Monarch of the Sands

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Yes, I do. You’re much too tall to be comfortable on it.’

‘Very well.’ His voice was cool, remote. ‘If that is what you wish.’

‘It is.’

But that didn’t stop her heart from aching as she lay sleepless in the big2 hours while Zahid slept, his hawklike face looking oddly soft in sleep as it lay, pillowed by his forearm.

Raffaele arrived next day with his fiancée—but Francesca was too exhausted from lack of sleep to meet them until dinner. She spent most of the day reading while Zahid worked and they communicated with a cool politeness she found far more distressing than the row they’d had in the desert.

Unfortunately, she fell asleep while she was supposed to be getting ready—and so by the time she stumbled downstairs the others were already assembled on the rooftop terrace, drinking from heavy red goblets and nibbling at pistachios.

Zahid’s face was a mask of disapproval as she walked onto the terrace.

‘You are late,’ he said.

Frankie shot him a reproving glance. ‘Zahid, aren’t you going to introduce us?’

Zahid made no attempt to hide his frown. Was there no end to her stubborn behaviour? he asked himself angrily. She had refused to share a bed with him and now she was late. ‘This is Raffaele de Ferretti, a business colleague, and this is his fiancée, Natasha—’

‘Phillips,’ butted in the woman with silky-looking hair and a rather anxious look on her face.

‘This is Francesca,’ Zahid said.

‘Hello,’ said Francesca, and smiled—even though it seemed to take a monumental effort to do so. Just as it took an even bigger effort to get through the meal without breaking down. Especially since Raffaele and his fiancée were clearly on some sort of high. The air was heavy with the sexual tension which seemed to flow between them and which made even more mockery of Frankie’s own life and her situation with Zahid.

By the time the evening was over and she and the sheikh were back in their suite, she stared at him as he closed the door.

‘Count me out for any further encounters like that,’ she said quietly.

‘We have a whole weekend to get through,’ he objected coldly.

‘And I’ll spend it in the suite.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Oh, but I can.’ She stared at him, defying him to challenge her. ‘I can do exactly as I please, Zahid. I’m a free agent, aren’t I?’

And that was that. Frankie stayed in their suite for the rest of their stay and Zahid presumably made excuses for her absence—because as soon as was decently possible the whole miserable visit was cut short.

‘Get your clothes packed,’ he bit out. ‘We’re leaving.’

‘What, now?’

‘Yes. Now.’

The journey to the airfield was spent with Frankie biting on her lip and trying desperately hard not to break down in front of him. But it wasn’t easy. It felt as if someone had punched a hole in her heart and left it aching and empty. When would this feeling go? she wondered distractedly. How long did it take for love to die?

Their limousine drew up onto the tarmac and she was wondering how they would endure the long flight ahead when, to her surprise and consternation, Zahid said goodbye.

‘Goodbye?’ Sheer panic made all the blood drain from her face. ‘But I thought … I mean, aren’t you supposed to be flying to London with me?’

‘I was,’ he corrected and he looked deep into her eyes, feeling the painful twist of his heart as he registered the whiteness of her face. ‘But I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think we need endure any more of this painful charade.’

‘Zahid—’

‘No, Francesca. Maybe it’s best this way. Let’s just try and retain some of the good memories, shall we?’ he questioned bitterly—because much more of this and he would do something unforgivable. Like break down in front of her. And what good would that do? It wouldn’t actually change anything.