“Stop looking at your damn watch,” Dahlia whispered fiercely.
His gaze flicked up to her. “I didn’t make this decision lightly.”
“You made it without including me. Don’t I get a say? What am I supposed to tell Noel? He loves you. I love you. You told me you love me and now you’re sending me away?”
“It’s because I love you that I’m sending you away.” Kofi grabbed her upper arms. “No one knows who you are in the U.S. You could go back to living a normal life, without the media attention and without the worry of threats.”
“You don’t want me here.”
“I do, but—I’ve lost enough people that I care about. Understand that I’m sending you back because it’s in your best interest and Noel’s best interest. In America, no one would try to harm you.”
“You don’t know that for a fact. You don’t know we’ll be safer in another country. I want to stay here under your protection.”
He stepped back, his face resigned. “That’s not possible. We can discuss the details when I return.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Dahlia,” he said, speaking to her through gritted teeth, the way a parent would a child. “It’s a waste of time to argue. You won’t change my mind. We’ll talk when I get back.”
Kofi swung around and walked out the door.
Kofi exited the limousine and buttoned his jacket as he walked toward the office building where Titanium Oil rented a temporary office, set up to lobby the government. Abdalla and Yasir walked on either side of him, with two more members of his security pulling up the rear.
The Jouba police chief and two of his officers approached when Kofi came within a few feet of the door. “Your Highness, I’m glad you could join us.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Kofi said.
Initially, he’d assumed the sabotage at the mine had been connected to the threat against the royal family. Instead, a break in the case made it clear they were two separate issues.
A miner made a drunken confession to his girlfriend one night about his role in the sabotage. He’d been paid to set the bomb in the mine shaft. His girlfriend turned him in, and in exchange for a lesser sentence, he set up a meeting with Alistair and wore a wire. They had the British man on tape admitting to his role in the tragedy. Kofi had listened to the recording, where both men discussed that no one should have been injured.
Not that it mattered. Families had been affected, people hurt, and the dead couldn’t speak for themselves. Kofi intended to speak on their behalf.
The chief led the way into the office, and a receptionist at the front greeted them with a friendly smile. “Good day. May I help—”
They walked right by her.
“Excuse me. Excuse me, what are you doing?”
The chief shoved open the door to Alistair’s office without knocking. He was on the phone, and when he saw them all enter the room, his mouth fell open.
“What the devil is going on?”
One of the officers snatched the receiver out of his hand and slammed it in its cradle.
“Do you care to tell me what the hell is going on?” Alistair came to his feet and directed an angry stare at Kofi. “Do I need to call Ambassador Stephens to get whatever your problem is with me straightened out? You can’t just come in here and take over my office without explanation.”
“I would love for you to call Ambassador Stephens and explain your role in the deaths of five innocent people and the injuries of dozens more who worked in the gold mine. Be sure to explain why you thought sabotage was the best way for you to convince us to do business with your company.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alistair said, though his pallor had gone decidedly paler. “I’m not interested in the mining industry. We’re an oil drilling company.”
Kofi walked slowly toward him and stopped. “Remove the desk.”
Abdalla, Yasir, and the other two bodyguards each grabbed a corner of the desk and set it out of the way against the wall.
Alistair’s eyes widened, and he took two steps back.
Kofi closed in until they stood two feet apart. “I’m the protector of my people. You came here and disrupted our peace because of your greed. Now you must be punished.”
“I didn’t do anything! I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alistair’s eyes were wild and jumpy.
“Play the tape,” Kofi said, keeping an eye on him.
The chief pressed a button on the recorder he held in his hand, and Alistair’s voice filled the room.
“You used too much. It was supposed to look like an accident, and no one was supposed to get hurt. I can’t imagine what would happen if anyone found out we had anything to do with that bloody mine caving in.”
Alistair had gone as pale as a sheet of paper. “This is some kind of trick. Because I’m an outsider, you’re framing me for these people’s deaths.”
Kofi stepped aside and an officer came forward. He spun Alistair toward the wall and slapped handcuffs over his wrists. “Mr. Alistair Davies, you are under arrest for the sabotage of the Djimah gold mine and the murders of Samuel Musa, Yaya Appiah, David...”
“No!” Alistair yelled as the officer continued to list the names of the victims. “We didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Please, I’m so sorry.” He started sobbing. “I only wanted to get your attention, to make you think about why you needed us.”
Kofi stared dispassionately at his reddened, despicable face. “And now you can spend the rest of your life thinking about why we don’t.”
“No!”
And with that, the officer hauled him toward the door.
28
Dahlia entered the room where Kofi sat with his head resting against the back of the sofa. He hadn’t come to find her when he came back from his meeting, and it was nighttime and he still hadn’t come to her, so she’d come to him.
“Kofi?”
He lifted his head, and the bleakness in his eyes touched a place in her chest. He was hurting. A lot had happened in a short time. With Kemal, he hadn’t simply lost an assistant. He hadn’t only lost a friend. He’d lost another brother, and he thought he had to give her and Noel up, too.
