The Marriage Deal Page 16

  “I’m sure,” I answer the question he hasn’t posed.

  “Amy –,”

  “Zahir,” I respond with firmness. “Don’t treat me like a child. I know what I want.”

  His eyes flash to mine, heat in our veins as he stalks back to the bed.

  “And what is that?”

  He needs to hear me say it? Fine. “I want you. Now.”

  He drags a hand over his stubbled jaw.

  “And I want to make a baby with you.”

  He expels a sharp breath. I can see the argument he’s waging within himself, though I don’t understand the reason for it.

  “Isn’t that what you want?”

  He stares down at me, desire flashing in his eyes, but something still holds him back.

  “It’s okay,” I say quietly. “I mean it. This is what I want.” If only he knew how much, and why.

  He swears in Qabidi, a gruff sound in a low, husky voice.

  Anxiety cuts into my desire. Is it possible this is no longer what he wants?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  My heart misses a beat.

  “You were adamant you didn’t want to conceive my child.”

  That was before. Before I knew you, before I… The words are strangled in my throat.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Your father’s return is not contingent on this.”

  I shake my head. “Believe me, I’m not thinking about dad right now.”

  And despite the tension in his frame, a smile flickers on his face. My heart twists. Love explodes through me. “Zahir? You’re making me feel seriously unwanted right now.”

  His eyes latch to mine. “Unwanted is the last thing you should feel.” His expression darkens. “I do not think you would bother me so much if I didn’t want you like this.” And finally, he’s kissing me again, his powerful body moving over mine, his frame a beautiful weight, my breasts crushed beneath his hair-roughened chest. Unconsciously I run my fingers over his tattoo, waiting for him to take me, needing him, and yet his kiss is already sending my senses into overdrive. I arch my back in a silent invitation, and when it goes unanswered, I push at his chest, surprising him so it’s easy for me to topple him onto his back. His eyes show a hint of surprise before he’s laughing and reaching for me, bringing me over him, my hair forming a blonde curtain around my face, my eyes challenging his as I straddle him and take him deep inside of me in one movement, tilting my head back on that perfect moment of possession. His hands run over my sides then cup my breasts, holding them as I move over his length, the intimacy of this driving me crazy, pleasure like a whip at my spine, pushing my movements. He twists one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger and they’re already so sensitive from his earlier ministrations that I whimper with the force of that pleasure, and then I move faster, my body taking what I need from him, every shift of my hips driving him deeper until we’re both cresting over a wave together; his fingers weave through mine, holding my hands at my side, demanding stillness of me before he shifts, bucking me onto the bed, his body on mine, kissing me as he thrusts until we are replete, our satisfaction mutual, shared, overwhelming.

  Tortured breath sounds fill the room, mine and his, and then he rolls off me, onto his back, distance between us, the space on the mattress keeping us apart. I lay at his side, staring at the ceiling, something important pressing into my brain, a thought or recollection I fail to grab hold of in the face of other more urgent sensations.

  He lifts up onto one elbow, staring down at me, so my eyes slide to his, a smile on my lips the only response I can offer. Our fight yesterday was like a terrible swelling of water and this is the bursting of the dam, the releasing of pressure, a relaxation, a pleasure I needed with all of my body.

  “Where were you last night?” The question is asked without accusation, without agenda. It’s simply borne of curiosity.

  “My office.”

  “Why?”

  He frowns, reaching for my forehead, running his fingers over my skin and into my hair. He stares at it as though he’s never seen anything like it before.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

  “Why not?”

  “After yesterday…”

  I nod thoughtfully. “I wish –,”

  But it’s a conversation that draws danger into something so otherwise pleasant.

  “What do you wish?”

  “I just wish you knew him better.”

  His eyes hold mine without giving me a hint of how he feels.

  I sigh. “If you knew my dad, you’d know he could never do what you think. And if you didn’t suspect him, you would never suspect me.”

  “I don’t suspect you. The note was – alarming, but I acted without thinking. The fact it was found in your clothing means nothing. There was no time during the day that you were left alone. You didn’t meet with anyone.”

  My heart turns over and for a moment, something like ice washes over me. “You know this because you checked?”

  Sensing my displeasure, he nods slowly. “It was important to put the matter to bed. I verified your movements for your own sake, Amy, not because I didn’t believe you.”

  It’s not reassuring. “Oh.”

  He presses a finger to my cheek, his touch gentle.

  “But you don’t trust me.”

  His eyes ravage mine. I look away, unable to bear the intensity of his scrutiny.

  “I trust you more than I should.”

  It rings with an earlier sentiment he expressed. I do not think you would bother me so much if I didn’t want you like this.

  It hurts, but I ignore that, too. It’s not productive.

  “What would it take to change your mind about my father?”

  “Nothing that is within your power to give.” He leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead.

  It’s supposed to be placating, I suppose, but it whips frustration through me. I press a hand to his heart, the solid thumping there pressing into my own.

