by Abby Green
He knew he should resist this vision of domesticity. It wasn’t what he’d signed up for with this marriage. But it was more seductive than he liked to admit...
Liyah sensed Sharif and whirled around to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Tie undone, shirt open at the top. Stubbled jaw. Her belly dipped and swooped. Her heart hitched. She felt shy. Which was ridiculous after what they’d done the previous night.
‘Hi.’
‘You’re cooking.’
Liyah smiled. ‘I can see why you’re CEO—your powers of observation are truly impressive.’
Sharif made a face. He came in, nose twitching. ‘What are you cooking?’
‘I have a couscous, cherry tomato and herb salad. Lamb and pistachio patties. Harissa chicken. Hummus. Flatbread. Here.’
She handed him some flatbread and hummus. He tasted it.
‘That’s good. Really good. Where did you learn to cook?’
‘I taught myself when I was at university. I felt homesick for Taraq and I found that cooking meals that reminded me of home helped.’
Sharif said, ‘I’ll have a quick shower and join you.’
Liyah looked at him. ‘You’re so sure you’re invited?’
Sharif came around the ktichen island and pulled her close, covering her mouth with his. She felt the inevitable spark leap to life between them.
Still there. Not gone yet.
With every kiss now, every night of making love, Liyah was more aware that sooner or later there would come a time when Sharif wouldn’t look at her in quite the same way. Wouldn’t want her with the same desperation she felt.
He let her go and walked out of the room, leaving Liyah dazed and hungry. And, annoyingly, not for the delicious food she’d made.
Later that evening the movie’s credits rolled and Sharif looked down to see Liyah curled up on the couch beside him, snoring softly, glasses askew on her face.
He turned off the TV—another first. Although he had a state-of-the-art media centre installed he rarely, if ever, watched anything except maybe the news.
He felt a sense of something he’d never experienced before, and had to take a few seconds to figure out what it was. Contentment. A sense of peace. This whole evening had been...easy. Pleasurable.
Normally, when he didn’t have a function to attend, he would spend the evening in his study, with a sense of restlessness buzzing under his skin. A restlessness that was now gone.
He made a face. He was losing it. A little home cooking and his brain was scrambled.
He picked Liyah’s glasses off her face and put them to one side. He gathered her into his arms and stood up. She made a sound...her eyes opened. Unfocused. Sleepy. Sexy.
She burrowed closer into his chest and Sharif’s body reacted to her soft curves. As if he hadn’t been in a state of semi-arousal all evening, since he’d returned and found her creating a veritable feast for the tastebuds and senses...
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but by the time he got to the bedroom with Liyah she was awake and wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his jaw. He forgot all about checking his phone to see who was looking for him. He had more important things to attend to.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN LIYAH WOKE UP the following morning she stretched luxuriously, keeping her eyes closed, revelling in the after-effects of Sharif’s lovemaking. Blinking blearily, she came up on one elbow and groaned softly when she saw the time on her phone. Nearly midday.
This man had turned her into such a sloth. But it was usually dawn before they were falling asleep, exhausted. Last night had been no different.
A voice from behind her said, ‘You’re awake.’
Startled, because she’d thought she was alone, Liyah looked over her shoulder to see Sharif at the window. The sun made her squint, but she could see he was fully dressed in a three-piece suit.
She sensed something was wrong and sat up, pulling the sheet to cover her chest, not even sure why she felt instinctively vulnerable all of a sudden.
‘Morning... Why aren’t you at work?’ He was always gone when she woke.
Sharif stepped towards the bed, out of the sunlight. Liyah could see him now and his expression was stony.
‘Sharif...what is it?’
He folded his arms. ‘Tell me—when do you go into my study to send your messages to Callaghan? When I’ve left the apartment? Did seeing him in London give you the idea to go to him with the scoop?’
Liyah wanted to shake her head. Sharif was making no sense.
She sat up properly, clutching the sheet. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come and see for yourself.’ He stalked out of the room.
Liyah scrambled to find something to wear, pulling on Sharif’s robe, which was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. She didn’t even know where he had gone, but she heard the sound of the TV and went into the lounge. Where they had been last night... Until she had fallen asleep and woken in Sharif’s arms...
Not now.
The TV was on. A news channel. Sharif stood before it, remote in one hand, his other hand in his pocket. She went and stood beside him. And her innards froze when she realised what she was watching.
As if she couldn’t make sense of what the reporter was saying, she read the text that ran at the bottom of the screen.
Sharif Marchetti decides to sell the Marchetti Group... Brothers and fellow board members Nikos and Maks Marchetti...unaware of this development... An emergency meeting of the board is due to take place...
The reporter was talking again. ‘Only days ago, Marchetti Group shares were at an all-time high. The company had the Midas touch. It could do no wrong. The question on everyone’s lips is why on earth would Sharif Marchetti destroy his own company like this?’
Sharif switched off the TV. He faced Liyah, who was in shock.
‘Well?’
