifted. She’s got a journalist’s instinct for a story, but it’s tempered with humanity and respect.’

‘Respect?’ It wasn’t a word he associated with the press.

‘Read them and see.’

To please his grandmother, he scooped the papers up. The last thing his crowded schedule permitted was leisure for reading.

‘You’ll let her stay?’

Reluctantly he inclined his head. ‘Since you wish it.’

‘You won’t regret it, Asim.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ He would permit no one to hurt either his sister or his emotionally fragile grandmother. If Jacqueline Fletcher crossed that line she’d answer to him.

* * *

Jacqui paced the antechamber. Sitting still wasn’t an option. Her response to a problem was to resolve it quickly. Except the Sultan had been unavailable all day. One didn’t simply interrupt a busy head of state, no matter how infuriating and high-handed his attitude.

‘His Highness will see you now.’

Jacqui spun round to see a young man gesturing her towards an open door.

Her empty stomach clenched. This was it. Lady Rania had assured her this morning that she’d persuade her grandson. But, remembering his severe expression and the glint of honed steel in his eyes, Jackie wondered if anything would shift him when he’d made up his mind.

Once she’d have been sure she could persuade him, but her self-assurance had shattered, leaving her questioning her judgement in coming here.

Yet if Jacqui didn’t have this project, what did she have? Her insides heaved as she fought panic.