I think of the egg analogy suddenly, and more tears fall.
It was such a beautiful story, a tradition that is humble and true, and I imagine now that if our marriage were an egg, it would be cracked beyond repair. Who knew love could be such a destructive force?
Zahir
“Tell Aliya I’m coming to the apartment,” I advise my valet, staring at the papers on my desk to avoid looking at him. I don’t want to look at anyone.
Three nights ago my wife left the palace and since then I have been incapable of putting her out of my head. Her words have run in circles, and each night I try to make sense of them, and fail. Not only that, she is everywhere. She is in my office, my bedroom, my mind, my soul. I need to get her out so I can continue with my work and my life, I need to rearrange the pieces of this until they make sense again. But I can’t do that alone.
Amy
“I don’t want him to come.” I blurt the words to Aliya and then wince, regretting the indiscretion of that statement. “I mean, I’m not ready,” I cover poorly, indicating the pyjamas I’m still wearing despite the fact it’s noon.
“I know what you meant,” Aliya says gently. “Let me help you get ready.”
Aliya moves towards the enormous wardrobe, pulling out a dress, but I shake my head.
“Just jeans, please.” I need to feel like myself.
Unusually, I think Aliya understands, because she returns with an outfit that is much more ‘me’ than the gowns and dresses I have been costuming myself in while play-acting the part of Zahir’s wife.
I toy with my wedding ring as I shower, then as Aliya does my hair, blowdrying it until it hangs in large waves down my back.
“You know,” she meets my eyes in the mirror as she turns the hairdryer off. “You have been very good for him.”
I smile tightly at her. “I doubt that’s true.”
“You don’t know what he was like before you.”
Despite myself, curiosity barbs in my chest. “No, I don’t.”
“Then let me tell you.”
I wonder if I should refuse. After all, Zahir is my husband and Aliya shouldn’t be interfering. And yet I know her deep affection for his family and, I believe, for me now.
I nod once, as she spins my chair around a little, taking up a make-up brush and dipping it in powder. I don’t like to be fussed over but our conversations holds me captive so I submit to her without complaint.
“Zahir is a man loved by all, trusted by everyone. He was in the military you know, and he received some of its highest honours. He has saved lives himself, his bravery and courage earning him much attention in the media. Attention he brushed off, because it meant nothing to him.”
Pride is unmistakable, filling my heart. I’m not surprised by this description.
“He is beloved and revered, but he is also lonely, your highness.”
Despite multiple requests, Aliya will never use anything but my title.
“He has no experience with relationships, and I fear he is not very good at expressing himself. But when he is with you, he gives more of himself than I ever seen.” She pulls back to admire her handiwork. “You have opened him up.”
When she’s gone, I wonder if that’s true. Perhaps it is. But it’s not enough. Zahir opening up is still so far from what I need of him.
I’m a bundle of nerves, waiting for him to arrive. He sent word that he was coming but gave no indication of timing, and so I wait, impatience slamming through me all day. It’s almost nightfall before I hear the distant drone of a helicopter, then the tell-tale scuttle of guards’ feet in the hallway beyond the penthouse’s door. I brace myself for him to enter and am surprised when instead, there’s a knock.
Frowning, I move to the door, pulling it open without checking who’s there – enough of a security presence is dispersed through the building to know I’m secure.
Zahir stands on the other side, dressed in a dark linen suit, so I stare at him for several seconds before moving backwards and jerking my arm to indicate he should come inside.
Nerves wash over me.
He waits for me to precede him.
“Would you like something to drink?” My voice shakes a little.
“No.” His own does not. It is hard and resolute. In the sumptuous sitting room, he stands, a stark figure, the man who has overtaken my every thought and wish.
“I was unprepared for our last conversation. I did not say what I should have.”
My heart stalls. “You said what you felt,” I say after a beat. “And I’m glad. It’s important that I understand.”
“But you don’t understand. How can you, when I barely do myself?”
I sigh. “Zahir, it’s okay. It’s not like you lied to me. You never pretended this was about me or romance or anything more than a tactical marriage to ensure peace for your kingdom.”
He dips his head in agreement. “Yes. This was a tactical marriage, that’s exactly right. But I hadn’t banked on you being as you are. I hadn’t banked on many things. Nothing about this is what I anticipated.”
I nod slowly. “I know.”
“I miss you.”
I remember the text he sent, when I was in Thakirt.
My eyes squeeze shut, because I miss him too, and if I give into those feelings, if I agree to go back to the palace, I know I’ll just be prolonging the inevitable. More pain. More distance.
“This is such a mess.”
“And you miss me,” he continues as though I haven’t spoken.
