by Pippa Roscoe
‘Mmm...’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps you have changed.’
* * *
Odir took in the defiance that filled her slim frame. She had lost weight in the last six months, and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. He let arrogance fuel his gaze as it dropped to her feet and leisurely made its way back up, over her hips to her breasts, to her face. A gaze that heated her cheeks and stoked a fire within him.
He ate up the subtle changes in her—the way that anger brightened her eyes and flushed her cheeks—and for a second he thought he might possibly be forgiven for mistaking it as arousal. He cursed the way his body reacted, but knew it served as a reminder to be on his guard.
‘If you had liked what you saw when we were married, Odir, we might not be in this situation now.’
The barb hit home. It struck at the weakness he’d had for his wife—the one thing he’d promised himself he would not indulge in. Hadn’t his father’s obsessional love for his wife nearly destroyed his country? Hadn’t the impossible attraction between Odir and Eloise nearly made him do the same?
‘Don’t you dare turn this around on me.’ His low, dark tone buzzed in the air between them. ‘I may not have graced your bed, but someone else—’
‘Stop!’
She issued the command with such force her hand came up between them. And, bastard that he was, he relished her anger. Relished the fact that her feelings matched his own.
‘You never did like hearing the truth, did you, Eloise? Always running...always hiding.’
As the words fell from his lips he briefly wondered if they should instead be aimed at himself.
‘And you were never interested in the truth, Odir. Only in what suited you and Farrehed.’
‘What version of the truth would that be, Eloise? I’m curious. Because I’d like to know what I would find on the divorce papers. Would you place the blame at my feet, or would you own the fact that it was you who betrayed me? Tell me, Eloise, would you be ready to see, splashed all over the pages of the international press, the fact that you committed adultery with my brother?’
* * *
Eloise wanted to scream. Her hands were clenched into fists and she knew that her nails would leave crescent-moon-shaped indentations in her palms, but still she couldn’t release them. Because if she did they would be hurled against her husband, and she didn’t know if she would be able to stop.
Never had he asked her for the truth of that night. Not once.
‘Get out! Get out of my sight and don’t you dare come back!’
The words rang through her mind and she felt her heart break twice over—once for the past and once for the present. Odir had made an assumption. The wrong one. And he had never looked back, using it instead as an excuse to avoid his bought bride.
The night Odir had found his brother trying to kiss her had been one of the worst of her life. He hadn’t given either her or his brother the chance to explain. And clearly Jarhan had never put him right. Then again, she hadn’t really expected him to.
She tried to shake off the memory of Jarhan’s drunken attempts to kiss her but its hold was too great and it dragged her under.
She was in a different room...in a different country. She had been keeping Jarhan company ever since Sheikh Abbas had unveiled his plans for his younger son to wed the Princess of a nearby principality—Kalaran. She had been trying to comfort him, trying to convince him to explain, to tell the truth. But the fear in Jarhan’s eyes had been very real.
Stains from the red wine he’d been drinking all night had scored red grooves into the corners of his mouth, and the second his thin lips had crashed painfully against hers the young Prince had gone from being someone she had considered a friend and confidant to becoming the weapon of her undoing.
It was a kiss that had broken a marriage, a brotherhood, and the tentative future she had hoped one day to have.
‘So you still won’t believe me.’
‘Believe what? More lies from that delicious mouth of yours?’
The scorn in his words was completely at odds with the compliment he had given away so easily. He turned away and she let out a breath so heavy with grief it surprised even herself.
There had been a time, she acknowledged, when she’d cherished the idea of marrying Odir. Back then, barely two years ago, she had thought even the sun couldn’t shine brighter than Odir. He’d charmed her with a self-deprecation and a quick, warm wit she hadn’t expected. For a year during their engagement she had watched him, studied the care with which he spoke to palace attendants, seen his love of his people enter every decision he made, every act he chose.
He had been her childhood fantasy come to life. What had started out as their fathers’ business agreement had been moulded—so she had thought—by them. Together they had made something of their advantageous union. A friendship, she had once thought. A relationship, she had once hoped.
Here was the Prince who would whisk her away from the pains of her childhood—the Prince who would break the hold her father had over her. She had thought that perhaps he might even be her confidant—that finally she would have someone on her side.
But that had been before the reality of her marriage had struck, and all of Odir’s words and promises had disappeared into lonely nights as he’d found excuse after excuse to avoid her at every turn, leaving her cold and alone.
Now Eloise sought Odir amongst the shadows and could see determination painted across those features she had once longed to see soften and show something close to the love that they were reported to feel for each other. Looking at him now, she realised that she had been a child, with childish dreams.
She knew then that there was nothing she could say—no defence she could make of that night or any of the nights from then to now. Nothing would make any difference.
‘The past isn’t going to change. But the future can.’
His grim smile infuriated her.
