by Amy Ruttan
“Your Highness,” Meelena said.
She was very beautiful, but he could tell she was less than impressed to meet him. There was no spark or zest for life in her eyes and she seemed bored. Like every other debutante in his social circle.
Maazin bowed. “Excuse my dishabille.”
She looked him up and down with no interest. “You’re playing a match. I would expect nothing less.”
Maazin tried to think of something else to say, but he couldn’t. She turned and sipped her champagne and made it clear that she didn’t really want anything to do with him.
Did his father really expect him to marry Meelena? She was not his choice and never would be.
His eyes then fell on a beautiful woman in the most stunning emerald dress and ridiculous heels on the polo field.
Meleena followed his gaze. “What a fool,” she snorted derisively.
“Excuse me,” Maazin said quickly, and strode across the pitch to help her.
“So making a salad is extremely complicated, Your Highness,” she teased, interrupting his thoughts.
“Oh?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Yes.” She smiled brightly at him and any tension that was between the two of them melted away. It was so easy with Jeena.
Why did she have to leave?
“You chop the lettuce like this.”
He rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh. “Can I try?”
She handed him the knife and he cut the lettuce.
“You’ve done this before,” she teased again.
“I’m not completely helpless,” he said dryly.
“Just a moment ago you said the opposite, Your Highness.”
“Call me Maazin.”
A blush tinged her high cheeks. “I can’t do that.”
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s not right. It’s not proper.”
“Well, we’re alone.”
“So?” she asked, nervously.
“You can call me Maazin. Please. I prefer it.”
She glanced at him. “Fine, but only because we’re alone.”
He chuckled softly and finished chopping the lettuce and dumped it into the bowl. “Now what?”
“Let’s chop the tomatoes.” She handed him one.
He tried to chop it up correctly but ended up butchering it, spreading seeds and juice everywhere. Jeena chuckled and took the knife back.
“How about you go change and I’ll finish here?”
Maazin nodded. “It’s probably for the best.”
As he left the kitchen there was a knock at his front door. Maazin cursed under his breath and went to answer the door.
“Yes?” he said, not thinking and opening the door. Thankfully it was just Joseph Malliot, his father’s aide-de-camp, standing on the doorstep. He looked worried.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Your Highness. I went to the makeshift hospital and was told that you and another doctor had left.”
“Yes, we were potentially exposed to dysentery. We have to be isolated for the next twenty-four hours, it’s highly contagious.”
Joseph worried his bottom lip and then stepped forward. “Your father got wind that it’s a female physician staying with you and he’s concerned about your upcoming marriage to Lady Meleena. Or rather...”
“That the doctor will find out and let it slip to the press that I’m no longer engaged to Lady Meleena.”
Joseph nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“That’s why he sent you to the camp?”
“Well, no. He wanted you back at the palace. Your mother is still a little concerned that you’re working out there alone and without any kind of protection.”
Maazin sighed. “I’m glad she’s worried about my safety, but I can assure you that there is nothing untoward between myself and the other doctor. You can tell them I’m safe at my home and once I’m sure I’m not contagious then I will come and see them and assure them of these things myself.”
Maazin shut the door on Joseph. He didn’t meant to be rude, but he didn’t want Joseph to get ill. His father would be lost without Joseph at his beck and call.
And if Joseph got sick because of him, it would just be one more thing his mother could blame him for.
“If it wasn’t for your reckless ways then Farhan wouldn’t have had to come back and step up as the next in line. I had been training Ali to be King since his birth. He was ready to be a great king. But because of your foolish ways he’s dead.”
Maazin swallowed the lump in his throat and his stomach twisted, he felt like he was going to be sick.
He was a failure.
He had killed his brother. The woman he loved had left and his son didn’t even know he existed. It was too much to deal with and his eyes drifted to the locked bar, which he knew was stocked, but he turned his back on it. He wasn’t going back down that path.
Not again.
CHAPTER FOUR
JEENA HAD FINISHED making the salad, but there was no sign of Maazin returning and she was worried. What if he’d passed out?
What if something had happened to him?
She crept out of the kitchen and made her way into the hall.
The large colonial house was eerily quiet.
And then she heard faint grunts coming from the far side of the house. She found another hall off the dining room, past the library and into what looked like a home gym.
Maazin had stripped off the scrubs and was in shorts and sneakers. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Jeena was taken aback. She knew that he was in good shape, but she wasn’t prepared to see him standing there and doing a deadlift. The sweat dripped down his back and all of his muscles bulged as he arched his back and lifted what looked like a lot of weight.
His eyes focused on her standing in the doorway in the mirror he was facing. He finished his lift and then dropped the weights with a large clang on the mat.