“What’s your point?”
“I didn’t understand. I have been clinging to the vision I had of our marriage this whole time, sticking to the terms we agreed to, reassuring myself that we have a contract and therefore this is simple and uncomplicated. I didn’t realise how much everything altered. I didn’t realise until you left, and my life – which should have been just like before – seemed utterly, overwhelmingly empty.” He moves closer but stops short of touching me. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lie in our bed without you?”
The question runs through me, a dangerous river of temptation because there is so much I could read into his words if I were stupid enough to do so.
“I thought I would hate you. You are a Hassan, but you aren’t. And even if you were,” he lifts a finger to my lips and presses it to silence me. “Even if you had known of your father’s guilt, I’m not sure anything would have stopped this from happening.”
“Stopped what from happening?”
“You’re a part of me.” He says it so simply, like it’s an incontrovertible fact. “When you spoke of love, I didn’t understand, because it seems so banal, such an over-used term to describe what you’ve come to mean to me. Everyone says ‘I love you’. That’s not unusual. But if you need to hear it then, yes, I love you, of course I love you, but it’s so much more than that. You have moved inside of me, you exist in here,” he gestures to his heart. “I feel you with every breath I take, but it’s not enough. I need you. Not the part of you that’s in my heart, but all of you. With me.”
I stare at him, the words wrapping around me like gossamer silk so that I can’t block them, I can’t fight them; they wriggle into my chest and land there, locking into place. I blink, hope perforating my darkness, filling me with light.
“I have fought this,” he says quietly. “I have fought myself. Because of your father, I have always wondered if our marriage could mean to you what it did to me. After all, how can you love a man who caused him such pain – warranted or not? And to feel torn between us, and your loyalty, must surely be a source of hurt to you – so why would you love me? Why would you choose me?”
“It’s not a choice,” I say quickly. “And even if it were,” I shake my head, because there’s no way to finish that sentence that does me credit. There is no choice. I stare at the man before me, who is good and strong and righteous and has so much integrity it hurts and I feel love bursting from me.
“I have felt so torn,”
I whisper. “I have felt as though I am betraying him or you at every moment. In some ways, his confession freed me up to finally accept that I do love you – that it’s okay to love you.”
“I believe this is why he told you. He saw your conflict and sought to resolve it. It was a…gift.”
“Don’t. Don’t justify anything he’s done.”
“Habibti, it’s complicated. I understand that there is no easy fix with your father, but he is still your father.”
“I can’t think about him right now,” I say firmly. “I’d rather hear more about how you love me.”
He laughs, tilting his head back, and I glow all over. “Then let me tell you. But not here. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to bring you home. To the palace, with me, where you will always, always belong, my beautiful wife.”
I tilt my head to the side, pretending to consider that. “Well, I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully. “We would have to come up with a new deal.”
His eyes spark to mine as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a piece of paper. “I thought of that.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
I close the distance between us, taking the paper from his hand. It’s a single page.
To have and to hold, to love and honour, for as long as we both shall live.
He’s added his signature to the bottom. Tears well in my eyes. “That’s kind of cheesy, you know,” I tease.
“Does that make it less true?”
“No.” I run my finger over his signature. “It’s true, and I’ll hold you to it.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
* * *
“I have a present for you.”
Three months after returning to palace, and I don’t know if I’ve stopped smiling since.
“A present, hmm?” Zahir stands from behind his desk, lifting his brows. “What is it?”
“You’ll have to come with me to see.”
“I think I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
I take his hand, drawing him with me, out of the office and into the corridor. Guards stand to attention but I understand now what I didn’t when I first came to Qabid. They are here ceremonially, their placement a tribute to the kingdom and the ancient heritage, not because there’s a looming threat. We walk past them, hand in hand. At the end of the corridor, I turn us to the right, then out a large set of doors that lead to a garden.
“Out here?”
I can tell I’ve surprised him. “Uh huh.” I stop. “Now, close your eyes.”
“Seriously?”
“Uh huh.”
I wait until his eyes are firmly shut. “No peeking, mister.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He teases by slanting a quick glance at me.
“Hey, I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, then clamps his eyes shut again. I move away from him, opening the cage and pulling out what I’m looking for, clasping it in both hands – which is not, I have to say, that easy.
“Put your hands out.”
He does so without opening eyes. I move forward, delivering the gift right into the palms of his hands.
He makes a rumbling noise of amusement and looks down. “A chicken?”
“Uh huh.”
“I see. Is this a pet, or dinner?”
“Neither!” I reach out and stroke the chicken’s head. “It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“Of the eggs.” I move closer to him. “So we can have all the eggs we want in our marriage.”