‘You can say it as many times as you like, Eloise. It’s not going to happen.’
‘Odir, please. See reason. There was once a time when we could talk openly...’ She hated the longing that had crept into her voice. ‘Don’t you want to move on? Don’t you want to find a suitable princess? One who will be the right person to rule by your side one day and provide you with...with the heirs you need?’
She hoped that he would be swayed by the practicality of her argument—the same kind of practicality that had always defined their relationship.
Until she met his eyes. And then she knew that she was just as foolish as that girl who had once hoped this man would rescue her like one of the knights of old and whisk her away to a magical kingdom...
* * *
‘So, with your birthday tomorrow, on the brink of inheriting what I have been told is your grandfather’s considerable trust fund, you’re finally ready to ask for a divorce?’
The accusation heavy in his words was bad enough, but the fact that he knew about her grandfather’s trust fund was a shock.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘It’s amazing what investigators can find out in only the briefest of hours.’
How she wished she could make him understand about her trust fund—wished she could tell him what she wanted to do with the money. How she wanted to use it to help Natalia get the treatment she so desperately needed—the only way to treat the painful medical condition that would one day end her life before it had really ever begun.
But before she could create a response his furious words continued.
‘Tell me honestly, were you only waiting until your trust fund was released before you came to me asking for a divorce?’
She couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny that she’d had no other option. Her father’s machinations meant that until she had access to her trust fund she couldn’t leave this marriage. And she couldn’t explain to her husband why.
‘Were you always such a gold-digger? Or did a taste of royal life—even as brief as it was—ignite such
an obscene fire for wealth in you?’
* * *
He hated the words that had exploded into the room, called forth from his deeply held anger. They burnt his tongue and scoured his throat, as if punishing him for the cruel taunt.
‘If that’s what you think of me then we really need a divorce, Odir. It’s impossible to have two people bound together with such...hatred.’
‘You made vows before God—before my country’s King and before its people. We don’t have a choice.’
‘There’s always a choice. I’ve seen the changes you’ve made in your country in the last six months. You’ve done incredible things. Things that have done so much to restore global respect for Farrehed.’
Could he hear admiration in her voice? It surprised him that she had kept up with the changes he’d had to make in the last months. The gruelling hours he’d spent undoing the destruction his father had caused. Or was it just carefully designed research in order to bolster her argument and get what she wanted?
He wondered what it would take for her to realise that what she wanted didn’t matter. That what he wanted didn’t matter. Not now. Not after...
He shut down the direction of his thoughts before they could take hold. He couldn’t afford to think about it. Not now. After he had her agreement, maybe. And maybe, even then, not until after the press conference.
He forced his mind back to their conversation.
‘And what would come of those changes—all that hard work—if I were to allow my wife to divorce me? Now that I have dragged Farrehed kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century? Now that I have ploughed money, time and energy into investments that will make Farrehed a global economy? One that survives—no, flourishes—in spite of the current climate? I’ll tell you what would come of those changes, Eloise,’ he said, just for once allowing free rein to his seething mass of emotions. ‘All of them would turn to dust should their King divorce his Queen.’
‘You are not King yet, Odir. Although it would be difficult, you can still obtain a divorce before you take the throne.’
Her words were little daggers, finding their way into his heart, and Odir cursed the slip of his tongue that might have revealed the extent of the power she held at this very moment.
He fought with the feelings in his chest...all the anger, grief and exhaustion from the last twelve hours. He wielded them like weapons and went on the attack. If her trust fund was the only thing that Eloise was holding out for, he could match that easily.
‘Let me go, Odir. Just let me go and you will never have to hear from me again.’
From a dark corner of the room a bitter laugh emerged, and he stepped from the shadows into a shaft of moonlight.
‘I wish I could. I really do. But sadly I can’t. So, if money is your only motivating factor, then I have a deal for you—one that will exceed your grandfather’s trust fund. Return to my side and I will give you two million pounds. Have my child and I will give you five more.’
CHAPTER THREE
August 1st, 22.00-23.00, Heron Tower
ELOISE COULDN’T QUITE believe she’d heard him correctly, only just resisting the urge to shake her head and dislodge the imaginary blocking of her ears.
He wanted her to do...what?
Was this some kind of sick joke?
But the grim look of determination painted across Odir’s features spoke volumes.
Her mind raced, working through each of the different possibilities at lightning speed, and the quicker it went the sicker she felt with each passing second. The amount of money was obscene, and certainly more than her grandfather’s trust fund. It wouldn’t only pay for Natalia’s medical bills far into the future, it would allow the medical centre on the brink of closure to move forward and help so many more people.
But she would have to return to Odir’s side. She would have to return to Farrehed under the microscope of the world’s press. She would never go back to her little Swiss flat, would never see Natalia’s happy smile and enjoy her easy companionship. She would never have the freedom of walking alone through the clean, beautiful streets of Zurich. She would have to give up her position as PA to the medical centre’s CFO.
