Australian Customs. She tried to tell herself that it would all be okay.
She made her way through the palace to her father’s study, where Abdul, the King’s chief aide, let her in. But Fahid dismissed Abdul so that he could speak to his daughter alone.
‘Are you looking forward to your trip?’ Fahid asked her.
‘Very much, Father.’
‘When you are in the hotel you will have your own room, with Jamila adjoining. Jamila is to take care of you there, but at all other times you are to be with either Trinity or Zahid.’
‘I know that.’
‘If you are in a restaurant then Trinity is to come with you if you need to go to—’
‘Father!’ Layla interrupted. ‘I do know the rules.’
‘They are there for your protection,’ the King said. He looked at his daughter, whom he loved so very much. She was so contrary—floaty and vague, and yet arrogant too, just as her mother Annan had been. Layla was fiercely independent, and yet naïve from living her life within the palace grounds.
‘Layla, I have not asked to speak with you to deliver meaningless words and a lecture. I really want you to listen to all that I have to say. Things are very different overseas—the people are different too. There is traffic…’ The King winced as he thought of his daughter in a foreign city with fast-moving cars when she had never so much as crossed a road.
Layla saw his grimace and her heart went out to her father. ‘I know you are worried for me, Father,’ she said. ‘I know that you have loved me from the moment that I was born…’
Again the King closed his eyes as Layla hit a still raw nerve.
He hadn’t loved her from the moment she was born.
In fact the King had rejected Layla for more than a year. Sometimes Fahid wondered if that was why Layla was so rebellious and constantly challenged him, even if she couldn’t logically know about that time.
He worried so much about her—especially knowing that soon he would be gone from his world. Surely Layla needed a stern husband like Hussain, who would keep her in line?
He would just miss the wild Layla so…
‘Do you have any questions you wish to ask?’ Fahid offered.
‘I do.’ Layla nodded. ‘Father, I was looking up the customs in Australia—I thought I would find out who curtsies to me, who bows, and what gifts we should exchange, but instead I read that at the airport your property can be searched—even your body…’ She paused when she saw her father’s reaction. ‘Why are you laughing?’
‘Oh, Layla!’ The King wiped his eyes as he tried to halt his laughter. ‘That does not apply to you. Your retinue will take care of all the paperwork and luggage and our gifts are in the diplomatic pouch. You do not have to concern yourself with such things.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
He rose from his seat and came over and took her in his arms. ‘I love you, Layla.’
‘I love you too,’ Layla said, and hugged him back, but there were tears filling her eyes as she did so. ‘I am sorry if I make you cross at times—please know that it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.’
‘I know that,’ Fahid said.
What the King didn’t know, though, was that Layla was not apologising for her past.
Instead she was saying sorry for all that was to come.
‘GREAT!’
Mikael had no choice but to pull to a stop as a policeman put up his hand and halted the morning traffic.
Even though he had more than enough on his mind, with closing arguments starting this morning, he flicked on the news to listen to the traffic report and hopefully find out the reason for the hold-up. He knew that he should have stayed at his city apartment, or even a hotel, instead of driving to his waterfront home last night, but he had just needed to get away from the case.
Mikael’s remote beachside home was his haven, and last night he had needed to escape from the more pungent details of the case he was consumed by and breathe in fresh air and simply switch off.
It would be over soon, Mikael told himself.
‘Pizdet.’ He cursed in Russian when he found out that the reason for the delay was some visiting royal family, grinding everyone else to a halt.
Then he heard a little about himself as the news continued.
Mikael Romanov, SC, was surely going to lose this time…there was no way he could get his client off…
Then the calls in from listeners started and a character assassination ensued. Not of his client but himself.
‘What sort of a person is Romanov?’ an enraged caller asked. ‘How can he possibly sleep at night?’
Mikael yawned with boredom and turned the radio off.
When his phone rang, instead of letting it go to voicemail, as he usually would, Mikael saw that it was Demyan and took the call.
‘Any news?’ Mikael asked, because Demyan’s wife Alina was due to give birth soon.
‘We have a little girl—Annika.’ Demyan said, and Mikael rolled his eyes at the sound of his tough friend sounding so emotional. ‘She’s beautiful. Her hair is curly, like Alina’s…’
Demyan went on to describe interminable details to Mikael.
All babies had blue eyes, Mikael thought.
‘Congratulations,’ Mikael said. ‘Am I to visit while Alina is still in the hospital? What is the protocol?’
Demyan laughed. He took no offence. He knew that Mikael had no concept of family, for Mikael’s upbringing had been even harsher than Demyan’s.
‘You don’t have to come to the hospital,’ Demyan said, ‘but once this case is over it would be good if you could visit us before you disappear onto your yacht. I’m really looking forward to showing Annika off.’
‘I’ll be there,’ Mikael said. ‘It is closing arguments over the next couple of days, and then we await the verdict.’
‘How is the trial going?’ Demyan asked. ‘It is all over the news.’
‘Long,’ came Mikael’s honest answer. ‘It has been a very long couple of months.’
It had been an isolated couple of months too.
He always pretty much locked himself away from the world during a trial and, he admitted to Demyan, he was more than a little jaded from sitting with his client day
