Zarif's Convenient Queen

Hanya called for two maids and, without Ella having to say a word more, she and her belongings, old and new, were resettled across the corridor.

‘Queen Azel planned to turn this suite into a nursery because it had more space,’ Hanya confided. ‘So sad. I expect had my cousin survived she would have been the mother of several children by now.’

‘Yes.’ Ella refused to let the gloss be stolen from her new accommodation by the news that Azel had hoped to site a nursery there.

‘My uncle and the King were inconsolable.’ Hanya sighed. ‘I wept most for the baby. He was so little and cute.’

‘Yes,’ Ella responded a little gruffly, finding her own vocal cords tightening when she thought of that tiny face in the photo, a life taken before it even got properly going.

‘Azel was much older than I was and because of that we weren’t close,’ the other woman admitted honestly. ‘But we all knew how much she adored the King. For a long time he was lost without her.’

‘It was a huge loss,’ Ella conceded and then she quite deliberately busied herself putting away her toiletries in the cupboard in the spacious bathroom. In the same bag she came on her contraceptive pills and realised that she had missed one the day before. She took another and hoped that her having missed one would make no difference. She vaguely recalled being told something about having to try and take it at the same time every day and she shook her head ruefully. Two weddings in forty-eight hours and an apparent allergy to shellfish had destroyed her usual routine.

Around ten, Ella went to bed. She had dined with Hanya after Zarif phoned her to tell her that he wouldn’t be back until late. She wondered if newly marrieds usually went straight back to work after the wedding in Vashir. Certainly, Zarif did not seem to be acknowledging any need to change his schedule to accommodate a wife. But then why would he? she asked herself irritably. Zarif was well aware that she wasn’t a proper wife and that within a year she would be gone, so, even if it was boring and lonely for Ella, it made sense that he should see no point in altering his usual habits.

Just as Ella was contemplating reaching out to douse the bedside light her bedroom door swung open without warning. Startled, she sat up.

Zarif stood poised in the doorway, breathing heavily, his spectacular cheekbones scored with colour. ‘What are you doing in here?’ he demanded.

‘Is there some reason why I shouldn’t sleep in another room?’ Ella asked shortly, colliding with the fiery golden eyes pinned to her and challenging that look.

‘You’re my wife. I want you in my bed.’

Ella was astonished by his attitude. ‘Surely you can visit me here?’

‘But I do not want to visit,’ Zarif derided with savage distaste, stalking to the bed, thrusting the sheet back with impatient hands and snatching her up off the mattress without ceremony. ‘I want you where I know I can find you twenty-four-seven.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

ZARIF TUMBLED HER down on his four-poster bed like a stolen parcel he had forcibly retrieved. Ella sat up, honey-blonde hair fanning round her flushed face, sapphire eyes very bright. ‘What are you playing at?’

‘This is not a game,’ Zarif told her sternly. ‘Why did you move out of here?’

Ella stilled. ‘I saw Azel’s photo in the dining room—at least I assume it was her—and suddenly being here didn’t feel comfortable. This is where you lived with her.’

Zarif was rigid with tension, as he always seemed to be when she made any reference to his first wife or child. ‘No, it wasn’t. We didn’t live together in the Western sense.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘My grandparents lived together, sharing the same rooms and mealtimes. That was their way. My uncle Halim and his wife, Azel’s parents, were more traditional and preferred separate accommodation. Azel was accustomed to that lifestyle and this building has so much unused space that it was not a problem,’ he explained flatly. ‘Try to remember that we were only teenagers when we married and Azel wanted her own suite where she could entertain her friends and occasionally forget that she was a queen. I doubt if she ever set foot in here.’

Ella was very much surprised by that snapshot of a marriage she had blithely assumed to be a love’s young dream of constant togetherness and suddenly she was unable to meet his direct gaze. Had she simply fled from the threat of a photograph? Was she still that over-sensitive about Azel’s unassailable position in his heart? And why was that, when she no longer loved him? She didn’t love him, had no excuse to feel jealous or possessive about a part of his past that had been written long before she even met him. What was the matter with her?

‘The presence of the photo offended you?’ Zarif pressed.

‘No, of course not.’ Ella studied her linked hands with fixed attention. Offended did not describe her feelings. She had felt irrationally threatened and hurt but that was not for sharing.

‘You’re still wearing the bracelet,’ he said in surprise.

Ella clamped a rueful hand over the glittering diamonds and went pink. ‘I couldn’t get the clasp undone.’

‘Let me...’ His dark head lowered, his luxuriant black hair almost brushing her cheek and the exotic scent of sultry spice and earthy male assailed her nostrils. Deft fingers unfastened the tricky clasp and set the bracelet onto the cabinet by the bed. ‘I was with my uncle all evening. I didn’t intend to leave you alone for so long.’

‘That’s OK,’ Ella said breathlessly as a cell phone buzzed in the tense silence.

Zarif stepped back from the bed to answer his phone. ‘I’m sorry, I must take this...’

Talking in Arabic and already, she sensed, mental miles from her, Zarif wandered fluidly across the room and eventually into the room next door. Ella slumped back against the pillows to await his return. It shouldn’t matter to him where she chose to sleep. Why was he suddenly bent on always reminding her that she was his wife? Their marriage was fake, and a temporary fake at that, and to her way of thinking she was not really his wife, so why did he feel the need to pretend otherwise? As she listened to Zarif’s call continuing and the undeniably soothing sound of his calm, well-modulated drawl she smothered a yawn and finally slid out of bed, closed the interconnecting door quietly and switched out the lights.