His eyes flash to mine and then he leans forward, kissing me softly. “I concur wholeheartedly.”
“But you’d like me to take the bird away again?”
He grins. “Where did you get it from?”
“The markets.”
“I mean, where, just now?”
“Oh, here. There’s a cage. She’ll be added to the royal coup later today.”
“I think I’d like to keep her closer by. Perhaps we’ll have a new coup built just for our chicken?”
“She might get lonely.”
“That’s a fair point.” He crouches down to put the chicken away, turning back to me. “Thank you for the present, but you didn’t need to do that. You being here is a constant gift.”
My heart turns over in my chest. “Oh. Then you don’t want the other present?”
“I don’t know. Is it a cow?”
“I hope not.”
“You don’t know?”
“Well, no, I mean, we could find out, but I’m quite traditional and personally like the idea of waiting.”
“Waiting for what? You are not making any sense, my beautiful Emira.”
I lift my brows. “Actually, I think I am. You’re just not listening.”
“I’m always listening to you.”
I laugh. “Fine, let me be really, really clear.” I reach for his hand, carrying it towards myself slowly, then place it palm-side down on my stomach. “It’s not a chicken and it’s not a cow, and I’m not sure if it’s a boy or a girl, but we’ll know soon enough.”
His eyes fly wide. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“You’re pregnant? With my baby?”
I laugh again. “Well, if it’s not your baby then that would be awkward. And impossible,” I hasten to add.
He makes a groaning noise. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just, I had no idea.”
“I know. I wanted to be sure it was safe before I said anything. You’ve been so busy with the new education rollout, I didn’t want to distract you.”
“Oh, Amy, this is the right kind of distraction. This is literally the best news I have ever been given.”
“Gosh, so you like the gift then?”
“I think – though it is a close call – I like this gift even more than the chicken. And I like you most of all.”
I stand onto the tips of my toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That’s a relief, because you’re completely stuck with me.”
“Promise?”
“Forever and ever.”
* * *
It is Zahir in the end who brings about a truce. And not quickly; it takes time. I grow enormous with our baby, round and definitely-not-glowing, and then he is born, a perfect little bundle with Zahir’s eyes and my mother’s smile that makes the discomfort of pregnancy completely worth it. Motherhood changes me. I am aware of a river that runs through me, channelling life and existence, history and the present, the promise of the future, a river that connects me to my son, and which also connects me to my father, my father to my son.
And yet, I still ignore my father, unable to soften towards him when I think of what he might have done to my husband.
It is Zahir who changes my mind, who gradually softens me, so that eventually, nervously, I agree to meet with him. And despite what Zahir has always said about his involvement with my father, he came with me. Not because he wanted to – I could tell how hard it was for him – but because he knew I needed him, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me.
The meeting is a beginning. My father did great wrong, and yet he’s still my father, a man who’s also capable of great goodness and kindness, a man I have always loved. The relationship will never be simple and straightforward again, but the relationship persists and because he understands that a piece of me is missing for as long as my father and I are estranged, Zahir works to bring us together, gradually reintroducing my father to my life, always watchful and listening to me, making sure I’m ready, always supporting.
By the time our son turns one, I am pregnant again, and my father is the first person we tell. A river connects us, and the ancient grudges and enmity seem impossible to remember now, as love has permeated every aspect of palace life. Even love for my father, because Zahir made sure of it.
THE END
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Following is an excerpt from REGRET ME NOT, the first book in The Montebello series - sexy, escapist romances with perfect HEAs.
Regret Me Not
THE MONTEBELLOS BOOK 1
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s very-vivid, non-stop imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention (mwah-ha-ha).
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features smokin’ hot model/s and, as gorgeous as they are, bears no relation to the characters described within.
Any medical advice in this book, related by characters or otherwise, exists to further the story and is not necessarily based in fact. Medical advice quoted in this book should not be taken as anything other than narrative invention; please do not rely on romance novel characters to inform your medical decisions! If pregnant, seek professional, qualified advice.
First published 2019
(c) Clare Connelly
Cover Credit: adobestock/theartofphoto & rudi197
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Prologue
Three years ago
SHE WAS SILK BENEATH his fingertips, soft and smooth and his body craved hers again now, despite the fact they’d spent the whole night wrapped together, limbs entwined, mouths seeking. He’d been hungry in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time – if ever – and he was hungry for her now.
He shifted carefully in the bed, angling his face towards hers so he could see her better, the soft light of dawn filtering in almost a sufficient amount to shape the features he knew so well by touch.
The Marriage Deal Page 21