“Jeena?” he said, surprised to see her there.
“You didn’t come back,” she said. “I was worried that maybe you fainted or were in distress.”
“No, sorry. I was just... I needed to blow off some steam.” He grabbed a towel and wiped his face.
And she couldn’t blame him for blowing off some steam. She could do with some of that. She hadn’t even been in Kalyana twenty-four hours and already her world was being turned upside down.
“There’s some salad in the kitchen for you. I’m hoping you have a room for me and maybe I could have a quick shower? I feel pretty gross after that flight from Canada to Dubai and then here, then having to deal with dysentery.”
“Of course. I’ll take you to the guest room and I’ll make sure you have a change of clothes.”
“You keep women’s clothing around?” And then she realized that was a stupid thing to say. Everyone knew that he was engaged to Lady Meleena. It had been announced to the world. Why they still weren’t married was a mystery. Three years was a long engagement.
How would you know?
The Crown Prince Ali’s death and Maazin’s military service probably had something to do with it. But whatever the reason, it should not concern her. She would do well to remember that. Maazin had chosen Lady Meleena over her. He hadn’t loved her at all and had made his feelings pretty clear when he hadn’t come for her or fight for their love, even though he’d known she’d been pregnant. She was probably the only one who’d been in love in the first place.
“No, I don’t have women’s clothing on hand, but I can lend you one of my kurtas while your clothes are washed.”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you.”
Maazin nodded and led the way out of his gym and back out into the main foyer and up the stairs. He led her to a room that was above the gym and opened the door.
“This is the guest room and the
re’s a private bath. It’s the nicest guest room as it’s under a shade tree and faces the pool out back. Though, until we’re cleared of any infection, I wouldn’t advise a dip in the pool. In the closet you’ll find some plain kurtas that will fit you.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
His expression softened. “Just Maazin. Please.”
And it was sincere and gentle.
She nodded. “Maazin. Thank you.”
He nodded and then left the room, closing the door behind him. Jeena let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She walked over to the window and peered outside. The sun was beginning to set, the brilliant orange-gold light reflecting off the infinity pool that seemed to melt into the cerulean-blue ocean horizon.
Jeena sighed again.
She pulled out her phone and saw that she had an attachment of pictures. She opened it, not caring about the roaming charges at the moment, and smiled when she saw pictures her father had taken of Syman’s hockey game.
Some were blurry, but there were a few good ones.
And there was a sweet one of Syman and her father after the game, enjoying a slice of pizza. Then there was a picture of Syman and her mother. Her mother was tucking Syman into bed and there was a caption that said they all missed her and loved her. Tears welled in her eyes.
She missed them too.
And she knew that her mother and father were very worried for her sake. Jeena couldn’t help but wonder what would have become of her parents had they still been on the plantation. How would they have fared?
Would they have gotten sick like that boy and his father?
Would her mother have died from a farming accident?
Why was that family still getting their water from the creek?
Maybe it was good that her family gone to Canada. Canada had been good to them. Her father had learned how to farm in Alberta and had a small ranch of his own. Instead of vanilla, he’d built greenhouses and cultivated flowers.
Her mother would do flower arrangements and Jeena was a surgeon. Syman may not be able to experience the same childhood she’d had, but he still had so many opportunities.
And he was living on a farm, just a different one from the one she’d grown up on, and the best thing of all was that he was free to choose who he loved.
Who he married.
There was no protocol that decided his life for him.
Until now.
Jeena worried her bottom lip. Maazin knew about Syman and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do with that information. There was no more denying it. Would Syman be harassed by the tabloids? He was illegitimate, but he was Maazin’s son nonetheless.
Prince Ali hadn’t produced any children with his late wife. Farhan didn’t have any children, not yet anyway. Maazin had a son.
Syman was an heir, even if he had been born out of wedlock.
Yeah, but Maazin doesn’t seem too interested in knowing about his son now, does he?
And Maazin was due to wed Lady Meleena. She had no doubt that Meleena would do her duty and produce a legitimate heir.
Until that time, though, Jeena was going to hold her breath and hope that Maazin didn’t tell King Uttam about Syman’s existence.
She couldn’t lose Syman to Kalyana.
Jeena cursed under her breath.
She hoped that neither of them got sick, because she wanted to put as much distance between her and Maazin as possible, return to Canada and forget that she’d ever came back to the home that had turned its back on her.
* * *
Maazin paced and he was feeling a bit nervous, waiting for Jeena to come downstairs. He’d thought about this moment so many times. What he would say to her, but now that she was actually here, he didn’t know what to say.
And they had a child together.
