is the anniversary of the death of Queen Hannah, and instead of being on your knees in prayer you sit and discuss the next royal intake.’
‘In my defence, Your Highness, we really need to address this. The people are impatient. Today they mourn, but tomorrow they will start asking …’
‘Silence!’ Emir roared. It was not today that he dreaded, he realised, but tomorrow, when he must move on, and the tomorrow after that one and the next. ‘You will show respect to your departed Sheikha Queen. You will give thanks for the Royal Princesses’s mother.’
‘Of course.’
‘You do not mention the Princesses here, I note,’ Emir said. ‘You do not seem concerned in the least as to the new Queen’s suitability for them.’ He cursed his aide and Patel did not wait to be told to leave. Neither did the elders. Within a moment the room was cleared and he stood alone. He did not want the day over—did not want it to be tonight. For it was killing him not to go to Amy, not to draw on the comfort she would give, not to have her again and again.
He was an honourable man.
And soon he must take a wife.
He looked again to the list that had been drawn up, tried to picture himself standing with his new bride at his side while his lover, the woman he really wanted, stood next to him, holding his children as he made solemn vows.
It had never been harder to be King.
He picked up his phone. It was answered in an instant and he was grateful, for given two seconds he might have paused and changed his mind.
‘Send the children’s nanny to speak with me,’ Emir said, and then specified, ‘the English one.’ He could only stand and wait to do this to her, to himself, but once, Emir needed it done this very moment. He had to bring things to a conclusion tonight—needed a clear head with which to make his decision. And with Amy in the palace it was an impossible ask. He could not get through this night with her near and yet out of reach to him.
Not an army, only distance could hold him back from her tonight.
‘Are you in trouble again?’ Fatima asked the minute Amy returned from her swim with the twins.
Amy was starting to warm to Fatima, and the twins were too—she was very firm, but she was also fair and kind and, perhaps more importantly, she had grown fond of the twins. They were taking over her heart, which was something they could easily do.
‘Trouble?’ Amy smiled, assuming the kitchen had rung again to complain about her meal choices for the twins. Or perhaps they had made too much noise when they were swimming on such a revered day. ‘Probably. Why?’
‘I just took a phone call and the King wishes to speak with you immediately.’
At some level she had known this was coming. Deep down she had known it was only a matter of time before it happened. She just hadn’t expected it today.
She had thought they might have this night, but she could not hope for anything as Fatima suggested that she tidy herself before she met with him, because Amy’s hair was still wet from the pool.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Amy said—there seemed no point having a mini makeover when you were about to be fired.
She looked around the nursery to the twins, who were now hungrily eating the grapes Fatima was passing to them, counting them out in Arabic as she did so.
They would be okay, Amy told herself as she took the long walk through the palace.
The guards opened the door as she approached, and reminded her to bow her head until the King spoke.
She discarded that advice.
Amy walked in with her head held high, determined she would leave with grace. Except the sight of him, standing tall but so remote, made her want to be his lover again, to salvage what little they had. She opened her mouth to plead her case, but his eyes forbade her to speak and it was Emir who spoke first.
‘You will leave late this afternoon. I have arranged all transport. That gives you some time to spend with the girls. I have a new nanny starting. She will assist Fatima.’
Yes, she’d wanted to do this with grace, but at the final hurdle she faltered—could not stand the thought of yet another woman taking care of her girls. ‘No! You know the girls are better off with me—you said it yourself.’
‘I did not realise then that they were learning only to speak in English, that they knew nothing of our ways …’
‘They would know a whole lot more if you spent more time with them. They don’t need another nanny!’
‘She will be more suitable. We must hold on to the ways of old.’
‘What about London? What about their education and all Queen Hannah wanted for them?’
‘This is their land.’
She really would never see them. Amy knew this was a goodbye for ever, and she forgot to be brave and strong. ‘What you said before … about me being your lover …’ She could not bear to leave—would give anything, even her pride, if it meant that she could stay. Because it was three times her heart was being broken here. She was losing three of the people she most loved. ‘What you said about me raising the girls in London …’
‘It is the type of thing men say when they want a woman in their bed. It is the type of thing a man says when his thoughts are not clear.’ Completely devoid of emotion, he threw the most hurtful words at her, a round of bullets shot rapidly straight to her heart. He didn’t stop firing. ‘You really think I would choose you for that role?’ He let out an incredulous laugh at the very thought. ‘Here a mistress is a man’s respite—a woman he can go to to relax and not be bombarded with everyday trivialities. You would be most unsuitable.’
He was right.
Amy felt the colour flood back to her cheeks, and she felt the fire in her soul return too—a fire that had been doused by the accident, that had flared only on occasion in recent times. But it was back now, and burning even more brightly, fuelling her to stand up to him.
‘I would be a most unsuitable mistress.’ She gathered her dignity and held on to it tightly, determined that she would never let it go again. She could hardly believe the offer she had made him just a few moments before and she told him why. ‘I’d be a terrible mistress, in fact. I’d bombard you with news about your daughters. Every achievement, every tear I would share with you. I would busy your distinguished brain with my voice and my opinions, and …’ She walked over to him—right over to where he stood. He lifted his jaw, did not look at her as she spoke, but it did not stop her. Her words told him all he would be missing. ‘And there would be no relaxing.’
‘Go!’ Emir said, and still he could not look at her.
Amy knew why. He was resisting his need for her, refusing the comfort that was within his grasp.
‘Go and spend time with the twins.’
‘I’m going now to pack,’ Amy said. ‘I’ll spend the afternoon at the airport.’
There
