A Christmas Bride for the King

by Abby Green

  He recognised her at the same moment as she said, ‘Maybe you don’t know me. I’m Giovanna Scozza. My father was—’

  ‘I know who your father was,’ Salim said grimly, feeling slightly sick.

  She took her hand from his arm and Salim could see the shadows in her eyes. She looked nervous.

  ‘Do you think we could talk privately for a moment?’

  She didn’t have to say it, but Salim heard it. Surely you can give me that?

  ‘Of course.’

  He did owe her this—and more.

  He instructed a staff member who was hovering nearby to ensure they weren’t interrupted and he took her into a private study off the main ballroom.

  * * *

  Charlotte’s skin crawled when Peter Harper put his hand on her back—again. Once again she moved subtly from underneath it, automatically seeking out Salim on the other side of the room.

  Something sharp lanced her when she saw that he was talking to a tall and very beautiful young woman, with dramatic black hair, olive skin and dark eyes. The woman had put her hand on his arm.

  He was looking at her as if...

  Charlotte’s heart hitched. She’d never seen him look so arrested before, and her insides turned to water.

  This was it.

  He might have looked at her as if he’d wanted to devour her on the spot just moments ago, but of course it wouldn’t be long before he realised what he’d been missing.

  She watched as he led the young woman into another room and a uniformed staff member took up a position outside, clearly under instructions not to let anyone disturb them.

  Feeling sick, Charlotte made an excuse to the people she’d been talking to—fellow diplomatic staff—and escaped the crush of the crowd to find some air, some space.

  * * *

  When Salim re-emerged into the main room he was still reeling. He immediately looked for a familiar strawberry-blonde head and frowned when he couldn’t spot her immediately. Where was she?

  The group of men she’d been talking to had dispersed, and Salim cursed under his breath at the thought that she was in some more private space with the one who had been touching her.

  People moved out of his way with widening eyes as he cut a swathe through the room, but he was unaware of the intensity of his expression.

  He thought he saw a flash of green in the far corner and followed it, finding himself at the door of another private room much like the one he’d just left.

  He went inside. A fire was blazing and the room’s walls were lined with shelves filled with books. There was an elaborately decorated Christmas tree in the corner, but Salim only had eyes for the slender pale figure standing near the fire, watching him.

  Immediately something in him eased. Even as desire swept through him, igniting his blood.

  He closed the door behind him.

  For a moment he forget what had just happened as he stalked towards her. ‘Who were those men you were talking to?’

  Her eyes looked very dark in this low light, and the flames of the fire picked out the red hues in her hair.

  ‘Colleagues...from the diplomatic circuit.’

  ‘Oh? It’s a circuit?’

  Her eyes glittered and he could see the pulse at the base of her neck throbbing.

  Her voice was tight. ‘Yes, Salim, it’s a circuit much like any other. Much like the one you inhabit when you return to Europe—you know, where you run into old friends...even old lovers?’

  For a second he didn’t compute, and then he remembered.

  His gaze narrowed. ‘You saw me talking to Giovanna?’

  Charlotte shrugged minutely, hating it that she couldn’t hide her emotions better. ‘Is that her name?’

  Salim shook his head and a smile tipped up one corner of his wicked mouth. ‘I do believe you’re jealous.’

  Charlotte’s hands clenched into fists. Yes, she was jealous—and she hated it.

  Innate honestly forced her to say, ‘I never asked for this, Salim. I shouldn’t really care less what you do, or who with, because I’m sure you couldn’t give a damn what I do.’

  She let out a choked sound of anger at herself and went to go past Salim and make her escape. But he caught her with a hand on her arm.

  ‘On the contrary. I do give a damn. I didn’t like seeing that man touching you. Who was he?’

  Charlotte blinked up at Salim, momentarily distracted by the feral glitter in his eyes. She told herself it was just possessiveness, nothing more. ‘It was no one... Peter Harper—a diplomat with the foreign office.’

