by Tessa Radley
“Tiffany, I had to tell him about your marriage—I couldn’t keep it from him. He’s worried about you, darling. So we decided to come and see how you were.”
Not worried so much as wanting to make sure she took his advice. Tiffany sighed.
“I wish you’d let me know you were going to tell him.” She would’ve preferred to tell him herself.
“Your new husband is a hunk.” Her mother sounded downright coy as she sidestepped Tiffany’s comment. “You never mentioned that.”
Straining her ears for sounds of the “hunk,” Tiffany ignored the subtle rebuke. “Mom, why don’t you go and book in at one of the city’s hotels? I’ll come see you in a couple of hours. Then maybe we can arrange to spend a couple of days together. Maybe we can go on an excursion into the desert.”
“But we want to see you—”
The sound of footsteps made her say hurriedly, “I’ve got to go—I’ll call you later.”
Rafiq stood in the arch that separated the bedroom from the bathroom. “Who are you going to call later?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.
She hesitated. “My mom. Rafiq…”
He came swiftly across the room. “Problems?”
The concern in his eyes made her feel simply awful.
“Not really. Rafiq—” she bit her lip “—my mother is here, in Dhahara.”
His expression brightened. “That’s good. You wanted to visit your mother, now she can set her mind at rest.”
She had to ask. “Did you call my mom and set this up?”
“No!” His brows jerked together. “I don’t even have her contact details, come to think of it.”
He had all the resources he needed to have found her if he’d wanted to. But she couldn’t doubt him. She had to trust him at his word.
“Sorry.” She chewed her lip again: “My father is here, too. I asked Mom why he came, and she says he’s worried about me.”
“Sounds like a father. Invite them to dinner.” Rafiq walked into the closet. When he came out he was wearing trousers and shrugging on a business shirt. “They can stay here—there are plenty of bedchambers.”
Oh, God. “You don’t understand. My father always expects me to do what he wants.”
He paused in the act of buttoning his shirt and raised that expressive eyebrow. “You’re a married woman now.”
“In his eyes I’ll always be his little girl who can’t run her own life.”
“You’re a grown woman. You’re married, and soon you’ll be having a baby. You’ll be a parent yourself. He can only run your life if you let him.”
“You’re so right,” she said in wonder. She’d never thought of herself in the context of being a mother in quite that way before—or how it affected her in relation to her father.
“You don’t need to love him any less—he’ll always be your father.”
There was something so liberating in his words. She’d fought with her father so much over her freedom that they’d isolated each other. It didn’t need to be that way. She would make her own choices, make it clear to her father this was her life, her choice, but that she would always love him.
If there was no battle, there could be no hostility. And her father had made his choices, too. He’d chosen Imogen over her mother. She needed to accept that. Her mother had already taken steps to deal with that reality. Now she had to do the same.
Maybe she could salvage something of their father-daughter relationship.
“Thank you, Rafiq.” She raised her face to him and accepted his kiss.
“I must go, before you tempt me to collapse beside you and spend the day in bed.”
“But, Rafiq—”
“Later.” He picked up a dark suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder. As he reached the bedroom door he gave her a gentle smile. “Tell your parents I am looking forward to welcoming them to our home.”
It was in that moment that Tiffany realized how much she truly loved him.
Several hours later Rafiq hurried toward the grand salon in his father’s palace. He nodded to the aides. The double doors were flung open. Rafiq strode forward.
“Who was it you wanted to meet—”
The king was not alone. Rafiq stopped as he recognized the man seated in the brown leather armchair across from his father.
Sir Julian Carling rose to his feet and stretched out his hand. Rafiq shook it and raised an eyebrow in the king’s direction.
“What is this about?”
His father looked wearier than Rafiq had ever seen.
“My son—” He broke off.
“What is it?”
But Rafiq had a sinking feeling that he knew. He gave the hotelier a narrow-eyed glare. Sir Julian looked away first.
“I have been concerned about this woman you have married.”
“We have already discussed this, Father.”
“I fear that I was too hasty—I should have pursued my first instinct and had her investigated.”
“Father—”
The king held up a hand. “Stop. You will listen to what Sir Julian has told me. It is scandalous.”
Blood roared in Rafiq’s ears as he paced the length of the room. “I am not interested in what Sir Julian has to say about my wife.”
The king shook his head sadly. “I fear she will not be your wife for much longer—you will have no choice but to divorce her.”
Rafiq spun around. Sir Julian must have seen the rage in his eyes because the millionaire almost overturned his chair in his haste to stand.
“Now look here, Rafiq—”
“Rafiq!” The lash of the king’s tongue called him to order.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath.
“My son, you really do need to hear what Sir Julian is going to say.”
“I know what he is going to say.”
The king looked shocked. “You knew this woman is a prostitute?”
“That is a lie!”
This time Julian backed away five paces.
It was the king’s turn to glance uncertainly at Sir Julian. “You are sure of these facts?”