“I saw on the news that Alistair Davies was arrested today. That’s wonderful.”
“We have him on tape, but he still denied his role in sabotaging the mine.” He lifted a glass half filled with bissap and swallowed a mouthful.
Dahlia sat down beside him. “Do you want to talk about Kemal?”
“There’s nothing else to talk about. The threat was contained.”
Dahlia looked at Kofi. Really looked at him and thought about everything she’d seen him do since they arrived in Zamibia. Before their arrival, she held her own ideas and admittedly, misconceptions about what it meant to be royalty, thinking for the most part that Kofi lived a life of ease and privilege. While he did possess the type of riches most people would never see in multiple lifetimes, he’d traded in the privacy for the privilege. He lived constantly under a microscope, with the knowledge that every decision not only affected his life, but the lives of every person in the nation.
As the crown prince, the expectations on him were many and varied. Not only was he expected to be an ethical and moral leader who was fair and kind, at the same time he was expected to mete out justice to people who broke the law and pursue solutions for the greater good. It was a complicated balancing act, and though he was immensely popular, every decision and every action was dissected and presented to the people for public consumption.
“Talk to me. I’m not one of our citizens. I’m not the press.”
He set the drink on the table and ran a hand down his face. Time dragged by in silence, and she thought she’d wasted her time.
Keeping his eyes on the glass, Kofi finally spoke. “I couldn’t bring him to the palace while my mother was alive. It would have been disrespectful and too painful for her. I brought him here as a peace offering, to f
ix the years of neglect he’d experienced, and establish a relationship. My father wasn’t pleased, but he allowed it. Maybe because I’d already lost a brother and he’d lost a son.”
“I understand.”
“Azireh was pregnant when she died.”
“Oh my god, Kofi—”
“It wasn’t my child. We never consummated our marriage.”
“Your honeymoon...?”
“No. She was withdrawn and acted oddly. To be honest, I left her alone because I didn’t want to sleep with her. She was chosen for me. She wasn’t the woman I wanted for my wife. The woman I wanted for my wife lived in New York.” Their eyes met, and the pain of nostalgia twisted in her chest. “Two months later, she was dead. Killed herself. The note she left contained only two words: I’m sorry. No explanation.” He took a deep breath. “After the autopsy uncovered her pregnancy, everyone thought the child was mine. They grieved that I’d lost my wife and child—a child that didn’t belong to me.”
“She was in love with someone else.”
He nodded. “She never wanted to marry me, but she did what her father asked. Fulfilled her duty. I believe she was miserable because she couldn’t be with the man she loved, and in the end she killed herself to escape the marriage.”
“Do you know who the father of the child was?”
Kofi nodded. “We spoke once. He’s Ndenga, like she was. He moved to Nigeria not long after she died.”
“You never said a word.”
“I didn’t want to dishonor her name.”
Dahlia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Kofi was being open and honest, and she needed to do the same.
“My mother used to tell me I was a dreamer. Her polite way of saying I never wanted to face reality. I wanted everything to be perfect, and I’d make up my own reality so I didn’t have to face the truth.” She swallowed. “My father was a drug addict.”
She’d never said the words out loud. Never admitted the truth to anyone, not even Angela. Kofi silently watched her, and Dahlia grimaced as she smiled, embarrassed to reveal the truth and the extent of her lies. She’d crafted such a believable story there were times she believed the tale herself.
“He didn’t fall asleep at the wheel and cause the accident that killed my mother and put me in a coma. He was high, in the middle of the day. They traveled around the country doing odd jobs because my father couldn’t keep a job, and he was always running from people he owed money to. My mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, leave him. She started taking photos so when times got bad, we could look at all the pictures and remember happier times.” Thanks to her mother, Dahlia developed a love of photography, too, and they’d discussed displaying her photos of Zamibia so tourists could see them when they visited the palace.
As tears stung her eyes, she ran her tongue along the inside of her upper lip.
“When he was sober, he was the best father. But when he was high, I didn’t know him, and I hated that glassy-eyed stare. One night I heard my parents arguing. Whisper-arguing, I used to call it. They thought I was asleep. My mother begged him to get help. She begged him. ‘I can handle it,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you believe in me? You’re stressing me out and making it worse.’ The day of the accident, she begged him to let her drive. He didn’t. She got in the car and made me get in with them.” Pain vibrated in her voice.
Kofi took her hand.
“He didn’t protect me. She didn’t protect me.” Love and hate for her father warred for dominance inside her. She felt sympathy because of his addiction, but also anger that he loved drugs more than he loved them.
Kofi squeezed her hand.
“Don’t send me away.” Her voice shook. “I don’t want to live anywhere else. This is my home. These people have accepted me as one of their own.”
Kofi released her and went to stand in front of the window. “It’s for the best. For both of you to be safe.”
“We are safe. Who else would dare try to harm us again? The threat came from within, not without. What happened with Kemal was an unusual occurrence, and security already set new protocols in place to keep us safe.”
