threw away the newspapers like you requested, but we never thought Lacey would leave to get one.” The woman twisted the pleat of her yellow sundress with nervous hands and slid a worried glance at the closed bathroom door.
“It’s no one’s fault,” he said. No one’s but his own. He should have prepared Lacey for the possibility of his wedding, but he’d held on to the hope that his intended bride would have declined the offer. “Please, find something light for her to wear.”
“Of course.” The housekeeper gratefully accepted the task and opened the doors to the armoire, revealing gossamer-thin cotton in every color of the rainbow.
Hafiz walked into the simply appointed drawing room and tried to recapture the peace he always felt whenever he stepped into this home. Decorated with an eclectic mix of wood tables carved in the severe Rudaynahi style and chunky upholstered sofas from the Western world, Lacey had managed to add her upbeat personality with tribal throw rugs and colorful paintings from local artisans.
The apartment was more than a home. It was a haven. It was the only place he felt both passion and peace. The only place in the world he experienced unconditional love.
Hafiz walked slowly to the grand piano that sat in the middle of the room and under the carefully positioned spotlight. It had been incredibly difficult shipping the instrument into the country. Flying in a piano tuner every couple of months was no easy feat, but seeing Lacey’s joy and listening to her soulful music made it all worthwhile.
He fingered the sheet music scattered on the polished black wood. The woman had the talent to become a successful recording artist. Hafiz had told her enough times, but she always shook her head in disagreement. Music was a big part of her, but she didn’t want to be consumed with the ladder of success like her parents, who were still striving for their big break. She didn’t have the desire.
But she stored up all her passion for him. Did that make him feel less guilty in whisking her to his country? The edges of the sheet music crinkled under his fingertips. Because she had no interest in pursuing a career? Because she didn’t have family ties?
Hafiz pondered the question as he walked to the doors leading to the balcony that overlooked the Persian Gulf. He admitted that it made it easier to ask her to drop everything and follow him. To stay in the apartment and wait for him. Not once had she complained or shown resentment until today.
And she had every right. He had risked everything for more time with Lacey. The relationship they had was forbidden. And now, as of today, it was impossible.
Only Hafiz didn’t allow that word in his vocabulary, and he wasn’t willing to let the idea invade his life with Lacey.
“What are you still doing here?” Lacey asked at the doorway on the other side of the long room.
Hafiz turned around. Lacey’s wet hair was slicked back into a copper waterfall. She had changed into a pink cotton caftan that clung to her damp skin. Gold threads were woven into the fabric and sparkled like stars.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, silently watching the housekeeper duck into the kitchen.
“Much. You’re free to go.” She walked toward the front door.
“Lacey, we need to talk.”
“No kidding, but I don’t want to right now.” She gripped the thick door handle. “You have had years to think about this. I have had less than an hour.”
“Lacey—” He crossed the room and stood in front of her, prepared to take the brunt of her anger and soak up her tears.
“I want you to go.” She flung open the door.
Hafiz’s shoulders flexed with tension. Every instinct told him to stay, but he knew what she said made sense. It was strange to have her as the calm one and he filled with impetuous emotions. He didn’t like the role reversal.
Hafiz agreed with a sharp nod. “I will be here tomorrow after work.” He leaned down to brush her cheek with a gentle kiss.
She turned her head abruptly. “Don’t.” Her eyes focused on the hallway outside the iron grille.
His heart stopped. Lacey had never rejected his touch. “What are you saying?” he asked in a low voice as his lungs shriveled, unable to take in the next breath.
The muscles in her throat jerked. “You shouldn’t touch me.” The words were a mere whisper. “The moment you became engaged, the moment you chose another woman, we no longer exist.”
Hafiz grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t mean that,” he said, staring at her intensely. As if he could change her mind through his sheer willpower.
“Yes, I do.”
He swallowed down the rising fear. “Obviously, you are still suffering from your collapse.” The tip of his thumb caressed the angry line of her bottom lip.
Lacey yanked away from his touch. “I’m thinking quite clearly. You made your choice.” She took a step back behind the door, shielding herself from him. “And this is mine.”
“You are going to regret those words. You can’t send me away.” He stepped toward her, ready to prove it.
Lacey’s glare was so cold it could have frozen the desert air seeping into the apartment. “Do you want me to cause a scene in front of this complex to get you to leave?”
Her threat surprised Hafiz. That wasn’t like her. She knew his weak spots but had always protected him. Now she was so angry, she was becoming a dangerous woman.
Would she try to hurt him because he was getting married? No, not Lacey. She was loyal to him...but when she thought she didn’t have any competition. How could he convince her that this marriage was in name only?
He decided to change his strategy. “I will return,” he said, shoving his feet into his sandals. The expensive leather threatened to snap under his angry motions. “And you will be here waiting for me.”
Defiance flared in her blue eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do. You have no right.”
“You still belong to me, Lacey,” he announced as he left. “Nothing and no one will change that.”
THE WHITE ROBES slapped angrily against Hafiz’s legs as he stormed into his office. He would rather be anywhere else but here. Although the palace’s murky shadows descending on the spartan rooms were good companions to his dark mood this evening.
“Your Highness.” His private secretary clumsily hung up the phone. The withered old man bowed low, his fragile bones creaking. “His Majesty wishes to speak to you.”
Hafiz set his jaw as dread seeped inside him. The day couldn’t get any worse. The sultan didn’t command appointments from his eldest offspring unless there was or would be an unpleasant event.
“When did he make this request?”
“Ten minutes ago, Your Highness,” the elderly