“She has hoodwinked him,” Sir Julian sputtered. “He found her in a flesh club in Hong Kong.”
“What do you hope to get out of this?” Rafiq demanded, advancing on the hotelier.
“Your father has agreed that my daughter will make you a perfect wife. But Elizabeth will never agree to marrying a man who already has a wife. You will need to have your marriage annulled—fraud will be reason enough.”
Rafiq’s anger before was nothing to the rage that consumed him now.
“I do not want your daughter—I already have a wife. And no fraud has been committed that could merit annulling the marriage.”
“She lied to you.”
Rafiq shook his head. “Not so.”
“But Elizabeth is coming to Dhahara to meet you.”
“It is a waste of her time—and mine. Nor does it have anything to do with my wife.”
“I invited her—” the King broke in “—Sir Julian and I have been talking.”
Rafiq knew that tone of old. “What have you been negotiating?”
His father looked guilty. “You have always been a good, loyal son—”
“Oh, no!” Reminding him of his duty would not work this time. Rafiq shook his head.
“Your wife needs to be carefully chosen—”
“I know that—I’ve already done so.”
“Ay, me. This is about sex.”
Rafiq stared at his father. “It is not about sex—at least not in the way you mean. My wife is no Mata Hari, she hasn’t the loose morals Julian suggests—” in fact the shoe was well and truly on the other foot “—but I admit I cannot keep my hands off her.”
The admission freed something within him. Tiffany was important to him, more important than any woman he’d ever known. He wasn’t letting her go. She was his.
“This concerns me. You are in the thrall of a woman who is manipulating you. I w
ant you to divorce her before she causes a scandal we cannot fix.” The king’s face could’ve been carved from marble.
“Why? So I can marry Elizabeth Carling?”
King Selim’s eyes grew shifty. “Sir Julian has offered to make a generous marriage settlement—”
“No! I am not divorcing Tiffany. Nor am I taking another wife. My wife was a virgin the first time I took her to my bed.”
The astonishment on his father’s face made Rafiq curl his hands into fists at his sides.
“The information I am revealing should be sacred to my wife and me, not dragged out in such a sordid situation.”
“My son, if anything happens to me, to your brothers, you will sit on the throne.”
The pressure was on. His father was pulling out the big guns. “And why should I marry a woman whose father has no idea of what it means to be faithful?” He didn’t even spare Sir Julian a glance. “It was not I who broke marriage vows and slept with a backstreet whore that night in Hong Kong.”
Sir Julian turned puce. “You can’t talk to—”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Rafiq cut in. “I don’t want a wife who may have slept with a thousand men because of the example that has been set by her father.” He could hear the pulse thudding in his head. “My heirs will be mine alone.”
Then he realized what he had said. And the irony of it hit him full force. Tiffany never stopped worrying about the impact her father’s notorious affairs would have on his family. He didn’t care a fig for that. Yet, even more ironic was the fact that Tiffany was pregnant—and he’d disputed her baby’s paternity. And now, in the heat of the accusations, he had defended her.
Because in his heart he knew she had been true. Everything about her was pure.
Her baby was his. He no longer required a DNA test to confirm the fact.
“My wife is pregnant.”
A stunned silence followed his announcement. A flash of joy lit up his father’s face. “Pregnant? My first grandchild! How I wish your mother was here.” Shadows replaced the joy, and King Selim glanced surreptitiously at Sir Julian.
That look told Rafiq what he had feared—that the two of them had already gone far down the road of planning his wedding to Elizabeth Carling—and if Elizabeth hadn’t objected to being the second wife, both men would no doubt have let Elizabeth occupy that place.
But Rafiq only wanted one wife, and he had chosen Tiffany.
Part of his choice had embraced a decision to believe in her—there was no reason not to. His place was not here arguing with Sir Julian. His first loyalty lay with his wife—she, and their unborn baby, were now his family.
Fourteen
Tiffany wished Rafiq would come home.
She’d put a call in to his office that her parents were already here. No doubt he would expect her to make the first move to reconcile with her father.
Yet, sitting on the balcony that overlooked a stretch of desert, her father was not making it any easier.
“If you’d stayed home, Tiffany, this mess would never have happened.”
Tiffany suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and point out that he was the one who had walked out.
“Taylor, Tiffany is looking forward to having the baby.” The stress around her mother’s eyes as she ran interference caused Tiffany to wince.
At her father’s look of disbelief she only said, “I am, actually.”
“This is what you want?” Her father shook his head. “To be stuck out here on the edge of the desert, where you don’t even speak the language, with a man you barely know?”
“The desert is beautiful! Look at all the colors of the setting sun. I can learn the language—and I know enough about Rafiq to know that he’s a decent man.”
“Decent? What does that mean?”
Anger sparked. She remembered Rafiq’s distaste that first night in Le Club when Sir Julian had pulled Renate onto his lap. She thought about how Shenilla had said he only ever dated one woman at a time. “That he would never betray me by running around with other women.”
