‘He represents something to them, perhaps. The old ways, from before Hashem showed disrespect for tradition and banished a wife to take another.’
‘Even though his first wife was unfaithful,’ Aziz answered. He heard the bitterness in his tone but could not keep himself from it. He did not have it in him to feel sorry for Khalil or his mother, not after everything he and his own mother had endured as their replacements.
He sighed wearily and dropped his hand. ‘So now Khalil has taken Elena to some other desert camp and we start all over again.’
‘He can’t have gone very far.’
‘He could be anywhere, as far as we’re concerned. We’re running out of time, Malik.’ Aziz swung away to stare at the window. ‘My wedding is tomorrow. The six weeks are up then. If I have not married, referendum or not, this country will descend into chaos and civil war. I will not be able to prevent it. The people’s loyalties are too divided.’
‘You have Siyad, Your Highness.’
‘But nowhere else.’ Determination hardened his heart. He would not, he acknowledged starkly, find Elena before the six weeks were up. He could not allow Khalil to put forth his claim to the throne and he was not willing to call the referendum. Whether he won or not, a civil war could still ensue, causing rebellion, insurgency and unrest.
‘I must marry,’ he said aloud.
‘We could still find her.’
‘No. It will be too late.’ He turned around and gave Malik a grim smile. ‘Time has run out, Malik. I must marry, and I will do so tomorrow.’
‘But—’
‘You know it is true.’
He was going to have to convince Olivia to marry him, whether by charm, reason or perhaps even the coercion she’d been worried about. His heart and soul rebelled against the idea, but his will prevailed. He smiled bleakly at Malik. ‘My bride, after all, is right here.’
* * *
Olivia donned her plain white cotton blouse and dark trousers with a rush of relief, feeling as if she were reassembling herself, equipping herself with a kind or armour and banishing the memory of Aziz’s kiss and the restless desire it had stirred up inside her.
She was going back to Paris. Yet she knew she couldn’t go back to the person she’d been, that cold, lifeless husk of a human being. She didn’t even want to, not after being with Aziz. After talking to him, laughing with him.
Kissing him.
The memory of that incredible kiss, impossible to suppress, made her heart beat harder. She closed her eyes, tried once more to exorcise the feel of Aziz’s lips on hers, the memory of the urgent need that had spiralled inside her, spiralled out of control so hard and fast. Another few minutes and who knew what would have happened?
She took a deep breath and willed her heart rate to slow. Whatever might have happened hadn’t. They’d stopped, and tonight she’d return to Paris.
And, even though she couldn’t go back to her old life, or lack of it, she could still find comfort in the safe routines of keeping Aziz’s house. She could start slowly, perhaps, in wanting more for herself—take a class, try to make some friends; nothing too big or too scary.
The thought depressed rather than encouraged her. She didn’t want to learn photography or make a new pal. In that moment, she only wanted Aziz.
She shoved the thought away as she put her hair in its usual clip and, with one last resolutely satisfied glance at her reflection, headed out of her room to find Aziz. She’d get their last meeting over with and move on, whether her heart wanted to or not.
A member of staff directed her to a suite in another wing. Two sofas faced each other and a silver tea tray had been set between them. Olivia was just debating whether she should pour when a door to an adjoining room opened and Aziz strode into the room, dressed in faded jeans and a button-down shirt that had yet to be buttoned. A towel was slung round his shoulders and his hair was wet and spiky.
Olivia felt her body stiffen, her eyes pop. She could not draw her gaze away from the tantalising glimpse of bare flesh his open shirt provided. His skin was bronze, the muscles of his chest taut and defined—Michelangelo’s David, indeed.
‘Sorry,’ Aziz said, ‘I didn’t realise you’d arrived.’ He tossed the towel onto a chair and began to button up his shirt—leisurely, Olivia thought. She forced her gaze upwards.
‘I just came in. When is the plane scheduled to leave?’
‘That depends,’ Aziz answered. He went over to the tea tray and began to pour. Olivia remained where she stood, an unease caused by too many different feelings creeping through her. ‘Here.’ Smiling, his eyes silver in the afternoon light, he handed her a cup of fragrant tea. ‘Milk, no sugar, yes?’
