The Heartbreaker Prince

‘No cookery programme?’

‘No,’ she’d snuffled, looking up at him through suspiciously red eyes. ‘It’s too early. This is an appeal for the famine.’

The appeal had been followed by a news programme where the headline was not the famine but an item on the diamond purchased at auction by an anonymous buyer and the record-breaking price it had achieved.

When she’d expressed her condemnation of a society where the values were so skewed that people put a higher price on a shiny jewel than they did on children’s lives, he’d agreed wholeheartedly with her view before going away to pass the ring he’d bought for her on to the next highest bidder, and to make a sizeable donation to the famine appeal. He’d then spent the rest of the evening wrestling with the problem of what the hell to buy for the woman who could have everything and didn’t want it!

For a man who had never put any thought into a gift beyond signing a cheque it had not been easy, but he considered his solution inspired.

Would Hannah?

At some point he would have to ask himself why pleasing her mattered so much to him, but that remained a question for tomorrow. Today things were going rather well. This marriage could have been a total disaster but it wasn’t.

* * *

The sound of music as he walked into the apartment drew him to the salon. A soft, sexy ballad was playing. The room was empty but the doors of the balcony were open and the dining table there was laid for two, with red roses and candles. The roses were drooping, the candles in the silver candelabra had burnt down, spilling wax on the table, and the champagne in the ice bucket was empty, as were the plates.

He was making sense of the scene when Rafiq appeared.

‘Where?’

‘I believe they are in the kitchen.’

‘They?’

‘The chef is still here.’

Rafiq opened the kitchen door, but neither his wife nor the celebrity chef he had flown in to give her a day’s one-to-one teaching session heard him. Could that have had something to do with the open bottle of wine and two glasses on the table?

Or the fact they were having a great time? The guy with his fake smile and spray tan was relating an incident with enough name-dropping to make the most committed social climber wince.

Hannah wasn’t wincing, though, she was eating it up, with her amazed gasps and impressed ahhs.

Well, she wasn’t lonely, and she certainly wasn’t missing him.

Scowling, he tugged at his tie and walked inside. He was paying the man to give his wife cooking lessons. He could manage the other things himself.

‘Happy birthday.’

At the sound of the voice she had been waiting to hear all evening, Hannah’s head turned. She started to her feet just in time, restraining the impulse to fling herself at him.

To his mind, her reaction had all the hallmarks of guilt.

‘Have you had a good day?’ His eyes slid to the chef, who had risen slowly to his feet.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Her response and her demure, hand-clasped attitude reminded him of a child summoned to the headmaster’s study, and he felt his temper rise.

‘I made us a meal but you—’

‘You missed a great meal, really great. This girl is a talent.’

‘The girl is my wife.’ Kamel had spent the day being pleasant to idiots but enough was enough.

‘Hannah is a great pupil. Really talented.’

‘Yes, you mentioned that. Well, thank you for stepping into the breach, but I would like to say happy birthday to my wife—alone. Shall I have someone show you to your room or can you—?’

‘I’ll be fine. Goodnight, all.’

The door closed and Hannah gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness for that.’

Her reaction sent his antagonism down several levels.

‘You did not enjoy your birthday present?’

‘It was the best birthday present I have ever had! It was fine before he started drinking and then...’ She shook her head. ‘He kept telling the same story over and over and I couldn’t get rid of him. Thank goodness you came when you did. I was ready to hide in the pantry, but at least it stopped me brooding. Dad didn’t call. I hope he’s all right. Some years he is worse than others,’ she admitted, worriedly.

Kamel shook his head. ‘Worse?’

‘Sorry, I was talking as if you knew.’

Kamel struggled to contain his frustration. He had to drag every bit of information out of her. ‘I would like to know.’

‘My mother died when I was born. Well, actually she died a few weeks earlier. She was brain dead but they kept her alive until I was strong enough to be delivered. Dad stayed by her side night and day all that time and when I was born they switched off the life support. It’s hardly any wonder it was months before he could even look at me. If it hadn’t been for me she’d be alive.’