And if they were? Her father must have discovered her absence by now and most likely would have sent soldiers out to find her. And what then? Rico wouldn’t give her up without a fight, but even he was no match against trained soldiers and weapons. Halina leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. It was too much to think about on top of everything else.
‘Any soldiers your father sent out would have been caught in the sandstorm, the same as we were,’ Rico said. ‘We have some time.’
Halina just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. In such a scenario she didn’t even know what she’d prefer. To stay with Rico, or be rescued by her father? Both options seemed abysmal in their own way.
A bumpy few hours passed as they jolted along, the rough desert track gradually becoming a tarmac road, and then the low mud-brick buildings and handful of skyscrapers came into view—Arjah, the capital city of Kalidar.
Halina felt herself getting more and more tense as Rico drove through the city, his expression harsh and grim, his fingers tight on the steering wheel. They made it to the airport without notice, and Rico drove directly to a private plane waiting in its own bay.
Halina’s breath came out in a shudder of relief that they had not been caught or detained. So she would prefer to stay with Rico. Her own reaction had betrayed her. That was why she’d left with him in the first place, she supposed—because she’d rather risk her future with this man than face the continuing wrath of her father, her baby taken away, her body given to a man she’d never even met.
Rico gave a grimly satisfied nod. ‘It is just as I had arranged.’ He parked the SUV and strode out to meet the plane’s crew who were waiting for them on the tarmac. Halina followed, feeling exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed. If she got on that plane, it would take her all the way to Rome. And then where would she be? What would she do? What would Rico do?
‘Come. There is no time to delay.’ Rico beckoned her forward. ‘You will be more comfortable on the plane.’
Halina hesitated, even though she knew there was no point. No choice. What was she going to do? Make a sprint for the airport? She had no money, no clothes, nothing. No resources at all, and no friends to help. For a second she thought of Olivia and Prince Zayed, who might be currently residing in the royal palace at Arjah. She could seek sanctuary with them perhaps, but did she want to do that—be the unexpected and undoubtedly unwelcome guest of her former fiancé and his new bride? She’d be putting them into an impossible position as well as herself, and that was assuming she could even get to the royal palace from here, which she probably couldn’t.
‘Halina.’ Rico’s voice was touched with impatience. ‘Everyone is waiting.’ On leaden legs Halina walked slowly towards him and as he took her arm she climbed the steps to the plane.
She’d been on Abkar’s royal jet many times before, going to and from school, but it felt different now, walking into Rico’s own plane. She glanced around at the sumptuous leather sofas and low coffee tables. Several crew members were waiting attentively, their faces carefully bland. Did they know who she was, that she was pregnant with their employer’s child?
Rico strode in behind her and gestured for her to sit down. ‘After take-off you can shower and rest. The flight will take approximately six hours.’
Numbly Halina nodded. She felt dazed, unable to process everyt
hing that had happened to her. Everything that was going to happen. Marriage.
She swallowed hard and looked out at the bright blue sky, the glare of the sun making the tarmac shimmer. The plane began to taxi down the runway and then they were taking off into the sky, away from all she had known.
As soon as they’d reached cruising altitude, Rico rose. ‘I’ll show you the bedroom.’
Halina followed him, aching with exhaustion, too tired even to think. The bedroom was even more luxurious than the living area, with a king-sized bed on its own dais, built in wardrobes and a huge flat-screen TV.
She gazed around at the adjoining bathroom, complete with a glassed-in shower and marble tub, the furnishings and amenities the height of luxury.
‘This is amazing,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve never been on such a plane.’
‘Not even the royal jet?’ Rico returned with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Halina shook her head. ‘Not even then.’
He stared at her for a moment, and Halina gazed back, uncertain how to navigate this moment. How to navigate every moment. She couldn’t discern what he was thinking, what feelings, what fears or desires, lurked beneath his hard, metallic gaze, if any. Rico Falcone was a completely closed book and she had no idea what its pages held.
‘When you’re rested and refreshed,’ Rico said implacably, ‘we’ll talk.’
Halina nodded and Rico walked back out to the main cabin, closing the door behind him. She sank onto the bed with a sigh of relief, glad to be alone for a few moments, away from the intensity of Rico’s presence. She was desperate to wash, and also to think. To figure out what her next steps were...because Rico certainly knew his.
She spent far longer than necessary in the bath, luxuriating in the hot water and fragrant bubbles. The Palace of Forgotten Sands was forgotten in more ways than one; there had been no updating of its interior in over a hundred years, which meant her washing facilities, along with everything else, had been depressingly basic. A long, lovely soak went a good way to restoring her strength and spirit.
There were clothes in her size in one of the wardrobes, and Halina wondered if Rico had had them chosen specially for her. Or did he simply have a woman’s wardrobe on hand for whatever mistress was his flavour of the week?
Pushing the thought out of her mind, she dressed in a pale-blue shift dress that, despite being her usual size, hung off her currently gaunt frame. She’d lost more weight than she’d realised in the last few weeks. Twisting her hair up into a loose bun, Halina squared her shoulders and then went to meet her fate.
Rico was sprawled on one of the sofas, a laptop in front of him, his forehead furrowed in a frown. He looked as sexy and as self-assured as ever, having changed into a knit shirt in charcoal-grey and dark trousers, both garments fitting his body to perfection and emphasising his incredible physique.
He looked up as soon as she entered, and then snapped his fingers. A staff member sprang forward.
‘Sparkling water, orange juice and a full breakfast for both of us,’ he ordered. ‘And I’ll have coffee as well.’