She recognised too that the most damaging way it could emerge would be if it was blurted out during a row just before they landed. So there was little choice other than to unclip her seat-belt and walk reluctantly over to join the man she had married, trying without success to ignore the fact that her heart still clenched with longing whenever she looked at him.
Today he was dressed entirely in black, in an exquisitely cut suit which hugged his lean body and emphasised the long, muscular shaft of his legs. His shirt was dark too, and he wore no tie. He looked expensive and dangerous, with the faintest suggestion of shadow at his jaw—a potent symbol of his virility.
As she grew closer to him she could smell the faint yet distinctive tang of the aftershave he had always used, and even as it prompted some terrible yearning deep inside her Alexa despaired that she could even be thinking of something like that at such an emotionally fraught time.
‘So, what are you going to say and when are you going to say it?’ he demanded softly. ‘I suggest soon—the sooner the better.’
‘With…’ Alexa swallowed. ‘With you present, you mean?’
He stared at her from narrowed eyes, and at that moment Giovanni’s anger became a rage which threatened to explode like champagne from a bottle which had been shaken furiously.
‘What did you imagine?’ he breathed. ‘That I would conveniently allow you to give him your version of ‘the truth’ in secret? To paint me as some dark monster from your past?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of doing something like that!’ she defended on a whisper.
‘No? Just what have you told him about the fact that he doesn’t have a father?’
In a way she had been expecting this question, in all its painful complexity. ‘I just told him the truth. That his Mummy got married, but sadly the marriage didn’t work out.’ Alexa shrugged her shoulders in a brittle movement, because the matter-of-fact statement did nothing to convey her deep sadness and the sense of failure she felt that their marriage had disintegrated.
‘What a perfect explanation,’ he put in sarcastically. ‘Did he never ask questions?’
Alexa shook her head. ‘He seemed to accept that. Lots of his friends have parents who are divorced—’
‘Ah, yes, of course! What a conveniently disposable world we live in,’ he interrupted, in a low, savage voice. ‘Maybe the reason he didn’t ask any more was because he could see you didn’t want to talk about it. Children are very good at picking up on the mood of adults and acting accordingly.’
Alexa opened her mouth to stand up for what she had done but thought better of it—and it had nothing to do with fearing Giovanni’s wrath, but a with sudden insight as to where some of his anger might be coming from. Because for the first time she realised that she had denied Paolo a father in the same way that Giovanni’s own father had been denied him, and the enormity of that now hit her.
She whispered her words. ‘I acted the only way I could at the time—’
‘And I’ve told you before,’ he cut in viciously, ‘that I neither want nor need your expedient explanations. Don’t start coming over all penitent now, Alexa—just to make life easier for yourself!’
‘What would you have said?’ she questioned painfully.
Verbally, he wanted to rail and lash out at her with the might of his tongue. But the sleeping child on the other side of the luxurious cabin inhibited him.
‘Alas, men are rarely in the privileged position that women occupy in a child’s life. They cannot spirit their offspring away and airbrush the other parent from history!’
She wanted to explain. To tell him that she had been frightened—genuinely frightened—of his rages and his power and possessiveness. But if she admitted that fear now then wouldn’t it acknowledge a weakness which still existed today? And surely Giovanni would simply capitalise on that weakness, using it as a springboard to exact some kind of revenge for what she had done?
‘I’ll tell him when the moment is right,’ she promised.
‘You will tell him when he wakes up.’
‘Is that an order?’
‘What do you think, cara mia? That I would beg and plead or wait at your convenience?’
Their gazes locked. Ebony fire sizzled from his and seemed to burn into her soul itself. But Alexa knew that she had to be strong or Giovanni would try to take everything. A long time ago he had already stolen her heart—but she would not let him have her son, or her sanity.
‘Mamma!’
Alexa smiled. ‘What is it, darling? Did you sleep well?’
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ asked Paolo, blinking his eyes open and looking around him.
‘Nearly,’ said Alexa. ‘Why don’t you come over here and have a look out of the window?’