  She found herself melting at the thought that he could be jealous—but then she remembered seeing him disappearing into that room with that sultry dark-haired beauty and she pushed against his chest, forcing him back.

  She stepped around him and folded her arms. ‘Who was she?’

  Salim ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier. He took off his jacket, throwing it onto a chair, and then he pulled off his bow tie. He turned around and Charlotte nearly took a step back at how wild he looked. Like a caged animal.

  Eventually he said, ‘Giovanna Scozza. That’s who she was.’

  Charlotte frowned. The name was somehow familiar.

  Salim’s face was stark. ‘She’s the eldest daughter of the man who abused Sara. The man I ruined in revenge.’

  Charlotte went cold in spite of the heat from the fire. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘She asked if she could speak to me and I said yes, of course.’ His eyes pinned Charlotte to the spot. ‘Do you know I tried to absolve myself after he died by making sure that the family were taken care of financially?’ He emitted a curt laugh.

  Charlotte’s heart turned over. Of course he had. ‘No, you never mentioned that. Why did she want to see you?’

  Salim sighed. ‘She wanted to thank me for what I’d done... She told me that he’d been an abusive father—’ He must have seen something on Charlotte’s face, because he put out a hand and said, ‘No, not that. Not with his children, at least. But he was violent to them—and their mother. It finally stopped when I went after him. But not completely. He beat their mother the day before he took his own life. She ended up in hospital. Giovanna revealed that they’d finally told him they were going to press charges against him. It was that more than anything else that made him take his own life—the thought of the shame if it got out...’

  Salim looked at Charlotte and his face was leached of colour.

  ‘She’s effectively absolved me of guilt, but all I can think of now is that if I’d done something sooner then I might have spared them all—’

  Charlotte stepped forward and put her hand to Salim’s mouth, cutting off his words. She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t your responsibility, Salim. You can’t blame yourself for his sick violence, just like you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Sara.’

  She took her hand down and stepped back, terrified that her heightened emotions might give her away. She had to be strong. Especially now.

  But she couldn’t help saying, ‘You’re free now, Salim. Free to live out your destiny.’

  ‘Free to live out your destiny.’

  Charlotte’s words impacted Salim deeply. As was becoming dismayingly familiar with this woman, she had somehow managed to slide right into the heart of him and bear witness to the darkest parts of his soul without turning from him in horror.

  But then she turned and walked away, to pick up her bag from a chair.

  Something icy skated down Salim’s spine.

  When she turned around to face him again her face was a smooth mask. He might have imagined the emotion he’d seen shimmering in her eyes just now.

  ‘Charlotte...?’

  ‘I’m going to my room to pack.’

  ‘But we’re not leaving for Tabat till tomorrow afternoon—there’s plenty of time.’

  She looked straight at him. As if she was making herself do it. ‘I’m not staying here.’

  Salim moved towar
ds her, ignoring the ominous feeling in his gut. ‘If you hate being here this much we can leave tonight.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. I’m not coming back to Tabat with you, Salim. Tonight or tomorrow.’

  She turned to walk to the door and for a second Salim was incredulous. He wasn’t even aware of moving until he was standing between her and the door, every muscle in his body taut. He didn’t trust himself to touch her.

  ‘What are you talking about, not coming back? You’re working for me—or have you forgotten that pertinent detail?’

  Charlotte let out a curt laugh that didn’t sound like her. ‘Working for you? Now I work for you? You know very well how to navigate in this milieu, Salim.’ She waved a hand towards the noises coming from the other room. ‘You really don’t need my expertise. Your brother hired me, and he’s released me from the contract so I’m choosing to go.’

  Salim wanted to throttle his brother. ‘He had no right to do that. But it doesn’t matter because we’ve gone way beyond anything professional now. It’s personal, Charlotte. ‘

  She stepped back. Her face was flushed. She gestured between them. ‘This was improbable from the start.’

