She would tell her parents; she would show them. Yet, even now, Leila knew that she couldn’t do that to her sister.
Even when she had died, still Leila had played her part in protecting Jasmine’s reputation—a day after the funeral a package from overseas had arrived at the palace addressed to Jasmine and Leila had smuggled it back up to her suite and had thrown it in the trunk unopened.
She picked up the package and Leila’s slender fingers tore at the paper, wondering what might be inside. There was a small cellophane packet and she pulled out the contents. There was a velvet bra in the deepest red and as she opened it up a tiny pair of panties fell out. Leila ran the soft fabric through her fingers. It was decadent, it was provocative and it was sexy. It was everything that a young princess should not be.
It was, Leila thought, terribly beautiful too.
Leila picked up a packet of tablets and though naive and innocent, she knew it was the pill. She knew that if you took it each day you could have sex without consequence.
Leila tossed the packet back in the trunk and took out a lipstick. She read the label—Pride. What an inappropriate name, Leila thought as she opened it and saw that it was the same deep red as the underwear.
It should be called Shame.
But why?
It was she, Leila, who lived a life of shame.
Jasmine, even if her life had been cut short, had known fun. She had at least had her parents’ love and must have known the bliss of being held in another’s arms.
Her eyes were drawn again to the pills and Leila picked up the packet and punched one out.
Sin lay in the palm of her hand.
Oh, to be held by another, for even a moment.
Imagine how it must feel to be kissed?
Leila lowered her head, her tongue taking up the pill, and she swallowed it down.
She took out a small case that she used when travelling for official engagements. Her maids took care of her luggage but this was the one she would take on the royal plane. Leila had a credit card—she used it to purchase books and music sheets online.
Could she use it to purchase a flight?
She was running away, Leila realised as she went in her dresser and took out her passport.
But to where?
Leila picked up the package that had contained the underwear and she looked at the address. New York, New York.
Excitement licked at her stomach, yet it was laced with fear and Leila knew she could never do it.
Jasmine could have.
Jasmine would have.
Leila dressed in a gold robe and put on her veils and packed Jasmine’s contents in the case and then walked back through the palace, past the portraits, past the lounge where her parents sat, no doubt speaking about Jasmine.
She wondered if they’d even notice that she had gone.
Leila told a servant to ring for a driver.
‘Yalla!’ Leila snapped, ordering him to hurry, and when a driver arrived she told him to take her to the airport.
Leila ordered a first-class ticket and held her breath as she handed over the card.
It worked.
It should have been a comfortable flight, but Leila could not relax and she declined when the steward offered to make up her bed.
Leila was tired, yet she would not sleep because she knew that it was then, and only then, that she cried.
Jasmine used to tease her about it, but there was no one to tease her now. Still Leila would wake in the midst of it sometimes, or in the morning her pillow would be wet and her eyes swollen, and the dreams, though all a bit different, all made her feel the same.
So, instead of sleeping, Leila selected a magazine and got goosebumps as she flicked through it and saw the bright lights of Times Square. It was hard to imagine that soon she herself would be there, for her life had been lived behind palace walls. Zayn had had more freedom, given that he was a male, and Jasmine had created her own, but Leila had never really ventured out.
Leila looked at an advert for a bar and saw pictures of cocktails in bright colours with tempting names. Even if she didn’t really know what it was, she blushed when she saw there was one called Screaming Orgasm, and there were other names too, but she liked the look of one called Manhattan. She read about restaurants where people met just to talk and eat. She read about two luxury hotels in the heart of New York. The Chatsfield caught her eye. It had branches around the world and it would seem that the most scandalous and famous people stayed there.
There was talk of some rivalry between them and another hotel called The Harrington. It was glamorous and elegant and ensured privacy for its most esteemed guests.
She remembered the hotels when, having cleared customs, Leila found herself shivering in her robe on a cold winter night as she waited in line for a taxi. While others complained Leila patiently waited, her face to the heavens tasting snow on her tongue for the first time.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
Leila knew which one Jasmine would choose and she was about to say The Chatsfield, but changed her mind at the last moment.
‘The Harrington,’ Leila said.
Try as she might, Leila could never be Jasmine.
CHAPTER TWO
EVERYTHING WAS UNFAMILIAR.
Beautiful, yet unfamiliar.
Leila was grateful for her veils as she walked over to reception, for she felt as if everyone was looking at her.
Leila certainly turned heads—her gown was breathtaking. She held her back completely straight and asked to be taken to their very best suite.
It wasn’t quite that easy though. There were many questions asked of her and Leila didn’t answer all of them truthfully—she lied as to her address and just gave them a blank look when they asked for her phone number.
‘I would just like to be taken to my suite.’
But still they asked more of her.
‘Ms?’
Leila frowned at the receptionist’s question.
‘Your title?’ the receptionist clarified. Leila glanced at her credit card and it read only as Leila Al-Ahmar, and she let out a breath as Leila realised that she could be whoever she wanted to be.