Paolo jumped up and came to stand next to her. ‘Look, Mamma!’ He pointed his finger excitedly. ‘Look!’
‘They’re mountains,’ said Alexa, looking down and realising they were flying over the a place she had thought existed only within the prohibitively expensive sections of travel magazines. ‘Huge, snow-capped mountains.’
‘And, look—there is the desert,’ said a soft, deep voice.
Alexa swallowed, for Giovanni had come to stand behind them, and she could feel his presence—could almost touch it and taste it. The scent of him—his own unique, musky scent—pervaded her nostrils and replaced the air with the essence of him.
Didn’t they say that women were attracted to alpha-men by some subtle processing mechanism which happened on a subliminal level? Was that what had happened—her body had taken into account all the factors which would ensure that she picked the strongest, most virile of the bunch? She wanted to shout at him—please stay away from me! Yet she wanted him to gather her in his arms too. To pull her close to his hard, seeking heat and cover her mouth with his kisses. Rough kisses that would not give her clamouring conscience time to resist.
‘Can you see it, Paolo?’ he murmured, leaning closer in, for he could tell from her posture that she was acutely aware of him. Was she uncomfortable with him standing so close to her? Did she want him? Good!
Their son’s attention was completely taken up with the flash of silver and white buildings, and deliberately Giovanni pushed his body into hers. Could she feel the hard ridge of his erection pushing against her bottom? He heard her barely perceptible intake of breath, felt the briefest shudder of her slim body, and knew an answering moment of heady triumph which more than made up for the ache of frustration. Yes, she wanted him!
Moving away from her, he heard the faint hiss as she expelled the breath she had been holding, and he bent his head close to his son’s. ‘Do you know why we’re going to Kharastan, Paolo?’ he asked gently.
‘’Cos there’s a wedding!’
‘Do you know whose wedding it is?’
Paolo shook his dark curls, and more of them fell around his head in disarray. ‘No.’
‘It is Xavier’s wedding.’
‘Who is Xa-Xa-Xavier?’ stumbled Paolo.
‘He is my brother.’ Giovanni reached down and tangled his fingers in the silken mop of curls, and to Alexa’s astonishment Paolo let him. ‘Well, he is my half-brother—we have the same father, but different mothers.’
‘Two girls in my class have that!’
Giovanni nodded. ‘Lots of people have that these days—but I only found out that I had a brother very, very recently.’
Paolo’s eyes widened as he stared up at Giovanni. ‘Did you?’
‘Si,’ said Giovanni softly, and then crouched down so that his eyes were on a level with the boy’s. He felt his heart lurch. ‘Sometimes families get all complicated for all kinds of reasons.’
He smiled at the little boy then, and Alexa was taken aback by the affectionate brilliance of that smile. It hurt when she compared it to the way he looked at her. But this isn’t about me, she reminded herself. This is about Paolo, and the best way to tell him, and if you don’t act now then Giovanni is just going to go right ahead a
nd tell him.
‘Paolo, what Giovanni is trying to tell you is that—’
‘I am your father.’
The words rang out, and seeming to echo around the enclosed space, and Alexa bit her lip so hard that she felt the salt taste of blood. So he had done it anyway.
There was silence, and Giovanni was appalled that he should feel suffused with such triumph when he saw the hurt and the pain which clouded her green eyes. But she hurt me too, he thought viciously. She has hurt me more than I ever thought possible. She doesn’t have the monopoly on inflicting pain.
Swiftly, he cast these reflections aside and stared into Paolo’s little face, hoping—no, actually praying—that coming straight out with the truth had been the best way to handle it.
Alexa stood waiting too, feeling like an outsider—a shadowy interloper who was intruding on a very private conversation.
‘Paolo?’ she questioned tentatively.
Her son looked up at her then, and on his face was an expression she had never seen before. It was a mixture of emotions—of curiosity and relief and very definitely delight—but it was a troubled and faintly reproachful face, too.
