“Jules!” Georgie waved enthusiastically from the coffee shop they’d agreed to meet at. “Over here!”
Julia nodded self-consciously, and side-stepped a mother with an old-fashioned perambulator style baby buggy to make it to her friend. Georgina was the epitome of glamour, as always, in a floating maxi dress with sparkling ballet slippers. Her long hair had been blow-dried to within an inch of its life, so that it hung in perfectly straight sheets from her beautifully made up face.
From somewhere deep within, Julia dredged up what felt like a smile. “Hey, there, Georgie girl,” she employed their usual greeting, earning a flicker of a smile from her best friend.
“I’m not fooled, Jules,” Georgie observed wryly. “You’re still miserable as they come, aren’t you?”
Julia shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
“I know you will, darling. But you’re the happy one! I need you to get back to normal so I can become all maudlin and arty again. We can’t both be gloomy, you see.”
Julia knew Georgie was telling a joke, but she wasn’t really able to concentrate. “Shall we get our coffees to go?”
Georgina scrutinized her friend carefully. At least she’d put on normal clothes today. The eclectic fashion mis-haps of recent weeks had been truly mortifying. It had taken all Georgie’s patience as a friend not to march Julia back into her apartment and order her to change, most days. It was almost as if she’d just reached into her wardrobe and put on whatever she’d touched first. Which is precisely what she had been doing.
It just so happened that today she’d managed to find an ensemble that didn’t scream tragic heart-break, coming through! In fact, the black singlet top and grey harem-style pants were remarkably on-trend, particularly when teamed with the strappy wedge sandals and messy pony-tail. Georgina had undertaken a university degree to placate her parents – her real passion was fashion and she was in the throes of selecting between an internship at Vogue and Harpers & Queen, so she rightly considered herself an expert in all things sartorial.
“Let’s skip the coffee. I’ve got a bottle of Pinot Grigio in my bag. Let’s go back to your place, put on some vintage Madonna and get silly.”
Julia looked at her with a frown, trying to compute what her friend had suggested. She wasn’t sure she particularly cared where they went or what they did and so she nodded her agreement.
Julia’s flat was only a short walk from the café and as they made their way past the bustling pubs and restaurants, she tried her hardest to concentrate on what Georgina was discussing, but all she could think about was Zayn. What was he doing? Where was he? Had he already chosen her replacement? Undoubtedly options were thick on the ground for someone like him. Was there any chance at all that he was as miserable as she was? Was he wondering if they’d been the stupidest morons on the face of the earth to walk away from their marriage? Her certainty that their marriage couldn’t work was eroding day by day, leaving only desperation and pain in its place.
“So which do you think? I mean, Vogue is like the bible, but Harpers & Queen has such cachet. Which would you choose?”
Julia shook her head, clearing away the depressing cobwebs. She angled her face to stare directly in Georgie’s hazel brown eyes and grimaced. “I’m being a terrible friend, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Georgie said honestly. “I take it you weren’t listening to my monologue on the tyranny of options?”
Julia couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll tell you this much. You should re-think a career as a writer. Your use of words is too funny to be wasted on fashion.”
“Meh.” Georgie shrugged. “You go where the heart leads.”
Was that true? Julia stopped walking and stared straight ahead, at the brightly painted door to her apartment building. Should she be going where her heart was leading her? Where she ached to be? With Zayn? Could she trust him enough to believe it could work? Because her heart wanted him desperately. It was her mind that was providing all the stumbling blocks.
“What is your heart telling you?” She tried to focus on Georgie’s predicament, instead of her own emotional minefield.
Georgina pulled a face. “I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I rather suspect the answer will lie at the bottom of this wine bottle. So let’s get to it.”
With a small shake of her head, Julia laughed and pulled her key from her bag. “Sounds good to me. Only we’ll have to drink from coffee mugs; I seem to have broken all my wine glasses.”
“That’s because you only use them for fruit juice and they’ve all burst into pieces in complete shame. It could be the first case of wine-glass suicide in the world. We’ll make up for it tonight; let’s go show those coffee cups the best time they’ve seen in ages.”
Julia laughed again and spontaneously hugged her best friend. “Thank you, Georgie. I know I’m not a lot of fun at the moment. I really appreciate you sticking by me.”
“Don’t be silly, Jules. You’ve seen me through enough crap to last a lifetime. I’m just sorry Andrew turned out to be such a douche.”
Julia shook her head in disagreement, pushing the heavy wooden door open with her toe. “He isn’t,” she insisted, grabbing her mail from the hall stand and leading the way up the carpeted flight of stairs to her first floor apartment. “He isn’t like that now, and he wasn’t really like it then. We both know how drug-addled he was.”
“How can you defend him?” Georgina asked, fuming. “He’s my cousin and I’ve dropped him like a hot potato for what he did to you. I mean, lacing your drink with vodka? And breaking up your relationship, too?”
“Zayn broke up our relationship,” she demurred automatically. “But I really don’t want to talk about it. I’ve forgiven him; you should too.”