  Salim frowned. ‘What are you talking about? We have amazing chemistry.’

  ‘Chemistry, but that’s all. How do you see this playing out, Salim?’

  He didn’t like the growing feeling of desperation. People obeyed him. Especially women.

  But she never did, whispered a jeering voice.

  He ignored it and bit out, ‘I see this playing out by you coming back to Tabat with me, Charlotte.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, this ends here—now. If you need professional advice I can recommend someone, and as for the other...’ She stopped and then said stiltedly, ‘Well I’m sure you won’t be alone for long.’

  Salim was in uncharted territory. He knew if he touched Charlotte he could make her acquiesce in seconds, but something held him back. Some sense of self-preservation he’d never had to call on before.

  ‘I told you I don’t play games, Charlotte. If you leave here now I won’t come after you. You know I want you. And I know you want me. Come back with me and we’ll enjoy this for as long as it lasts.’

  ‘I’m happy for it to end now.’

  For the first time in his life Salim felt an urge to plead, or beg... And then a cold weight settled in his gut. Not the first time. He’d pleaded and begged with Sara, but she hadn’t listened to him. She’d still left him.

  The fact that he was thinking of Sara and Charlotte in the same vein was enough to make Salim take a step back.

  She didn’t mean that much to him. She couldn’t.

  It was lust. That was all. And the lust he felt for Charlotte would fade once she was out of sight and mind. Of course it would. Because that was all it was. No woman would ever make him beg again. Or feel the acute pain of grief or loss.

  Salim felt cold as he said, ‘You have a choice, Charlotte. Either you come back with me to Tabat and we pursue our mutual attraction to its natural end—and it will end—or you will never see me again.’

  Charlotte had been teetering on the edge, fearing she was too weak to walk away from what Salim was offering even if it was finite. The lure to return to Tabat one final time with him had almost broken her. But then he’d said what he just had, and his words were hitting her like a million tiny pointed barbs.

  It wasn’t his voice she heard now—it was her father’s.

  ‘You have a choice here, Charlotte. Choose me and we leave together today. Choose your mother and you will never see me again.’

  The toxic memory faded, but not the words.

  She looked at Salim and felt her heart break into two pieces. She said quietly, ‘Thank you for making it easy for me to walk away from you, Salim. Goodbye.’

  And then she turned and left.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘WELL, WELL...APPARENTLY leopards can change their spots!’

  Charlotte’s hand was clenched so tightly around her glass of champagne that she had to relax it for fear of cracking the delicate crystal. A TV screen on mute was showing the news in a corner of the private club where the Christmas party she’d been invited to was taking place.

  She hadn’t wanted to come. It was Christmas Eve the following day, and she’d fully intended to be deep in hibernation mode by now. But knowing that the coronation was taking place today had driven her out in a kind of desperation to prove something to herself. That she was coping. That Christmas wasn’t her bête noir. That the fact that man she loved was getting on with his life wasn’t like a knife sliding between her ribs.

  But every sparkling light, every Christmas tree and every group of carol singers she’d spotted on her way here had flayed her alive. It seemed to be particularly cruel that her heartbreak was coinciding with Christmas.

  She watched now, helpless not to, as King Salim Al-Noury was crowned in the main ceremonial ballroom of the Tabat palace under the avid eyes of the world, eager to see this playboy prince brought to heel.

  But, as Charlotte knew only too well, Salim would never be brought to heel. He would always retain that air of wild unpredictability and it would make him a great man.

  He was almost unrecognisable. His hair had been cut militarily short and he was clean-shaven. His blue eyes stood out stark against his dark olive skin.

  King Zafir was there, and Queen Kat. And Charlotte recognised some of the tribal leaders. And the young couple whose marriage she had witnessed in the tent. Then she saw Rafa and Assa in the crowd and she felt like crying.

  The man next to her was blissfully oblivious to her turmoil. ‘Didn’t you just come back from Tabat?’