“That’s not good enough for me,” he said in a harsh voice. “If you don’t want to live in the U.S., we have an apartment in Monaco and a place in London. Not that you’re limited to those locations. I can buy you a home in any country you wish.” He stopped, his chest heaving as if he were out of breath. As if speaking the words required immense effort and he needed to pull the strength to say them from someplace deep inside him. He bowed his head. “Outside of Zamibia, very few people are familiar with the royal family. You can live a normal life. That’s what I want for you. For him.”
Dahlia hopped up from the sofa. “And what about my work here? People are depending on me.”
“The work will get done.”
“By who? Your new wife?”
“You think I want to get married again?”
“Don’t you? The option is open to you. What happens when I leave?” Her hands started shaking. “How long am I supposed to be gone? And while I’m gone, what will you do? Who will you spend your time with?”
“I haven’t made the decision to send you away so that I can get another wife. I made the decision because I need to keep you and Noel safe.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You made the decision. We’re a team. We’re in this marriage together, and we have so much work to do. The stadium needs to be finished, we haven’t broken ground on the children’s center yet, and expanding substance abuse treatment is a priority for me. I want to do it all.” She took a tremulous breath. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. You came to find me. You brought me back because you wanted me here, and I’ve done a lot of thinking since this morning. You didn’t need to convince the council to accept Noel as next in line. You allowed me to think you did, but you only needed your father’s approval, which he gave. Did we go through all of that for you to turn around a couple of months later and tell me I should leave? No, we didn’t. And no, I’m not leaving.”
“No?” He stared at her as if she’d sprouted another set of arms. “I am the Prince of Zamibia, and I say you will leave.”
“And I am the Princess of Zamibia, the Great Wife of Prince Kofi Francois Karunzika of Zamibia. And I will remain with my prince. Because we’re one. Because I want my son to know his heritage and learn about his ancestors and claim his birthright. I’m not leaving, Kofi. This is my home.”
She stared at his hardened features. He could still make her leave, and there was nothing she could do about it. She waited, her stomach in knots.
“This country isn’t perfect, Dahlia.”
“No country is.” She blinked back tears.
Kofi cupped her face in his hands. “You’re miserable here.”
“I’m not. I wanted to leave at first, but I don’t anymore. I told you, I have no regrets about coming here.”
He studied her face, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Are you sure? I don’t want to extinguish your light.”
“You can’t. You make me shine brighter.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face in his neck, relieved. She couldn’t bear to be apart from him. She couldn’t bear to leave the place she’d come to love.
“You are so damn feisty.” Kofi locked eyes with her. “Moni fey-eh.” A smile stretched across his lips, and she didn’t need a translation. I love you. She knew, because those were among the first words she’d learned with her Mbutu language tutor.
“Moni fey-eh,” she whispered back. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his.
Epilogue
Sandwiched between her chief of staff and her social secretary, Dahlia made rapid progress from her office on the way to Kofi’s.
She shook her head, dismissing a suggestion from her secretary. “I know I have a full schedule on Monday, but I don’t want to cancel my trip to the children’s hospital. Move the visit to the substance abuse clinic fr
om the afternoon to the morning, after my breakfast with the Association of Women Entrepreneurs. I can spend a few hours there, grab lunch, and then go to the hospital in the afternoon. That gives me plenty of time to participate in the ribbon-cutting ceremony with the chief’s wife and return to the palace in enough time to change clothes and have dinner with the Kenya delegation.”
Her secretary wrote the changes as quickly as Dahlia dictated them. “Yes, that works. I’ll have the new itinerary typed up and on your desk within the hour. Background information and cultural details for the delegation will be completed by noon tomorrow.” She made a U-turn and went back the way they came.
Dahlia stopped outside Kofi’s office and accepted a folder of resumes from her chief of staff. She needed to hire a language tutor for Noel. His Mbutu was coming along well, but she and Kofi agreed they wanted to foster his language ability by having him work with a tutor for one hour three times a week. They needed someone with experience working with children and skilled at using playtime to create a learning experience. There weren’t a lot of people with those skillsets, but they’d found six so far.
Dahlia scanned the resumes and pulled out two. “Bring in these women for interviews. Take a look at my calendar. Next week I should have a couple of afternoons available to slot them in.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Daisy walked away.
Dahlia entered Kofi’s office and greeted his secretary. “Is he busy?”
“No. You can go right in.”
She walked straight to the door, knocked lightly, and let herself in. Kofi’s smile and warm gaze welcomed her.
“Don’t you look lovely,” he said, rising from the chair.
“Do I?” Dahlia posed with a hand on her hip.
More often these days, she dressed in either a combination of traditional African and Western-style clothing, or wore full African attire. Not only were the clothes comfortable, they were also colorful, and she liked discovering combinations that worked well together. Today a green and dark yellow head wrap completely covered her hair. She paired the headdress with a dark blue dress that appeared black from a distance, and a chunky silver necklace with a black diamond in the center.
Princess of Zamibia Page 17