‘Ms,’ Leila said as her details were added to the computer. She handed over her credit card again, wondering if now her parents would have stopped it from working. The receptionist smiled at her, and handed her a swipe card for her suite, and Leila wondered if her parents had even bothered to notice that she’d gone.
When Leila stepped into the suite a maid was already in there, unpacking her small case, and Leila told her that she would not be needed.
She stood as if waiting for something.
‘Dismissed,’ Leila said. Once alone, she walked over to the window and looked to the busy streets below, trying to picture herself out there.
She couldn’t.
She must.
Leila removed her robes and modest underwear and replaced it with Jasmine’s. She did not recognise her own body, for in the mirror it was a wanton woman that looked back. She put on the black dress that revealed her cleavage and she struggled terribly to do up the zip at the back. She had never had a zip before and the maids did up her buttons. She added high shoes to her bare legs. Leila brushed her long black hair till it was gleaming. She had never worn make-up but tonight she carefully painted her lips and then stood back and gazed again at her reflection.
She could be Jasmine.
Yes, she was more slender than her sister had been and already she was a good few years older than Jasmine had been when she died. Yet, for the first time, she saw the resemblance to her older sister. Leila practised Jasmine’s smile and wondered if their similarities were why her mother loathed her so much for living when Jasmine had died.
No, Leila reminded herself, her mother had loathed her from the second she was born.
Recalling her mother’s words about the maids, Leila was hurt and angry enough to gather resolve and she stuffed her robe and veils into her small case and then hid it under the bed.
Princess Leila of Surhaadi no longer existed.
She had no bag to put the swipe card in and no maid to carry her things and so Leila tucked it into her bra.
The elevator took her down to the reception area and Leila looked around for a moment.
Elegance was the policy at The Harrington and famous people welcomed that they could be there without fuss. Such was her beauty though, such was her way, that people could not help but look around.
Leila was completely unused to being noticed or looked at and she was starting not to like it.
She heard the sound of a piano and followed it. As Leila walked into the bar, the chink of glasses and the sound of subdued conversation dimmed for a moment. She stood in the doorway in absolute terror, not that she showed it.
A portly man looked over and his eyes roamed Leila’s body. Another man did the same, very briefly, but his eyes certainly flicked down to her breasts. It was so overwhelming for Leila she was about to turn tail and dash back to her suite. It had been a stupid idea, she decided. What the hell had she even been thinking?
But then it happened.
For the first time in her entire life, Leila felt welcome when she walked into a room. A man at the bar turned around and his chocolate-brown eyes met hers. For a brief second he startled and then frowned, as if trying to place her, and then he simply smiled.
Leila had never, not once, felt so welcome. His eyes did not roam her body as the other men’s had; they simply met and held hers. Leila found that she was smiling back. Then, as naturally as breathing, she walked over to him.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ the man said. His voice was rich and expensive and he turned and spoke to the barman. ‘I shall have another drink after all.’ Then his eyes returned to Leila’s. ‘What can I get you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Leila said, and she looked at the glistening bottles of different colours and she did not feel naive. She felt looked after, for her vague response did not seem to faze him and he patiently waited for her to decide. She thought for a moment and remembered the cocktails she had seen in the magazine on the plane. Certainly wasn’t going to ask for the one that made her blush! ‘How about a Manhattan, given that is my first night here?’
‘How about a perfect Manhattan,’ he suggested, because that was what she was to him—utterly perfect. From her long glossy black hair to her golden eyes. The only thing he would change was the very bright lipstick she wore.
He would kiss it off soon, James knew that.
Bored by the subdued mood of The Harrington, James Chatsfield had been about to leave and head to somewhere more lively. He had just declined another drink when a hush had descended. Even the barman had paused mid-conversation with him and James had turned around and looked at a woman who could, upon entering, silence a room.
Leila nodded her consent to his drink selection and watched as the barman got to work but it did not hold her attention; instead it was the man who stood beside her, so she turned and looked at him
He was beautiful, with dark hair that fell to his collar. He was tall and well-dressed but there was a ruggedness to him that told Leila he was untamed. There was an element to him that defied convention, for he was like no one else in the room. He wore a tie, yet the top of his shirt was unbuttoned. He was not clean shaven, yet he was clean—the scent of him told her that—and when he smiled, when she stood a little closer to him, his mere presence rendered her unafraid.
Her whole life she had been afraid, yet she wasn’t now.
Her whole life she had taken up too much room merely by existing; now she stood by his side and peace somehow invaded.
‘My name is James.’
‘I am...’ She was about to offer her title, but again changed her mind. ‘I am Leila.’
She did not belong standing at a bar, James decided, and so he suggested that they move to one of the low tables. Leila chose one in the shadows not because she wanted to be more alone with him; she simply didn’t want others’ eyes on her. She sat on the sofa, expecting him to take a seat opposite, yet he came and sat beside her.