  Charlotte forced a smile and tore her eyes away from the TV. She looked at the man and said, ‘I was there just briefly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be somewhere else.’

  And that somewhere else was far away from here, where she could lick her wounds. Hopefully when she emerged again it would be spring and her heart might not still be weeping.

  * * *

  It was Christmas Day and there was nothing but endless grey skies and crashing waves. Not a Christmas tree in sight nor a twinkling light. But it wasn’t much comfort to Charlotte as she turned and made her way down the long empty beach, back towards the cottage her grandmother had owned.

  She’d left it to Charlotte in her will and it was in the furthest western reaches of Ireland, with literally nothing between it and America except the Atlantic ocean.

  In the end she’d come here because she’d always found solace at her grandmother’s cottage, even though Charlotte had been only four or five when she’d died. The cottage felt like a link to someone she remembered vaguely as being very maternal, and Charlotte had used it as frequently as she could over the years.

  She felt tears threaten and willed them back, refusing to give in to the weakness. She’d stockpiled enough cheesy DVDs to last her a week, and food to last her at least until the shops opened again. She was planning on curling up under her duvet and not emerging until it was at least January the sixth.

  She pulled the zip of her parka up as far as she could and trudged back towards the cottage behind the sand dunes. As she got closer she frowned. There was smoke coming from the chimney that she could see peeping just above the dunes. She’d cleaned out the fire from the previous night and left it set, but she was certain she hadn’t lit it.

  She hurried her pace, cursing herself for not locking the door. But she’d always felt so safe here. The nearest neighbour was at least three miles away.

  She was breathing hard by the time she came over the dune and stumbled to a stop.

  There were vehicles outside the tiny cottage. A sleek four-by-four. And a van.

  She saw a man come out dressed in overalls and ran down the other side of the dune, shouting, ‘Hey! What on earth is going on?’

  The man stopped and looked to the doorway, where someone else had just emerged. Charlotte foll
owed his gaze and her heart stopped dead. Salim. Dressed in black jeans and a snug black Puffa jacket. He looked as out of place here as an exotic animal.

  Another two men and a woman emerged from the cottage, and she could see him saying something to them and shaking one of the men’s hands. They got into the van and another four-by-four she hadn’t seen and drove away.

  Somehow, fearing she was dreaming, Charlotte made her legs work and approached the cottage. Salim didn’t disappear. He looked at her steadily, but when she got close she saw lines of strain around his mouth. And his eyes.

  She shook her head. ‘Salim...?’

  He said nothing, just stood back and gestured with a hand for her to go into the cottage. As if it was his. As if it was perfectly normal.

  She could smell the peat on the fire, and the distinctive scent grounded her in reality slightly. But when she stepped through the door reality slipped out of her grasp again.

  Her jaw dropped. The fire was burning merrily. The entire open-plan downstairs area was decorated with holly and ivy and strings of lights. There was a smell of mulled wine and spices. Candles were burning, sending out a soft golden glow.

  Charlotte looked into the kitchen and saw the table set with linen and cutlery finer than her grandmother had ever owned. The oven was on and she smelled cooking meat. Turkey. Food was piled up on the sideboard. Vegetables, wine, cake. Dessert. Fruit.

  In the corner of the living room stood a Christmas tree bedecked with lights and glittering ornaments. There was one present under the tree—a small wrapped box.

  Finally, Charlotte’s heart seemed to kick into action. She looked at Salim. ‘What is all this? Why are you here?’

  Charlotte knew fatally that if this was some grand gesture just to get her back into his bed then she wouldn’t have the strength to say no...

  Salim came and stood in front of her and she couldn’t take her eyes off his. They were so intense. She noticed now that he was pale.

  ‘I did it because I wanted you to have a better memory of Christmas than the one that made you hate it so much...’

  Her heart lurched. She was fragile enough to crumble at the slightest thing and this was pushing her to the edge.