“Maybe. When hell freezes over.”
A sound from downstairs caught Julia’s attention and she leaned over the banister. The elderly tenant who lived beneath her had a habit of hearing the minute Julia arrived home, and she almost always had a small favor to ask of her. This afternoon was no different. Julia rolled her eyes at her friend and put her keys into Georgie’s hands. “Here. You go in; I’ll just go see to whatever it is Miss Trunchbull wants today.”
Georgie laughed, because the description of the statuesque and rotund senior citizen was perfect.
In the end, it was simply a matter of helping her send an email. Julia waited until she’d heard it go into the mystical ether and headed back upstairs.
The door was wide open, but Georgie was just standing on the threshold. Slowly, she turned around, and her face was almost split in two with the most ridiculous smile Julia had ever seen.
“What in the world has got into you?” Julia asked, curious.
“Just… look.” Georgina stepped aside to allow her best friend access to the apartment.
Or what used to be her apartment.
Now it looked like the escape plan for every long stemmed red rose that feared a death in captivity. “What the heck?” She pushed into the apartment, overwhelmed by the sweet fragrance the roses lent the atmosphere. She spun around, but every single surface was covered in vases and pots of roses. She walked from the lounge room to the kitchen, then the dining room, and finally to her bedroom. Her Laura Ashley quilt cover was barely visible beneath the thick blanket of red roses.
There was only one man capable of such a lavish gesture. With her heart racing, she ran back into the lounge, calling out, “Zayn?”
“I found this.” Georgie was fingering a shiny grey envelope. The writing on the front was bold and cursive, and she recognized it instantly.
Unsteadily, she took the envelope, casting her friend a look of disbelief as she lifted the triangle tab and slid the thick cardstock rectangle out.
“Trust. Respect. Compromise. I can do all three; let me prove it to you. Come to my house at seven o’clock.”
Her lips lifted in a small smile as she traced her finger tip over the writing. Even on paper, he was bossy. It was just so like him. But
she’d come to realize that his habit for issuing directives wasn’t the worst trait a man could have. In fact, she actually liked his baldly honest approach to life.
Georgie read the card over Julia’s shoulder and then hugged her friend. “Thank God you are getting back together. I was seriously considering killing you if this depressing fog continued any longer.”
“We are not necessarily getting back together,” Julia said firmly. “You know me. You know I couldn’t be married to someone who rides roughshod over my decisions.”
“I think,” Georgie said teasingly, gesturing to the room, “he’s trying to tell you that he wants to change.”
Julia couldn’t help it. She smiled properly now, as butterflies spread through her body and her heart began to thud heavily against her ribcage.
In the elegant streets of Kensington, where many ambassadorial residences were concealed behind security fences and tinted windows, was the official residence of the Namani Royal Family. Julia had been here several times when they’d dated before, and gaining entry was not difficult. Besides, Zayn must have advised his security team that she was expected.
Good heavens, she reminded herself as she slid inside the heavily fortified front door, she was Namani royalty herself. She had every right to come and go as she pleased. But her nerves had less to do with the grandiose residence, and more to do with the knowledge she was about to see Zayn.
“Marina,” Julia said, unexpectedly buoyed to be met by the servant she recognized from the bazaar in Naman. “How lovely to see you again.”
Marina was a study in polite professionalism, but she thought the Sheikha was a very special woman, and she didn’t hesitate to return the smile. “Likewise, Your Highness. Sheikh Al-melara has asked for you to join him in the garden.”
“The garden?” Julia confirmed thoughtfully.
Marina nodded, indicating the doors towards the back of the residence. Julia moved in that direction, trying, and failing, to still her hyper-speed heart-rate. Her body felt abuzz with apprehension, and pleasurable anticipation, too. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she’d come to realise that she couldn’t go on as she had been.
She pushed the door outwards, and stifled a grin at the sight of Zayn, dressed casually in a pair of denim jeans and a shirt, pacing back and forth along the formal rose garden. At his feet, there was a colourful rug. It took Julia a moment to realise that it was the carpet she’d ordered from the bazaar before meeting Maysan. A basket sat beside the carpet, and a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Slowly, Julia lifted her gaze to the man who had captured her heart utterly and completely.
“Julia,” his words were just a breath on the breeze. His face was pale, his eyes dark and intent.
It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t explain it, but suddenly her feet were running, down the stairs and across the paved ground. She fairly flew the last few metres, straight into his arms. He wrapped her against him, holding her aloft and tight to his chest.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks and he buried his head in her hair, breathing in the sweet fragrance and feeling certain that he would do whatever she wanted if only she would return to him.
“You came,” he said, minutes later, when he’d finally lowered her back to the ground. But he wasn’t letting her go. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist. It wasn’t a question of choice. His body had been drowning without her body. He craved contact with her. He needed it.
“Yes.” She nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from his. “I hardly fit in my apartment, with all those roses, anyway.”
“Did I go too far?” He asked seriously.
She laughed. “You aren’t someone who does things by half measures. That’s just you.”