He felt deprived of that. It angered him.
Why did she hide it from me?
And he couldn’t help but think it was because he was such a bad influence. He was the black sheep of the family. The rogue. The troublemaker.
Before Ali’s death, he hadn’t partied as hard as his family had always believed, he’d just wanted them to think that at the time so they wouldn’t rely on him. So that he could be himself, so he could trick himself into believing that he was free.
He had, after all, been the third son at the time.
There hadn’t been much expectation on him to settle down and produce an heir. And that had been fine by him. Then he’d met Jeena and had started to think about settling down. Until she’d left him, and he’d decided to actually live like everyone believed he’d lived. That’s why Jeena had left him, so he’d indulged, just a hundred times worse than he should have.
Then Ali had died.
And Maazin had understood the errors of his ways, but it had obviously been too late. Ali was dead and he’d driven Jeena off, with their child.
He had to show her that he’d learned from his mistakes.
That he could be responsible, and maybe she would let him see the boy. To get to know him.
Do you really deserve that?
It was clear by Jeena’s actions that she had no intention of returning to Kalyana permanently and Maazin had to help his country. They had to rebuild Kalyana and then break the news that he wasn’t marrying Lady Meleena.
He turned around and saw that Jeena was standing uncertainly in the doorway, wearing one of his white linen kurtas. Her long dark hair was braided over her shoulder and he swore he had never seen a more beautiful sight.
Even though she’d broken his heart by leaving him all those years ago, he still thought she was the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen.
The years hadn’t changed that.
His heart may have hardened and he may have accepted his fate as a servant to Kalyana, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still enraptured by her refined beauty. He was drawn to her spirit. She was a like a breath of fresh air. Still, after all this time.
“Won’t you have a seat?” Maazin said, motioning toward one of the chintz couches was in the formal sitting room. The formal sitting room still had that old-world feel of the British colonies to it.
It wasn’t furnished to his taste, but he only used this sitting room for visiting dignitaries. If he had his way, he would go with minimalistic.
Jeena took a wary step into the room. “This room doesn’t seem to belong to you.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. She knew him so well. “You’re right, but my father wanted me to leave it alone as it’s part of our history. Winston Churchill came here when it was still the British Consulate. Would you like some tea?”
She nodded. “I would like that.”
Maazin slipped out of the room and into the kitchen to grab the tray where he’d already prepared the tea, adding some sliced lemon. He brought it out to her.
“I’m impressed,” she said as he set the tray on the table between the two overstuffed chintz sofas that were across from each other.
“With what?” he asked, handing her a cup and saucer.
“You’re not completely helpless in the kitchen. You know how to put together a formal tea service.”
He chuckled. “Well, teatime is still a thing here in Kalyana. I know it’s not something that’s done in Canada.”
“We have tea.”
“Do you have teatime? As in a meal?”
“No. Well, my parents do. They did continue with some of their old customs.” She took a careful sip of her tea. “This is good.”
“I know.” He leaned back. “Your parents live in Canada now too?”
A strange expression crossed her face. “They do.”
“They had a prosperous plantation.”
“I know, but now they own a prosperous set of greenhouses ju
st outside Calgary.” Her eyes went wide and he could tell that she was annoyed that she’d let it slip. Let her location slip. He was relieved. Canada was a big country. You could get lost in a country that big.
“That’s in Alberta, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said carefully, and set down her teacup. “Why?”
“I always wondered where you had disappeared to.” He wanted to add, “when you left me all those years ago,” but couldn’t quite bring out the words to say it.
“Well, now you know. Just outside Calgary, but just outside Calgary is a large area.”
“But given the agricultural industry of the Canadian prairies and indeed Alberta itself, how many large greenhouse operations are there in that area and how many grow and sell tropical flowers? Which I also find interesting, because I wouldn’t think there was a big market for tropical flowers in Alberta.”
Her dark eyes narrowed and he could tell that he was treading on dangerous ground.
“Poinsettias are tropical and need heat, but are much loved at Christmas, which is bitterly cold in Alberta.”
“It’s impressive they found such a niche market, but that’s not surprising given that they left their home country with basically nothing.”
Her lips pursed. “What does it matter? People leave all the time.”
“Your family left behind their prosperous vanilla plantation. I know they sold that plantation for peanuts. Way under value. They took a significant hit financially and I know that your father is a savvy businessman.”
“So?”
“So? That I did not understand. I did not understand why he would sell for next to nothing a plantation that had been in his family for generations.”
Jeena stood to her feet. “My father had to sell our beloved family home. There was no choice. I was pregnant by a prince who couldn’t care less. What choice did I have?”
