style="font-size:15px;"> Her father cursed fluently in Arabic. “Malik will disown our friendship.”
“He’s not that vindictive.”
“It is a matter of pride.”
“Yours. If it was all that important to either of the kings, one, or both of them, would have pressed for an official date before now. The agreement has been in place for a decade.”
“You have only been an adult for five of those years.”
“Half a decade.”
“They are pressing for it now,” he said, rather than argue the point.
Very typical for her father. Focus on the now, on the positive and ignore everything else.
She wasn’t so sanguine and never had been. “It’s too late.”
Her father cursed again and she winced. She had known this conversation would be hard, but had foolishly thought herself immune to her father’s disapproval.
“I love you, Father. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day.”
She hung up before he could say anything more.
She went through VIP customs, barely registering the words spoken to her or those she used in reply. Her heart ached. Whoever said emotions are felt in the head had never been in love. Her chest felt tight, like any second her heart was just going to give up and stop beating.
No matter what she’d said in her letters or on the phone to her father, walking away from Zahir was the hardest, most painful thing she’d ever done.
Last night had been the most amazing experience of her life, but then she’d looked at those pictures again and she knew. No matter how good a lover Zahir might be, he didn’t love her. Only right now, she almost thought living with him without his love would be better than living without him at all.
She forced her feet to move forward, to climb the stairs to the private jet. The owner said something to her. She replied, but couldn’t remember what either said as she buckled herself into her seat. She did remember pleading a headache, glad when that seemed to buy her the silence and privacy she needed.
She didn’t know the retired statesman or his wife very well and they appeared content to keep themselves to themselves. As far as they knew, they were doing a favor for the Royal House of Zohra, but they clearly didn’t expect conversation.
For which she was grateful, rather than offended. She wasn’t up to it. It was taking all her strength to stay in her seat and not return to the palace and a passel of angry royals.
The captain had just announced he would be taxiing into position for takeoff shortly when Angele’s mother’s number showed on the screen of her phone. She turned it off as the engines warmed up.
Nothing productive could come from her talking to her mom right now. And her call with her father had been difficult enough.
Angele’s mother’s love and approval had always been freely given. The prospect that breaking the contract with the royal family of Zohra might change that was not an outcome she felt emotionally ready to deal with.
HIS body beneath his robes of state rigid with shock, Zahir stared at his father. Replaying the words Faruq had spoken in his mind did not aid in making sense of them.
Angele would not have done this. She could not have done this. Not after their very successful night together.
“You did not expect this,” Faruq said with some censure.
No, Zahir had bloody well not expected anything like this. Not after last night. Especially after last night. But betrayal and shock were choking him, anger their close bedfellow, so he merely shook his head.
“Her leave taking, these letters …” Faruq wasn’t sounding like a father, but a disappointed king. “It all implies forethought and planning.”
“It’s one of her talents.” Zahir allowed with heavy irony to mask his growing fury.
His gazed jumped from his father’s grave expression to matching looks on the two other men in the king’s private study. King Malik’s frown was two parts anger, one part confusion. Cemal appeared resigned, though clearly not happy.
That attitude of resignation bothered Zahir more than he wanted to admit, feeding the anger he was doing his best to keep under control. “Did you know about this?” he asked the older man.
“No.” Cemal did not elaborate, but King Malik was more than willing to fill in the gaps. “She called him on her way to the airport.”
“And we were unable to stop her flight?” Zahir asked, knowing full well how feudal he sounded and really, not caring.
“She cut the timing too fine and left on the private jet owned by one of the wedding guests.” Zahir cursed.
“She outwitted us,” King Malik said with some admiration.
Zahir did not comment, but reached out in a silent demand to see the letter his father still held. He was not so impressed right now by Angele’s superb attention to detail.
Faruq passed the papers over. “She included a copy of her press release as well—it denies rumors of your possible betrothal.”
“You’re serious?” Zahir asked in an angry disbelief he was unable to entirely quash.
There was being thorough and there was being outrageously stubborn.
Faruq nodded grimly. “According to her letter, it won’t go live for a few hours.”
“She did not want us blindsided by the announcement,” King Malik said.
Blindsided? After the night they had spent in his bed, how could Zahir be anything but? He scanned the pages in his hand. “Like hell she does not wish to live in Zohra. She loves it here.”
Both kings nodded their agreement, though it was King Malik that spoke. “That has always been my understanding.”
“She chose the excuse most likely to lose her favor with the people of Zohra and Jawhar while increasing Zahir’s sympathy with them.” It was the first time since Zahir had entered his father’s study that Cemal had offered anything more than a monosyllabic answer to a question. “It is the equivalent of her falling on her sword.”
The words conjured up Angele’s claims she would not allow herself or Zahir to be railroaded into marriage, and her subsequent promise to take the blame in the media and with the royal families. He’d convinced himself she didn’t mean it. Clearly he’d been spectacularly wrong regarding her motives for their “wedding night.”
Not in the least comfortable with an image of himself as being so weak he needed such protections, the fury inside Zahir went from simmer to full boil. He was not that man. That she could not see that truth infuriated him, but like always, he kept