‘But Mamma doesn’t have a husband,’ he protested.
‘Yes, I do,’ she said, in a low voice she prayed would not tremble and crack. ‘Giovanni is my husband. We got married—’
‘In a fever?’ Giovanni cut in cruelly.
‘A long time ago,’ Alexa followed on evenly. ‘And we kind of…well, we lost touch.’ She waited for Giovanni to contradict her, but to her surprise he did no such thing. The glint in his black eyes told her he had not forgiven her—but he had no intention of letting their son suffer because their relationship was in a mess.
Paolo seemed blissfully unaware of the undercurrents of tension sizzling in the air all around them, and the huge implications behind why she had not told him. His eyes were the size of chocolate saucers as he stared up in wonder at the tall, elegant man with the dark, rugged face. ‘You’re my daddy?’
There was a lump, and it was a pretty big one, which had just lodged itself right in the middle of his throat, so all Giovanni could do was nod, his lips pressing hard against one another as he attempted to keep his feelings in check.
‘Yes, I am,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m your Papà.’
Alexa stood frozen, looking at the unfamiliar sight of his arrogant and beautiful face struggling beneath the weight of unfamiliar emotions. Like a spectator at some shamelessly weepy movie, she watched as he held his arms open and Paolo went straight into them—like someone coming home after a long absence—and she wondered just where they went from here.
From the things he’d said—and the contempt which had snapped from his voice—she guessed that Giovanni would never find it in his heart to forgive her.
The question was, would Paolo?
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE hot Kharastani sun beat down on Alexa’s head, and she blinked as the young woman wearing a filmy veil over her moon-pale hair joined the tips of her fingers together as if in prayer and bowed deeply from the waist
‘May I have the honour of welcoming you to the Blue Palace, Alexa?’ she said, in a soft, low voice. ‘My name is Sorrel, and I shall be looking after you while you are here.’
Just when Alexa had reassured herself that there couldn’t possibly be any more surprises lying in wait, she had been proved wrong yet again—because here was another. And maybe it was good to have something to focus on other than all the possible repercussions of Paolo finding out that Giovanni was his father. ‘But you’re English!’ she exclaimed, looking at the blonde in surprise.
Sorrel—who looked about the same age as Alexa—gave a wide smile. ‘You can tell? I don’t have any trace of a Kharastani accent?’
Alexa shook her head. ‘Not to my ears,’ she said, and then looked around her with a slightly uncertain air, as if she expected to wake up from this crazy dream at any minute and find herself back in her little rented cottage in Lymingham. But, no, she was here—with an imposingly domed and turreted building behind her, the largest of all the royal residences in Kharastan.
On arrival at the palace Paolo had immediately wanted the bathroom. He had insisted that Giovanni take him—not her—and Alexa had fought an inner battle before giving in gracefully.
‘It is easier that way,’ said Sorrel softly, as they watched a silken-robe-clad servant lead Giovanni and his son through some carved doors. ‘For there are areas of the palace which are still off-limits to women.’
Alexa nodded, telling herself that her son’s behaviour was understandable in the circumstances—even if it was with a conviction she didn’t really feel.
Paolo had just discovered a father figure and he wanted to make the most of it. Like a child who had been given a wonderful new toy—he simply wanted to play with it non-stop. And, if you considered that they had just arrived in an exotic, very different country from the one he was used to—a country which seemed to be dominated by the male of the species—then surely she could understand why her son wanted to look and act like one of the men?
So why did she feel so alone and so excluded? As if she was standing on the very edge of a cliff which was slowly crumbling beneath her feet? Because the balance of power had changed, she recognised painfully. It was all now heavily weighted in Giovanni’s favour—and, oh, hadn’t he just taken to his new royal status as to the manner born?
A fleet of cars had met them at the airport when they had touched down in the capital—long, low cars, with tinted windows and bullet-proofed bodywork—and from these had emerged men with bulky jackets and dark, impenetrable eyes whose gaze never quite met hers.