He nodded. “Julia, I need to speak to you.” His uncertainty was so unusual that Julia felt a weird twisting in her gut.
“I gathered,” she reached behind her back and pulled his hands apart, taking one in hers and leading him to the carpet. “You got this. Do you like it?”
He nodded. “It’s a perfect match for my bedding.”
“I know.” She threw him a meaningful glance. “I saw it and thought of you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Julia sat down, pulling him gently with her. “What did you want to talk about?”
He crossed his legs at his ankles. “I can’t divorce you.” He beetled his brow and shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. Damn it. I mean, I don’t want to. It’s your choice, of course.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and pretended to examine a fine thread of gold that ran through the rug. “Why?”
“Why do I want to stay married?”
“Yes.”
“I told you already. I love you. If this last month has taught me anything, it’s that nothing can compensate for your absence. You were right to be angry with me. I was selfish and inconsiderate not to realize that my decision to take over from Amal would impact you.”
“Yes, you were,” she agreed. “And you didn’t give me enough credit, Zayn. I don’t care if you’re running the show, or if he is. I’m a big girl. I can cope with a public life if it’s what you want. But the fact you didn’t bother to talk about it with me… it just scares me that you can make such enormous decisions without my input.”
He tugged at his hair in frustration. “My whole life I have been taught to think as a King. Though Amal was destined for the throne, my natural personality is far more…”
“Dictatorial?” She interjected teasingly.
“Confident, let us say,” he responded, flicking her thigh with his finger.
She looked up at him, and her heart turned over in her chest. It seemed to be screaming at her, “You love him! You love him! Just kiss him! Tell him you love him!”
“It is something I promise you I am trying to amend, at least where you’re concerned. I want to be your husband. It’s ironic that I didn’t understand what that means until you’d left me.”
She scrunched up her face. “I’ve never been much of a fan of irony.”
He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. He couldn’t help it. It was torture to be so close to her, yet so far.
“You know,” she said seriously, without moving out of his embrace, “if you’d spoken to me four years ago, we could have avoided all of this.”
“I have been berating myself for my arrogance there, too, Julia. Sweet Julia. You are too sweet for a man such as me. Even as I sit here now, hoping with all of my being, that you will come back to me, there is a part of me that hopes you will get up and leave, too.”
“Why?” she pulled away from him a little, so that she could stare into his honey-flecked eyes.
“I don’t deserve you. I am arrogant. I am over-bearing. I’ve been raised to think these qualities were all that mattered.” He ran a hand over her dark, silky pony tail. “Love has made me selfish, because all I can think about is wanting you back in my life. But I do love you, so much that I almost wish you a happy future with someone less, well, like me.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. Perhaps an accountant from Swindon. Or a classical pianist. Someone gentle and patient, who doesn’t need to be taught how to consider someone else’s feelings. Someone who would never hurt you, even in error, because they wouldn’t fight with a flea.”
She nodded, pained emotion making her head heavy.
“That would certainly be easier,” she agreed slowly. “But impossible.”
“Because you are committed to me by law.” He nodded, as horrible comprehension dawned. “Our divorce can be formalised at any time, of course.”
Julia laughed croakily at his misunderstanding. “No, you idiot. Because I love you. You’ve blackmailed me, accused me of cheating on you, and let’s not even start with the fact you seduced me while I had amnesia…”
Zayn’s smile made her stomach flip over. “You seduced me, Sheikha, and not the other way around.”
“I think you’re right,
” she agreed breathlessly. “Fine, letting me seduce you when you knew I had no concept of how our marriage had come about. And I loved you all the time. I would never, in a million years, for any compensation or out of any fear for dad, have married a man I didn’t love. Never.”
He closed his eyes as the surge of relief and gratitude made him strangely emotional. “You did love me?”
“I do love you, yes.” She corrected.
“I thought… that night, when I couldn’t sleep with you. I couldn’t take you to my bed, knowing that my love was one-sided, and that you were there only because you felt you’d been bought and paid for.”
She tilted a look of mock-crossness at her husband. “I thought I had been bought and paid for because you said as much at every opportunity you had.”
He stifled a groan. “How can you forgive me?”
“How can I not? This last month has been pretty agonizing. If you hadn’t arrived today, I would have been in Naman by the end of the week.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding and pulled her into his arms, so that he could kiss her properly now, as he’d been longing to do since she’d arrived.
“You are mine,” he said softly against her mouth, but Julia broke free of the kiss.
“No. I’m not anyone’s. I meant what I said. I’m not a possession. My heart is mostly yours, but you must always remember, Zayn, that I’m a person who is free to make decisions and choices. They won’t always match your wishes, but that’s life. And I want to share my life with you.”
Zayn held her face in his hands, staring down at the woman who did own him, body and soul, in every single sense of the word and grinned. “I suspect your wish will be my command, your highness, for the rest of my days.”
“And do you mind?” She asked, unable to resist lifting his shirt and running her hands over his muscular chest.
“Not one little bit, Sheikha.”
THE END
The Sheikh’s Arranged Marriage
Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees... Page 86