  “I want this marriage to work,” I say quietly, catching his hand and moving it to my stomach. “I understand why you need an heir, and I want that too.” I flush a little, the confession something I’m still grappling with, even when I know it to be completely true. “But Zahir, he’s my dad, and he’s kind and patient and generous and thoughtful and I know if you gave him a chance, you’d like him a lot.”

  Zahir’s eyes flash with anger. “No.”

  It’s so abrupt, so final. Something clutches in my chest. “But you don’t even know –,”

  “I know enough.” He presses a kiss to my lips, a kiss to silence me and rebuff this conversation. “He is your father, and believe me, little one, I will never forget that he is the reason for our marriage. But when he returns to Qabid, he will still be nothing to me.”

  Realisation is like an anvil in my side. “But he’s…”

  “Yes?”

  Zahir is ruthless now, beneath an exterior I know so well, and with a voice I can tell he’s trying to soften to avoid upsetting me.

  “What about if we have a baby?” I can’t believe this hasn’t occurred to me before now. “He’ll be the baby’s grandfather. Obviously I’ll want him to be a part of our child’s life.”

  “This is also unlikely.”

  For the smallest moment I’m buoyed by his use of the word ‘unlikely’ but then I understand: he’ll say anything to delay this confrontation.

  “It has to be,” I demur, pushing out of bed, the pleasure of a moment ago completely evaporated, a wave of disbelief cresting through me. “I can’t bring him to Qabid and cut him out of my life!”

  “You may see him,” he says quietly, and kindly, but the very idea I’d need his permission sets my teeth on edge.

  “Oh, gee, thank you very much,” I respond tartly, dragging a silk dressing gown around my body, cinching the tie at my waist. “How generous of you. What else ‘may’ I do as your wife
?”

  His chest is moving rapidly but he otherwise appears calm. “I did not come here to argue with you.”

  “Yeah, well, what did you come here for, Zahir?”

  He pierces me with his obsidian eyes. “To tell you that three hours ago, your father boarded a flight bound for Qabid. He will be here by nightfall.”

  14

  Amy

  IT’S LIKE THE WORLD has tipped completely off its axis. I can’t breathe properly, my eyes are stinging and I realise tears are running down my cheeks, landing on my silk-covered breasts; I’m shaking like a leaf.

  “You’re not serious?”

  He stands, reaching for a pair of boxers and dragging them on. “This was our deal, wasn’t it?”

  He’s right, it was, but I don’t want to think in terms of a deal anymore. Our marriage started off as a means to an end but it feels like so much more than that. And yet it can’t be! A minute ago he was telling me any children of ours won’t be allowed to see my father and I don’t think I can cope with that. It will kill dad.

  It’s all such a mess!

  I feel torn between the only two men I’ve ever – loved. There, I said it. Finally. The word has been rolling through my subconscious for days now and I can’t ignore it any longer. I love my husband. I don’t know how or why, perhaps it’s some kind of fatalistic attraction, some ancient, primal connection dictated by the stars, or perhaps it’s just that I’ve never met anyone like him? He’s overwhelming and nothing in my experience could ever have prepared me for the experience of knowing him, let alone being married to him. I spin away, stalking to the window, unable to stop the quivering in my hands. I grip them in front of me, my pulse going haywire.

  I’m torn between Zahir and my father, but I know where my loyalty lies. I’ve had a lifetime of loving my father, and he’s endured sixteen years of suffering and displacement at the hands of this man. My husband.

  I press a fist to my mouth, aching with the awful reality of this.

  I’ve only known Zahir for weeks. Maybe I don’t actually love him. How can I, after what he’s put dad through? Maybe this is just sexual infatuation? Maybe it’s something I can control?

  “Yes.” My voice emerges as a barely-there whisper. “That was our deal.” I harden my heart, strengthening my resolve as I turn to face him. I can see the concern in his face and ignore it, tilting my chin defiantly. “I want to see him as soon as he lands.”

  Zahir’s eyes narrow.

  “No.”

  I jerk my head away, fixing my gaze to the wall.

  “So I do have to ask your permission for everything I want to do?”

  “Your father is considered a security threat. He will be debriefed once he lands –,”

  “Debriefed?” I squawk. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Relax.”

  “How can I relax when you’re going to have your henchmen drag him off the plane and, and, and –,”

  “And take him to a hotel where they will go through the conditions for his return, explain the security monitoring he’ll be subjected to before giving him an escort to his home?” He says softly.

  “That’s awful. He’s my father! He deserves better than that.”

  “No, Amy. He deserves much worse, but this is what I have asked for and so it will be done. Believe me when I tell you there are many within my government who would wish him to be thrown in prison.”

  I know he’s not adding the rest of the sentence: or worse.

  I shudder, squeezing my eyes closed. “How can you all be so wrong about him?”

  “Once he’s settled, within a few days of landing, you’ll be taken to him.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m a prisoner too?” I remark, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Because you’re hurting and you’re angry,” he says quietly, coming closer to me, but I stiffen, flinching away from him. How can I go from such euphoric passion to this intense pain, and so quickly?

