and honour demanded that he protect his first wife’s memory. After all, Ferah had suffered horribly from the stigma of a ten-year childless marriage and in death she deserved his respect at the very least.
‘You need to smile,’ Polly whispered under her breath as Rashad guided her out of the throne room in front of an audience of clapping and cheering well-wishers.
‘Why?’ he whispered back, long-lashed dark golden eyes narrowed. ‘It is a solemn occasion.’
‘But you’re behaving as though you’re at a funeral,’ Polly muttered in instinctive complaint while they took their seats at a massive long top table in a giant banqueting room already filled with tables.
No, not a funeral but possibly the bonfire of his most unrealistic hopes, Rashad labelled cynically, his facial muscles tightening so that his bronzed skin traced his sculpted features even more closely. He had hoped to stave off marriage for at least another few months but Polly’s explosive effect on the Dharian population had killed that possibility in its tracks. But now that he had fallen dutifully into line, hopefully everybody would be happy for a while and he could relax again. With another person beside him though, with a wife... His lean, darkly handsome face tensed again, his dark eyes flashing gold with disquiet until he looked at her afresh. His very beautiful wife, who had shivered with excitement when he’d kissed her hand. He almost groaned at how hard that tantalising memory made him.
As the reception wore on Polly became increasingly troubled by Rashad’s grave demeanour. For a split second she glimpsed Ellie laughing uproariously at the side of Rashad’s friend, Rio, and that stark contrast sobered her even more. Surely the bride and groom should appear even happier? But Rashad wasn’t talking, he wasn’t smiling, he was the very antithesis of happy and she was shocked and unnerved by it. Most particularly, Ellie’s warnings were haunting her again.
How much do you really know about Rashad?
And all of a sudden Polly was in the deeply unenviable position of admitting that she knew virtually nothing about the man she had just married. As soon as the meal was done she submersed herself in her grandparents’ sincere happiness on her behalf and their evident conviction that she had married a man who would move heaven and earth to make her happy. Seemingly they saw nothing amiss with Rashad’s behaviour.
Was he one of those very moody men one heard about? Oh, dear...oh, no, she thought in dismay at the prospect of being wed to a man who switched from sun to shade at the roll of a dice. Or was it only her that was noticing—or imagining—that something was wrong? Was she seeing Rashad from a different perspective now? After all, Hakim was very much a man who served his King and as long as Rashad was courteous her grandfather would be content with the surface show and question no deeper. But it was a little more complicated for a wife, Polly reasoned anxiously, particularly a wife, who suddenly felt as though she had married a stranger...or a Jekyll and Hyde character.
A white open-topped limousine, accompanied by a heavy escort, drove them slowly through the streets of the capital city to the airport. Hundreds of soldiers and police held the excited crowds back behind barriers. Polly waved and smiled as her grandfather had told her she must while marvelling that Rashad’s marriage could ignite such demonstrations of sheer joy. She could only hope that she would somehow manage to live up to the people’s no doubt high expectations of her and in an undertone, above the loud clamour, she shared that thought with Rashad.
‘Get pregnant. That’s probably the only thing they really want,’ Rashad pronounced very drily.
Polly’s blue eyes widened to their fullest extent as her head whipped round to stare at his lean, darkly handsome face in shock. ‘Are you serious?’ she framed, shrinking not just from his blunt words but from the harshness with which he voiced them.
‘You can’t be that naïve,’ Rashad responded drily. ‘It’s not as though either of us have a choice in that department and that cliché about honeymoon babies would be a real feat to pull off.’
Polly had paled, the delicate lines of her face freezing as she carefully turned her head away again to dutifully continue waving and smiling. But neither the wave nor the smile came as freely or as easily as earlier because her heart had frozen inside her and her tummy had turned over sickly at his response.
When Rashad had said, ‘I want you’ was that why? He simply needed a wife to impregnate as quickly as possible? And why, oh, why was she only now thinking about something that should have been obvious to her from the outset? Obviously a king wanted and needed an heir. She hadn’t even thought about birth control and now she could see that even the mention of it would go down like a lead balloon. Was she ready to get immediately pregnant? Were they to have no time to become accustomed to living together as a couple before they became a family?
Rashad noticed that Polly had transformed into a still little statue by his side and faint dark colour flared along his cheekbones because he was discomfited by the reality that he had taken his bitterness out on her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said instantly. ‘I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded.’
As if from a distance, Polly looked down at the lean brown hand suddenly resting warmly on hers but it was too little, too late from a bridegroom who had avoided all physical contact throughout the long and exhausting day they had shared.
Freeing her hand without making a drama of doing so, she said flatly, for the sake of peace, ‘I’m sure you didn’t.’
I’m sure you didn’t mean to be that blunt and insensitive.
I’m sure you didn’t mean to make me feel like a rent-a-womb.
I’m sure you didn’t mean to pile so much pressure on me when conception is not something I can control.
I’m sure you didn’t mean me to see just how ruthlessly pragmatic you are about conception.
But you did.
She kept up her valiant smile but her eyes stung with tears and her heart felt as if he had taken it in his hand and crushed it. What remained of her determination to have a happy wedding day drained away as well.
If he wasn’t prepared to make any effort, why should she?
POLLY DROPPED OFF into a nap on the helicopter flight. The noise of the engine combined with her fatigue to simply knock her out. She surfaced when Rashad shook her shoulder. Flushed and bewildered, briefly not even aware of where she was, she stumbled stiffly upright to move to the exit, only to be scooped out and carried away from the craft like a bundle. But the natural heat of Rashad’s body penetrated even through their clothing and she stiffened in dismay, engulfed by the glorious scent of him. It was a typical Eastern layered fragrance and the already familiar hints of sandalwood, saffron and spice were outrageously exotic and she breathed him in dizzily, all her senses firing as he settled her firmly into the vehicle awaiting them.
‘Where are we?’ she framed slightly unsteadily when Rashad climbed in after her.
‘By the sea. My grandfather used to come here to fish,’ Rashad proffered, sounding rather more animated than he had earlier.
And in reality, he was feeling much more relaxed than he had been at the outset of the day. Haunted as he was by destructive memories, the wedding had been like a long dark tunnel of recollection he’d had to fight his way through without betraying himself. But then he would feast