‘Yes... Depends on what, Aziz?’ She took the cup and sat down across from him, sipping the tea without really tasting it. Her sense of unease deepened, settled in her bones.
‘Depends on the conversation we’re about to have,’ Aziz answered as he took a sip of his own tea.
Olivia put her cup down with a clatter. ‘You want me to stay longer, don’t you? What is it now— another appearance? A dinner?’ She spoke accusingly, but she couldn’t deny the anticipation, the excitement, she felt at the thought of staying. Of being with Aziz for longer.
‘No. I don’t want you to pretend to be Queen Elena again. Ever.’
The finality of his tone made her head spin, her mouth gape. ‘What, then?’
‘I want you to be yourself, Olivia,’ Aziz continued steadily. ‘I want you to stay here as Olivia, not as Elena.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ Aziz answered, ‘I want to marry you.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘DON’T FAINT,’ AZIZ SAID, laughter lacing his voice, and Olivia shook her head as if to clear it. The dizziness still spiralled inside her, along with a thousand feelings. Shock. Hope. Fear. Joy.
‘I’m not going to faint,’ she said, and her voice sounded strange to her own ears. ‘I just can’t believe you said what you said.’
‘That I want to marry you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I do.’
Still she just stared, shock making speech or even thought virtually impossible. Finally she found the sense to string some words together. ‘What about Queen Elena?’
‘She’s not here.’
‘You’re engaged to her, Aziz. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
The lightness left his face and his eyes and voice both turned steely. ‘Of course it does. But we became engaged because it was convenient for both of us. I have accepted the fact that I am not going to find her before the six weeks set out in my father’s will are up. Therefore I must find another bride.’
‘And you suppose I’ll do.’
‘I think,’ Aziz said, his voice dropping to a knowing murmur, ‘Based on the kiss we shared earlier today, you’ll more than just do, Olivia. There’s an attraction between us—’
‘That doesn’t mean I want to get married.’ Olivia swung away, her whole body trembling with the shock of Aziz’s proposal. Although, she acknowledged as she swallowed a near-hysterical laugh, he hadn’t actually asked. He’d just told her his intention.
‘I can’t believe you’d actually suggest such a thing,’ she muttered. ‘It’s crazy.’
‘I’ll admit, this whole situation has an element of madness to it. But needs must.’
‘For you.’ Olivia turned around, her body trembling, this time with indignation and even hurt. ‘Needs must for you, Aziz. But I have no need to get married. Unless—unless you’re going to threaten to fire me if—’
‘I told you before I’d never do that, Olivia.’ His voice was hard, but then his expression lightened as he offered her a wry smile. ‘I’m not the kind of man who resorts to coercion or bribery. I have better strategies than that.’
‘Which are?’
‘I simply intend to convince you of the benefits of marriage to me.’
‘The benefits,’ she repeated. Already she could imagine all too well just what some of those benefits might be: waking up next to Aziz every morning; sleeping in his arms every night; sating that wild need she’d felt for him in the garden again and again...
‘I think,’ he murmured, his smile turning sleepy, ‘Judging by your blush, you might be aware of some of them?’
‘Damn you,’ she choked, and turned away again, if only to hide her flushed cheeks.
‘Olivia.’ She felt his hand on her shoulder, the heat of his body behind hers. ‘I’m not trying to embarrass you. Trust me, the attraction we feel for one another, as unexpected as it might be for both of us, is something I certainly consider a benefit.’
‘You don’t marry someone just because you’re attracted to them,’ Olivia managed to get out. Her voice sounded suffocated.
‘No, of course not. But it’s better to be attracted to the person you marry, don’t you think?’
‘Were you—are you—attracted to Elena?’ Olivia asked and Aziz didn’t answer. She turned around, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. And she was cold, despite the still, drowsy air in the room. She was cold with shock—not just over Aziz’s proposal but her own reaction to it. For when he’d told her he wanted to marry her, as disbelieving as she’d been, a part of her had already answered with a resounding yes. A part of her had clamoured that this, he, was what she’d been waiting for, what she needed.