Hurt opened up a chasm within her. She loved her job—she liked working. Like feeling that she was paying her own way for once in her life and doing something good. And now, just like that, all the possible futures she was considering burnt to ash.
If she were to accept the money—for the centre—she would never be free. She would be required to provide heirs in a marriage built on nothing but lies and distrust. She had grown up the product of such a marriage, and the one vow she’d ever made to herself was that she would never do to a child what had once been done to her.
She looked at Odir and was surprised to find him smiling.
‘I can see that you’re thinking about it,’ he said.
He stalked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself the whisky he’d wanted earlier that evening. He grimly wondered why he wasn’t happier with her consideration of his proposal—why there wasn’t a feeling of victory spreading through him. Then he forced his mind ahead a few hours to the international press conference arranged for eight the following morning.
To be standing alone when he made his announcement would make him look weak—would make his country look weak—and that was simply untenable.
He felt suddenly as if he were standing on a precipice the size of the Grand Canyon. Farrehed was about to be plunged into a time of great turmoil, and as he looked over at the slip of a woman standing before him, staring at him in horror as if he were the devil, he knew that she alone could ensure its security.
* * *
‘You can’t make such an obscene offer and then stand in silence waiting for a response,’ Eloise declared.
She had been watching him closely. She had seen the emotions pass over his distinguished features. Her father had never liked Odir. He’d said it was because he could never tell what the young royal was thinking. But Eloise had never had that problem. Although she couldn’t explain why, she had always known what he was thinking. She had before, and she did now.
Despite the obvious distaste he felt about the offer he was making, the belief that he had her agreement had relaxed his frame. She knew that look well. It was the same look her father would get when he knew he was going to get what he wanted.
And she hated it.
Summoning up all her strength, she knew that there was no way she could return to the marriage she had left—no matter what she had once felt for Odir. She was tired of people thinking the worst of her, tired of the sacrifices she had made for people who cared nothing for her, tired of being alone and unwanted.
‘I will not take one penny of your money, Odir. I want a divorce and I’ll do whatever—whatever—it takes to get it.’
‘I’ll double it,’ he replied, as if a total of fourteen million pounds were nothing to him.
She bit back the curse that threatened to fall from her lips. With that much money she could move Natalia and the whole medical facility to Farrehed. She might even be able to convince her mother to come too. The people she loved the most in the world would never want for anything ever again.
Nausea rolled through her as she realised that she was actually considering his offer. Never had she dreamed that there would be anything he could say to make her consider returning to that life—the life she had fled from.
She took a breath and closed her eyes. Count to ten. Always count to ten before making a decision.
* * *
It was as if the world had stopped turning. He could see it in her eyes. He could see that she was about to say the one word he needed to hear.
And then the tension was broken in an instant with three little knocks on the door. He could have kicked something. Hard.
‘Enter,’ he commanded in a tone that implied nothing of the sort.
His aide peered round the door.
‘Your speech, My—Sir,�
�� the aide hastily corrected himself. ‘It is time.’
Odir cursed out loud and his aide looked shocked. Odir had not realised they had spent so long in the suite. Once again his wife was distracting him from his duty. Just as she had done during their engagement. His preoccupation with her—his determination to forge a kind of relationship that wouldn’t replicate his parents’—had spectacularly backfired, and prevented him from seeing the damage his father was doing.
He was going to have to pay more attention. Because he didn’t have time for mistakes. He hadn’t expected Eloise to jump at his offer, but still... There had been something unsettling about her response. It hadn’t quite rung true. If she was just after money there would have been something like victory, like avarice in her eyes... Not what he had seen—what he didn’t want to put a name to.
Because if he did it might just undo all his carefully made plans.
Without waiting to see if she would follow, Odir strode from the room and entered the lift. He felt some small satisfaction when Eloise stepped in just behind him and took her place beside him.
The silence between them held all the way back to the function room and Odir used every second of it to curse his father for more things than one, and to curse his own youthful stupidity.
He had agreed to the convenient marriage laid out by both their fathers. A marriage that would benefit all concerned.
But that hadn’t been what he’d wanted once he’d met Eloise.
Perhaps it was because they had met before she’d known who he was. That day in the stables. Had she slipped under his defences then? The first woman not to treat him with calculating looks and speculation? She had turned her quick-witted tongue against him, mocked him as no one had done before. Perhaps it was then that his desire for her had flamed brightest—before he had discovered his father’s wishes and her identity.
Or perhaps it was when he’d thought he’d seen the relief in her eyes as he’d approached her with his offer. One that would welcome a relationship between them.
He’d wanted his future to be more than a cold arrangement but less of an intense obsession such as his father had felt for his mother. He’d thought the practicality of that would safeguard him.