It wasn’t invasive; there was distance but that he chose to come and sit by her side had her smile at him.
Their drinks were brought over and he watched as she took a sip and her eyes widened. She ran the tip of a pink tongue over her lips and then put her glass down.
‘That tastes amazing,’ Leila said. ‘I can still feel it burning even though it tastes freezing.’
James, who usually needed to know so little about his sexual conquests, suddenly wanted to know every last thing about her.
‘So this is your first night here?’
‘It is.’ Leila smiled. ‘I have tasted snow as I waited for my taxi at the airport.’
‘Why didn’t you call me,’ James said. ‘I’d have come and got you.’
It was a silly thing to say perhaps, but it made so much sense to them both that Leila smiled. She felt as if they had been waiting for the other all their lives, as if she might have walked out of the airport and straight to his arms.
He asked her where she was from and James saw that she hesitated before answering.
‘I am from Dubai,’ Leila lied. ‘I am here on business.’
‘What sort of business are you in?’
It was a natural question but again she hesitated before answering, and James watched as one slender hand moved and tugged at her ear. ‘I am a musician,’ Leila said. ‘I am here to see some performances.’
Liar, James wanted to say, for her cheeks dusted pink, though it was the oddest attempt at a lie that he had ever heard.
He didn’t care that she lied though.
She just didn’t have to lie to him, that was all.
James glanced at her hand and noted that she did not wear a ring, then he saw her long slender fingers. Perhaps she was not lying, for they were so long and delicate that possibly she should be stroking the ebony now.
‘You?’ Leila asked. ‘What is it that you do?’
‘Not an awful lot,’ James admitted. ‘My father calls me Jiminy.’ When she frowned he elaborated. ‘Jiminy Cricket.’ Still she frowned and James realised she probably didn’t know the song that he was referring to. ‘He’s a happy fellow who doesn’t work very much,’ James explained. ‘I work for about half an hour a day making a fortune playing the stock markets and then I spend the next twenty-three and a half hours doing my level best to blow it.’
‘And so what brings you here tonight?’ Leila asked, taking another sip of her drink.
‘I’m checking out the competition,’ James said. ‘I’m James Chatsfield...’ He saw her nonplussed look. ‘The Chatsfield hotels...’ James further explained. His brother Spencer was determined to acquire The Harrington and had thought he had had the sale in the bag, but Isabelle Harrington, who was newly in charge, had unexpectedly knocked back the offer and things were starting to get extremely messy.
James was weary of his family; he wanted as far away from them as possible. Yet, idly curious, he had decided to drop in to The Harrington unannounced.
‘My elder brother Spencer wants to buy this hotel. I decided to come and see for myself what all the fuss is about. I’m very glad now that I did.’
‘I’m very glad that you did too,’ Leila said.
He took one of her hands, the one nearest to the table, and Leila looked down as his fingers stroked hers. The contact was sublime—subtle but present, his fingers laced into hers—and she watched as their hands intertwined and their palms pressed together.
‘I
want to sip my drink,’ Leila said, ‘but I don’t want to let go of your hand.’
‘Then don’t.’ It was James who reached for her drink and brought it to her lips and she took a sip of it and felt his eyes on her throat as she swallowed.
‘Actually, I do recognise the name,’ Leila said, and her words brought his eyes back to hers. ‘I think I read about your hotel on the plane.’
‘It’s not my hotel,’ James said. ‘I want nothing to do with the lot of them.’
‘You have a lot of hotels?’
‘I meant the family.’ James smiled at the slight miscommunication. ‘But yes, there are a lot of hotels. We have a very nice hotel in Dubai, but I haven’t actually been there, though I might have to rectify that.’ He gave her a flash of that depraved smile and then checked himself, for already, without even so much as a kiss, he was suggesting that they might be seeing each other again. For James, that was a no-no and so he quickly rectified things. ‘Though perhaps not—Manu, the PR woman, has warned me my ways might not be welcome. Things are rather more strict there apparently...’
‘Do you misbehave, James?’ Leila asked, and he smiled at her curious question.
‘That’s a very nice way of putting it, but yes, I guess I do tend to misbehave.’ She looked down to where his hand caressed hers and she was the bravest she had ever been—he made her so.
‘Misbehave with me,’ Leila whispered, terrified he might say no.
‘God, yes.’
He released her hand although she wished he would not. She was not starved from his contact for long though, for he picked up a napkin and dipped it in some water. Leila frowned as his wrapped finger came towards her face, but she did not flinch and she did not move back.
‘What are you doing?’ Leila asked.
‘Getting rid of the unnecessary,’ James said. He usually preferred made-up women—he liked the mask, he liked the stranger—but he did not want that from Leila. He wanted her stripped, he wanted her naked, and that started now.
She liked the gentle pressure of his finger on her lips. She liked the way his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on removing the lipstick from her mouth.
Princess's Secret Baby Page 2
