lace that her aunt was pleased to call underwear—Petra still couldn’t believe that such minute scraps of fabric could cost so very, very much. Her manicure and pedicure had been checked by her eagle-eyed chief attendant, who seemed to believe that it would be a lifelong reflection on her if Petra was not handed over into the hands of her new husband looking anything less than immaculate. Now she was apparently ready to be handed into the care of her husband like a sweetmeat to be unwrapped and enjoyed—or discarded as he saw fit!
‘Come—it is time. Rashid is waiting,’ her chief attendant announced importantly.
As Petra looked towards the closed door to the suite the busy giggles fluttering around her died away.
‘Be happy,’ the chief attendant told her as she kissed her.
‘May your life be full of the laughter of your children and the love of your husband,’ the second whispered, as all the girls queued up to offer her their good wishes for her future and exchange shy embraces with her.
‘May the nights of your marriage be filled with pleasure,’ the boldest-eyed and most daring told her.
The noise from outside her suite was becoming deafening.
‘If we do not open the door soon Rashid might break it down,’ someone giggled, and there was an instant flurry of excited and delighted female panic as the door was pulled open and Petra was prodded and pushed through it.
The assembled wedding guests standing outside cheered exuberantly when they saw her, but Petra barely noticed their enthusiasm. Across the small space that separated them her bitter gaze clashed with Rashid’s.
Like her, he was dressed in Western-style clothes. Designers the world over would have paid a fortune to have Rashid wearing their logo, Petra decided with clinical detachment, refusing to allow her heartbeat to react to the casual togetherness of his appearance. Place him in any city in the world and he would immediately be recognised as a man of style and class, a man of wealth and knowledge. Wealthy, educated people like Rashid shared a common bond, no matter what their place of birth, Petra acknowledged distantly.
Silently he extended his hand towards her.
The crowd started to cheer. Briefly Petra hesitated, her glance going betrayingly to the windows, as though seeking freedom, but someone gave her a firm little push and her fingertips touched Rashid’s hand and were swiftly enclosed by it.
With almost biblical immediacy, the crowd parted to allow them to pass through. The huge double doors to the private garden of the banqueting suite were flung open, and as they stepped out into the softness of the night perfectly timed fireworks exploded, sending sprays of brilliantly coloured stars showering earthwards.
At the same time they were deluged with handfuls of scented rose petals, and the air was filled with a pink-tinged cloud of strawberry scented shisha smoke. Doves swooped and flew, and a cloud of shimmering butterflies appeared as if by magic—music played, people laughed and called out good wishes to them, and Rashid drew her relentlessly towards the exit to the garden.
As he touched her arm and held her for one last second to face their audience, he whispered wryly in her ear, ‘Your aunt wanted me to whisk you away on an Arab steed, complete with traditional Arabic trappings, but I managed to dissuade her.’
Caught off guard by the note of humour underlining his words, Petra turned automatically to look at him. ‘You mean like a prince from an Arabian fairytale? Complete with medieval accoutrements including your falcon?’
‘I suspect she would have wanted to pass on the falcon—for the sake of the doves—and I certainly would not have wanted to expose my prize birds to this fairground.’
As she looked at him Petra felt her heart suddenly miss not one beat but two.
As though a veil had abruptly lifted, giving her a clear view of something she had previously only perceived in a shadowy distorted fashion, she recognised an unwanted, unpalatable, unbearably painful truth!
In believing that logic, reality, anger and moral right were enough to destroy her unwanted love for Rashid she had deceived herself even more thoroughly and cruelly than Rashid himself could ever have done.
Had she married Rashid because secretly deep down inside she still wanted him? Still loved him? Petra was filled with self-contempt and loathing, her fiery pride hating the very idea!
She had believed that her most dangerous enemy lay outside the armed citadel of her heart, in the shape of Rashid himself, but she had been wrong. Her worst enemy lay within herself, within her own heart, in the form of her love for him.
But Rashid must never ever know that. She must forever be on her guard to protect herself and her emotions. She and they must become a fortress which Rashid must never be allowed to penetrate!
‘Welcome to your new home!’
For the first time since they had left the hotel Rashid broke the silence between them. They had driven into the courtyard of the villa several seconds earlier, its creamy toned wall, warmed to gold by the discreet nightscape lighting. Her whole body rigid with the effort of maintaining the guard she was clinging to so desperately, Petra had discovered that her throat had locked so tensely that she couldn’t even speak!
Once inside the villa she felt no more relaxed—quite the opposite.
‘It’s late, and it has been a very long day,’ she heard Rashid saying calmly. ‘I suggest that we both get a good night’s sleep before you begin another round of hostilities. I have arranged for you to have your own suite of rooms. Not exactly the traditional way to conduct a wedding night, perhaps, but then it is not as though it would be our first time together.’ Her gave a small dismissive shrug whilst Petra struggled to assimilate a feeling which was not entirely composed of relief! ‘This has been a stressful time for you, and you need a little breathing space, I suspect, to accustom yourself to what is to be. Despite your comments earlier, I can assure you that there is no way I intend to… to force the issue between us, Petra!’
Petra stared at him. He sounded so controlled, so calm, so… so laid-back and casual almost. And as for his comment about arranging for her to have her own rooms—that was not at all what she had been expecting!
From the moment he had proposed formally to her this night had been at the back of Petra’s mind. This moment when they would be alone as husband and wife. Fiercely she had told herself that no matter what kind of pressure he put on her to break down her resolve she would not allow him to touch her!
And yet now he was the one telling her that he did not want her!
A distinctly unpleasant mix of emotions filled her. Shock, disbelief, chagrin… and…
Disappointment? Most certainly not! Relief—that was what she felt. Yes, she was perhaps just a touch disappointed that he had stolen her thunder by not allowing her the satisfaction of being the one to tell him that she didn’t want him. But at the end of the day what really mattered was that she was going to be free to sleep on her own… without him. Sleeping in her own bed and not his… just as though they were not married at all. And that was just what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted!
At last she was on her own. Which was just what she wanted. So why couldn’t she go to sleep? Why was she lying here feeling so… lost and abandoned? So unwanted… and unloved and so hurt?
What was it that she longed