  “What is it?”

  “Do you even need to ask?” I sniff. “You’re treating my father like dirt. What kind of daughter would I be if I weren’t offended by that?”

  “You’re an excellent daughter, of this I have no doubt. After all, you married a man you know nothing about and all for his sake.”

  “That’s not true,” I demur, wanting to hurt him as he’s hurting me. “I knew a lot about you, Zahir.”

  “I can imagine your father made sure of that.”

  “My father said nothing about you,” I hiss angrily. “You keep thinking he’s some kind of villain who’s out to get you but he never once mentioned your name to me. Everything I know about you is from my mother or from the internet. The articles in the press quoted you at the time, the things you said about him. My hatred of you comes from here,” I point to my heart, “Not from dad.”

  His face is like steel. He stares at me for several long seconds and then jerks his head once, in a small nod of agreement.

  “I understand.” His fingers lift my thumb towards his face, holding me there until my bravado slips and crumbles and fresh tears fill my eyes. I feel deflated and awful. “You’re an excellent actress, Amy. I wouldn’t have guessed you hated me when you were in my bed.”

  My fingertips itch and before I realise what I’m doing, my hand presses to his cheek, hard, leaving a perfect mark on his skin.

  I stare at it in shock. I’ve never hit a person in my life, and never out of anger or violence. I clasp my hand to my mouth, taking a step backwards.

  He regards me steadily for a moment and then turns away, walking towards the door. “I will have someone notify you once he’s arrived.”

  The setting sun is magnificent. Every evening I’ve looked out over the skies of Qabid and felt this same sense of connection with the land, a yearning to see it all, every single grain of sand, to meet all the people and experience the different cultures of each town and city. I want to see more, feel more, be more of a part of this ancient country. After all, this country’s blood runs through my veins too.

  I watch as the golden orb dips towards the horizon, streaking the sky in golds and mauves, dramatic and beautiful, the stars twinkling like silver, and a moment later, there’s a knock at the door. My stomach is in knots, waiting to hear about dad. I cross Zahir’s apartment with shaking knees, wondering about my father and his return, how he felt flying in over the city, seeing this land for the first time in decades. I draw the door inwards to see a staff member on the other side. He extends a piece of card to me.

  Frowning, I take it, my fingers shaking as I unfold it.

  Zahir’s handwriting is unmistakable.

  Meet me in the almrisad.

  I shake my head, blinking up at the staff member. “What does this mean? Where’s the almrisad?”

  “I will show you, your highness,” he offers.

  “Thank you.”

  I’m casually dressed and my hair is out and quite wild, in one of the styles Aliya loses patience with, but I don’t care. I’m anxious for any word on my father. I slip on a pair of shoes and fall into step beside the man, moving quickly. The almrisad is not far from Zahir’s apartment. The man leads me down a long corridor then points to a wide timber doorway.

  “Up the steps, madam,” he bows low.

  “Thank you.” I move quickly, gathering my skirt at the knees and pushing through the doors, taking the steps two at a time so that I’m breathless when I emerge at the top. And even if I weren’t breathless, the sight awaiting me would have definitely made me so.

  The almrisad is a completely open-air space, with arches carved into a dome shape, no glass windows to fill the voids, just twinkling starlight. It’s large enough to accommodate a group of perhaps a hundred people, but tonight there is only Zahir, a selection of brightly coloured scatter cushions and dozens of candles.

  He eyes me cautiously, and I return the sentiment, reserve in my features even as the beauty of the setting has bowled me over.

  “Well?
” I walk quickly to him, pushing our argument from my mind. “Is he here?”

  He dips his head once. “Yes.”

  “Oh my goodness.” I clap my hands together. “Zahir, I can’t believe it.” Tears sparkle on my eyes. “How is he? Did he have a good flight? What did he think when he came in over the country for the first time? Has he asked about me?”

  He lifts a finger and presses it to my lips.

  I silence, staring at him, wishing I knew more.

  “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone, speaking into it, a few gruff, Qabidi words before he hands it to me. There is a grim line on his face, and I understand this is the very last thing he wishes to be doing but I take it quickly, spinning away from him, closing my eyes.

  “Daddy?”

  “Amy,” his voice is so achingly familiar yet somehow older and more tired.

  I sob. “You’re here?”

  “In the city, thanks to you.”

  “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

  His laugh is the last thing I expect. “I’m being treated like a king. I’ve been checked into the penthouse suite, fed a buffet of traditional foods. It’s quite remarkable.”

  “Oh.” I look over my shoulder towards Zahir, except he’s paced away. His back is to me, his eyes cast out on the view of the desert. My heart pangs. I am torn again, love for both men dragging on me until I feel like I could snap.

  “When will I see you?”

  “I – not for a few days, dad. I need to sort some things out here first.”

  “Amy?”

  My heart thunders through my chest.

  “Tell me you’re okay?”

  A tear rolls down my cheek. “Of course, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath and try again. “Really, dad, everything’s great.”