She looked at him. She found it hard to speak. To articulate anything. ‘How...how did they find out?’
‘Really? You’re really going to pretend it wasn’t you? When Callaghan was the one who got the scoop? You met him—right under my nose in London.’
Liyah’s brain felt sluggish as she recalled the man approaching her, trying to give her his card. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sharif. Of course I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t even take his card. Why would I say anything?’
‘Because you disapprove? Because you feel I’m not being fair to my brothers? Maybe you contacted Nikos and he called Callaghan, hoping to cause a bit of chaos so that I wouldn’t go through with it. But I think it was because I gave you privileged information and that was an irresistible currency for you. A way to negotiate the end of our marriage well before time so you could get your precious independence early.’
Liyah’s legs felt like jelly. She sat down on the chair behind her. ‘That’s such a twisted theory... I didn’t do this, Sharif. I swear. Whatever I felt about your decision, your motives...that’s between you and your brothers.’
‘Not any more. It’s now between me, my brothers and the entire world. Our stock has plummeted.’
‘But...wouldn’t this have happened anyway, when you made your announcement?’
‘No, it would have been controlled. And I was always going to tell Nikos and Maks before I did anything. I just wasn’t going to involve them until the last moment.’ Sharif looked at his watch. ‘I have to go. I have to give a press conference this afternoon and then I’m flying to Paris. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
He went to walk out of the room and Liyah stood up. Before he disappeared, she said, ‘You really believe it was me?’
Sharif stopped. He turned around. ‘You’re the only one who knew the full extent of my plans. I hadn’t even revealed them to my own staff. They were kept in a safe in my
office, and the only person who has the code is me.’
Liyah felt sick. Sharif walked out. She stared at the empty space for a long moment. Until she heard Sharif speak with Thomas and then the ping of the elevator doors.
He was gone.
Liyah was too numb to process what had just happened. She showered, dressed... Sat on the couch in the lounge and watched Sharif give his press conference a couple of hours later, trying to limit the damage.
Thomas enquired if she wanted to eat, but she had no appetite. At some point she went out and walked the streets for blocks and blocks. Always aware of the security man tailing her. She was almost surprised he was still there...
The speed with which Sharif had turned on her, choosing to believe that she could have possibly—Her stomach roiled.
When she finally returned to the apartment it was empty. She slept in her own bed for the first time since that first week she’d arrived in Manhattan.
When she woke at dawn she was gritty-eyed. She checked her phone. No calls, no messages.
Days passed in a hazy blur. Liyah saw news reports about how the board of the Marchetti Group were holding crisis meetings. She saw pictures of Nikos and Maks leaving the Paris office, as grim-looking as Sharif, and her heart ached.
They would hate him for not trusting them. The damage would be irreparable.
And then, just like a few months ago, when her sister had called her and begged her for help, Samara needed Liyah again.
And Liyah saw no reason not to go to her—because there was nothing for her here any more.
When Sharif arrived back at his Manhattan apartment all was quiet. He knew Liyah wasn’t there. He knew she was in Taraq with her family. Her sister was getting married within the next fortnight, sooner than expected. He’d been invited, but he’d declined.
He shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie. He went straight to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a stiff whisky. Not that whisky had done much to help in the last two weeks since he’d left. But it had blurred the edges and helped him forget the dreams that haunted him most nights. Dreams of her. And of treachery.
The liquid burnt its way down his throat. He poured another. The world was in flames around him. Everything he’d worked so hard to achieve was ruined. His father was laughing at him from his grave. His mother... His heart constricted. He’d failed her.
And all because he’d lost his focus. He’d let his brain migrate to his pants. He’d forgotten a lifetime of lessons in trusting no one but himself. He’d allowed a siren with huge green eyes to lull him into a false sense of security. To make a fool out of him.
His phone rang in his pocket and he took it out. Saw the name. He smiled mirthlessly and restrained himself from throwing the phone at the window.
He answered it, saying, ‘Haven’t you done enough damage, Callaghan? Tell me—did you know that first night that my wife would betray my trust? Did she come to you or did you approach her? Actually, I don’t even want to know.’
He emitted an expletive and terminated the call, throwing the phone down.
It pinged almost immediately, but Sharif ignored it. He was bone weary.
He walked through his empty apartment, noting that it was exactly how he remembered, before Liyah had arrived.
He walked into her room. There was the slightest hint of her fragrance. But of course—she’d been sharing his room. Because he was the biggest fool on earth.
He went into the dressing room. All the clothes that he’d purchased for her were hanging up. Shoes lined up. Jewellery laid out. He was about to leave when he noticed something and turned back. Her wedding ring. The second one. It was there. She’d never taken it off after he’d put it on her finger. But she’d left it behind.
He should be welcoming the sight of it there. Clearly she’d got the message that the end of this marriage was nigh. But it didn’t feel good to see it. He felt as if it was mocking him. For being such a fool.
He turned and walked out, leaving the ring behind.