Her father’s face changed.
“Oh, come look at this, Taylor, isn’t it interesting?”
Her father allowed himself to be distracted by her mother’s peacemaking attempts and Tiffany drew an unsteady breath as they both disappeared into the house. How could she have fallen back into this confrontational relationship with her father? Hadn’t Rafiq told her he could only run her life if she let him? It was time to move on.
Suddenly she wished Rafiq was beside her. He understood her—better than anyone ever had.
A wave of gratitude swept her. She’d been fortunate to find a man who suited her perfectly—yet she was far from an ideal wife. Guilt ate at her. Given any choice, Rafiq would never have married her.
She was just as guilty of boxing him into a corner as all the women he’d so smartly evaded. And one day he was going to bitterly resent her for taking away his freedom.
“Looks like your husband will be able to keep you in a style that will be easy to get accustomed to. That’s quite a display.” Her father’s return from where he’d been inspecting an illuminated manuscript in a glass case cut into her thoughts. “But I want to see that I can leave you in this man’s care.”
Tiffany refrained from telling her father that Rafiq had already saved her from more scrapes than her father ever had. That she loved him. That she wanted to stay by his side for every day of her life. That the last thing her husband needed was an overzealous parent—he’d had enough of those.
The sound of voices led Rafiq to where his wife and her visitors were sitting on the balcony overlooking the desert. He loved this spot in the evenings, when the heat subsided and the desert came to life. He paused on the threshold, drinking in the sight of Tiffany.
She was perched on one of the thickly padded chairs, the center point of the family group. If he hadn’t known she was pregnant, the healthy glow of her skin and the sheen of her hair would’ve given it away. An older woman, who had to be Linda, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kindly face sat beside her, while a thin, bearded man full of nervous energy dominated the conversation.
Rafiq strode forward. All three of them looked up.
A shadow passed over Tiffany’s face, then she leaped up. “Rafiq, you’re here.”
She clung to him, and there was a touch of desperation in the kiss she gave him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head, then let go of him.
Uneasy, he waited.
She introduced her parents with a bright smile, tension evident in every line of her body. Rafiq frowned, trying to fathom what was worrying her. At first he thought her parents might be causing her strain, but he couldn’t see any evidence of that. Linda appeared to be doing her best to do everything to ease the situation, while Tiffany’s father clearly thought of no one other than himself.
Tiffany caught his eye. “I’d like to talk to you, Rafiq.”
Her somber expression caused a dart of concern.
After excusing himself from the company, he followed her down the stairs, along the walkway lined with palms, and onto the edge of the desert beyond. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Is it the baby?”
The helplessness that he experienced was a first. Rafiq discovered he didn’t like it at all.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing like that.”
But she kept knotting and unknotting her fingers. The gesture didn’t reassure Rafiq. “Then what is it?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve trapped you into this marriage.”
His heart stood still. “What?”
“You would never have married me if I hadn’t been pregnant. It’s just like all those other women who tried to corner you into marriage—except this time there was a baby. You couldn’t get out of it. One day you’re going to resent me—even the child.”
An air of dejection surrounded her.
“That’s not just any child. That’s my
daughter you’re talking about.”
Tiffany hesitated, then blurted out, “You said ‘my daughter.’ Do you mean that? Do you believe it? Or are you just saying it to make me feel better?”
“Oh, I mean it.”
“And what about being trapped?”
“I’m not trapped.”
Tiffany started to shake. “I thought…” She broke off.
“What did you think?”
“I thought that you were going to hate me. That you’d one day feel that I’d tricked you.”
“Oh, Tiffany. I was always going to marry you.”
“To legitimize the baby—out of duty.”
“Because I wanted you. Because I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” He stepped up beside her and wrapped his arms around her, then rested his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t care what your father does in his life, I want you. And nothing, not your father, not my father, is going to keep me from having you.”
From her silence he knew that she required some mental adjustment.
So he added for good measure, “If you look behind us, you’ll see that your father has just taken your mother’s hand. His behavior is her problem—unless they decide to get divorced.”
“Do you think she’d take him back? He’s a serial adulterer…. He needs to grow up.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“Did I tell you that?”
“You didn’t need to.” He stroked her hair. “But don’t make the mistake of confusing me with your father.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she assured him. “You’re nothing like him. My mother is in for a lot more heartache if she takes him back.”
“He may have missed her. He may want to change his ways. But don’t think his behavior is your responsibility.”
“I thought you would think—”
“You think entirely too much!”
She didn’t smile. “So who my father is won’t make you think any less of me?”
He shook his head. “Just like who your father is won’t make me think any more of you, either.” Then he started to laugh. “I’m not being totally consistent.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told Julian that I had no intention of ever marrying his daughter because I couldn’t be sure she hadn’t slept around as much as he has.”