They had been welcomed by an official who wore flowing ivory robes. His name was Fariq and he was secretary to Malik—the Sheikh’s most senior and trusted aide. He had bowed to Giovanni.
‘The Akil Malik bids me tell you that he is currently in discussion with Sheikh Khalim of Maraban, prior to the royal wedding. He sends his most abject apologies and will see you later, at dinner.’
As they climbed into one of the luxury cars, Alexa turned to Giovanni with a frown.
‘Everyone’s treating you as a member of the royal family,’ she said in confusion.
Giovanni shrugged, determined to remain friendly towards her—at least outwardly, and especially when they were with Paolo. The boy would not know a moment of disharmony if Giovanni could prevent it—and neither would he be told how close he had come to never knowing the identity of his father. It had been Alexa’s doing, but no blame would be apportioned there. What was the point, when the child adored his mother? To demonise her would only make Giovanni the monster in Paolo’s young eyes.
No, he would make Alexa pay for her deception in his own particular way—and he knew exactly how he was going to do it. Anticipation heated his blood. He could feel it flaring warm over his cheekbones. But the glance he threw her was nothing but mocking as he enjoyed her obvious discomfiture, the fact that she could not seem to relax beside him.
‘That is because they have accepted me as a member of the royal family,’ he said coolly.
‘So soon?’ she asked.
‘It was decided that waiting would serve no good purpose,’ he drawled, as Paolo climbed on to his knee and snuggled into him like an eager puppy. ‘Thus my identity as the second son of the Sheikh has been revealed in the last few days.’
But Giovanni’s cool air disguised his own utter astonishment at the news which had reached him via reports sent directly by Malik. The Kharastani people—who adored their ruling family and anyone connected to it—had taken to Giovanni immediately.
No matter that the circumstances of his birth had been unusual, to say the least—it made no difference to the enthusiasm of the country’s reaction.
The Kharastan Observer had produced a thoughtful editorial, celebrating the new blood being brought to the line by Xavier and now Giovanni.
Any son of Zahir with Kharastani blood runni
ng through his veins is sheikh enough for the people of this land. And if two heirs have been produced, then our people will know the meaning of a true bargain!
It had been planned that Giovanni should make his first official appearance on the balcony, following the royal wedding. His mouth hardened into a determined line. And he fully intended to hold Paolo aloft in his arms!
Alexa grew silent during the car journey to the palace—feeling as if she was at the beginning of a process intended to edge her towards obscurity. Paolo was wriggling on Giovanni’s knee, chattering excitedly as they passed strange flowering trees through which they could see skies much bigger than the skies back home.
‘Look at the soldiers!’ cried Paolo. ‘They’ve got guns!’
Alexa shot Giovanni a beseeching look.
His eyes narrowed, but he touched Paolo’s arm lightly. ‘See over here instead,’ he murmured. ‘There is a little monkey—playing on an accordion.’
‘Oooh!’
‘And do you know that there are snake-charmers in the main square of the city?’
‘Real snakes?’
Giovanni nodded. ‘Black cobras—and pythons.’
‘Can I see them?’
‘I’m sure you can, and, look—here we are. Just coming up to the palace.’
‘A palace?’ questioned Paolo, who had only ever seen them pictured in his story books.
‘A palace,’ agreed Giovanni solemnly. ‘It is where the Sheikh lives, and soon you shall meet him for yourself.’ Across the top of Paolo’s head, his eyes once more met Alexa’s. The child wouldn’t have made the association, but had she? Sheikh Zahir was his grandfather. Paolo too had royal blood running in his veins. And to the people of Kharastan this connection would be valued more highly than the purest gold.
‘Is that it?’ Paolo piped up excitedly.
‘It certainly is.’ He smiled.
Giovanni had stayed at the Blue Palace during his last visit, but this time he was stunned into a kind of dazed silence—as if the true magnificence of the building was only evident on a second careful viewing, and by imagining it through a child’s eyes. He realised with something of a start that he was not used to looking at something from another person’s perspective.
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