‘You look so beautiful, Sammy—really. Everything will be okay...trust me.’
Liyah’s sister was fighting back tears. ‘Father threatened to kill him.’
Liyah said in soothing tones, ‘Our father is many things, but he is not a murderer.’
Samara had fallen pregnant with her fiancé’s baby. Hence the fast-tracked wedding, to mitigate the scandal of sex before marriage.
Liyah said now, ‘You’re marrying Javid, and that’s all that matters. Once you’re married our father can’t say anything.’
Samara nodded and sniffled. Their other sisters fussed around.
Liyah took a step back for a moment, and saw her own reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in clothing very similar to her wedding day outfit. Traditional Bedouin robes. She quickly blocked out the thought, not welcoming anything that led to thinking about Sharif.
It had been almost a month now, and the pain and sense of betrayal were still acute.
Her sisters were covering Samara’s face with the elaborate face veil. Samara put out a hand. ‘Liyah?’
Liyah stepped forward, taking her sister’s hand. ‘I’m right here.’
They started to make the journey from the women’s quarters to the throne room, where the wedding would take place. Against her best intentions, Liyah couldn’t stop her mind deviating with sickening predictability to Sharif.
When her father had been told he wasn’t coming to the wedding, he’d said, ‘A husband should be with his wife. What did you do, Liyah? You don’t please him?’
She’d actually received an email from Sharif today. But she hadn’t opened it yet. She’d thrown away the phone he’d given her, so she had no idea if he’d been trying to contact her via that.
She didn’t know what she would do, but she figured she would have to contact him again at some point to discuss the divorce. It was obvious that their marriage couldn’t continue now—not when the very reason for her existence as his wife was no longer valid.
His grand plans for revenge had been ruined. And it wasn’t as if their relationship was ever going to morph into a real marriage, no matter how hot the sex, or the fact that it had seemed as if Sharif was enjoying spending time with her.
She’d deliberately avoided looking at the international news, not wanting to see the Marchetti Group’s demise. Or to see pictures of his brothers again, looking so grim. Had he told them that he blamed Liyah for the leak?
They were in the throne room now, and Liyah focused on her sister. This was what was important. Not her broken heart.
Much later that night, after the first day’s festivities had ended, Liyah opened up her laptop. She was tempted to delete the email without opening it, but she was too weak.
There was nothing in the subject line.
She sucked in a breath and opened it.
Liyah, I’ve been trying to contact you. Please call me. We need to talk. Sharif.
No frills. No elaboration. No doubt he wanted to talk about the divorce.
Liyah typed back.
You can instruct your legal team to send me divorce papers. I am happy to proceed.
And then she sent her reply and shut the laptop.
Over the following days Sharif left messages with her father’s aides, but Liyah refused to take any calls or return them. He sent her more emails, but she refused to look at them. And then one day one of her father’s aides came to tell her that Sharif was at the palace to see her.
Liyah panicked. She wasn’t ready to deal with Sharif and his accusations again. Especially not here, where her father’s disapproval permeated the atmosphere.
She told the aide she would meet Sharif, and as soon as he left pulled a shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped it around her shoulders and head before leaving her room.
A group of female palace workers were hea
ding towards the palace entrance and Liyah followed them, slipping between them. When they reached the main courtyard Liyah’s step faltered.
Sharif was standing beside a four-by-four vehicle in a polo shirt and jeans. Sunglasses. She wasn’t the only one who faltered. Sharif’s gaze tracked to the women and Liyah averted her face suddenly, hurrying to keep up with them. She wrapped the shawl over her face to try and disguise herself.
She had no moment of warning, and the breath left her chest when her arm was taken and she was whirled around. Dark brown eyes ringed with gold met panicked green.
‘I knew it was you,’ Sharif breathed,
He pulled back the shawl, revealing Liyah’s face and hair. Her heart slammed to a stop, before starting again at an accelerated rhythm. She cursed her too-distinctive hair. Of course she hadn’t been able to blend in. She never had.
His gaze raked her up and down. ‘What are you doing? Trying to avoid me?’
Liyah pulled her arm free, conscious of her less than glamorous outfit. She was wearing a traditional tunic over slim-fitting trousers. Flat sandals. A far cry from the wife he’d moulded to fit into his world.
‘I find that I’m not all that keen on being accused of espionage again. I told you to get your legal team to contact me.’
Sharif muttered something under his breath.
Her pulse was hammering and her insides were swooping and fizzing. Even though she hated his guts.
Liar.
She stepped back. ‘Just leave me be, Sharif.’
She turned to go, and then he said from behind her, ‘I know you didn’t do it, Liyah. I’m sorry. I just... Look, can we talk? I need to talk to you.’
Liyah stopped in her tracks. She was breathing as if she’d run a marathon. The other women were gone. She absorbed what Sharif said. I know you didn’t do it.
Her hurt and sense of betrayal were still acute. And she didn’t want him to see that. So she didn’t turn around; she kept moving.
