of the palace, which is...unfortunate,’ he told her in a clipped undertone. ‘It is, however, where the Crown Prince always has his apartments, so I cannot fault him for following tradition.’
‘Why’s it unfortunate, then?’ she queried uneasily, even while her eyes fled continually to her surroundings. She was enthralled by the exotic quality of the internal courtyard gardens she espied from the stairs and the fabulous views out over the desert, not to mention the stonework, the domed roofs and the stern palace guards, dressed as though they had stepped out of a medieval painting, armed with swords and great curved knives. The palace was everything she had dreamt of when first coming to Maraban but far more grand and mysterious than she had naïvely expected.
‘Only one bedroom has been prepared for us,’ Raj breathed curtly, his strong jaw line clenching. ‘It will be difficult to give you privacy.’
‘We’ll manage,’ Zoe told him with an insouciance she could not have contemplated before meeting him in the flesh. She knew in her very bones that she could trust Raj, believed that he would never try to force her into anything, but when she pondered that conviction, she was challenged to understand why she had such faith in him. He’d shown her empathy, tenderness, kindness the night before, she reminded herself ruefully.
‘That is very generous of you but not strictly within our agreement,’ Raj pointed out, refusing to be soothed.
‘Can’t be helped,’ Zoe murmured, breathless from trying to keep up with his long stride as he traversed long corridors at speed and mounted flights of stone stairs with lithe ease. ‘This is a very large building.’
‘But not modernised,’ Raj retorted grimly, throwing wide a door before a hovering servant could reach for it and guiding her into a simply vast room in which a bed hunched apologetically in one corner.
‘Plenty of space though!’ Zoe carolled like Job’s comforter.
The remainder of her cases were already parked along with the one that had travelled out to the desert encampment. A maid glided up and tilted one suggestively, looking eager to unpack, while Raj stalked across the huge Persian rug, like a jungle predator at bay looking for something else to complain about.
A connecting room, she quickly learned, contained cavernous wardrobes.
‘This suite was last occupied by my father fifty-odd years ago,’ Raj informed her grimly. ‘You can tell.’
‘You didn’t use these rooms when you were younger?’
‘No. Before my marriage I was expected to live in my father’s household.’
Zoe passed on into a ridiculously gigantic bathroom with a great domed roof studded with star tiles. The bathroom fittings huddled somewhat pathetically against the walls. ‘It just needs more furniture,’ she told Raj with determined cheer. ‘We could have one of those fainting couches in the middle and I could lie there like Cleopatra eating grapes.’
His starlit eyes focused on her without warning, an intensity within that look that made something quiver and burn low in her pelvis. ‘Naked?’
‘Whatever turns you on,’ Zoe mumbled, face burning, outclassed in her attempt to be light-hearted and dropping her head even while she pictured herself lying there naked for Raj’s enjoyment. A ridiculous fantasy, she scolded herself, for there would be nothing particularly sexy or seductive about her very small curves on display.
‘I have staff to introduce you to now,’ Raj announced, biting back the comment that seeing her naked in any circumstances would work a treat for him. There would be no flirtation between them, he instructed himself harshly, no foolishness.
‘Staff?’ she exclaimed in dismay.
‘Principally my PR team, but you will have your own PA to keep you well informed of events. My father has made certain requests. He would like you to give an interview to our leading newspaper.’
Zoe had frozen. ‘An...interview?’ she yelped in dismay.
‘Saying how you feel about arriving in your grandmother’s country and being on the brink of a state wedding. My team will advise you and remain with you during it. There is also a fashion stylist, who will recommend a suitable wedding dress and new clothes.’
‘I brought a wedding dress and an entire wardrobe with me,’ she informed him helpfully.
‘It would be distasteful to me were you to wear the dress you purchased for the marriage you planned to make to my uncle,’ Raj delivered succinctly. ‘You will wear nothing bought for that purpose.’
Zoe just couldn’t see why it should matter what she wore. ‘Don’t you think you’re being too particular?’
Raj settled hard black eyes on her, startling her. ‘No. I know what I like. I know what I don’t like. The concept of you wearing anything chosen with another man in mind offends me.’
Zoe sucked in a sustaining breath, deciding that he was more sensitive to her past history than she had appreciated. She returned to supervising the maid hanging her clothes because it seemed safer to keep her head down.
‘You will be kept very busy over the next few days choosing wedding apparel,’ Raj informed her from the doorway.
‘Can I use your phone for a few minutes?’ Zoe asked abruptly. ‘Mine needs charging and I want to catch up with my sisters and my grandfather.’
‘Of course.’ Raj dug out his phone, cleared the password and handed it to her. ‘I will see you later.’
And then, just like that, he was gone and she was staring at the space where he had been, all black silky curls with his dark, devastatingly beautiful face taut and uninformative. She had wanted him to stay with her, had wanted more. For a charged moment, she couldn’t cope with seeing that large gap between reasonable expectation and sheer idiocy for, naturally, Raj wasn’t planning to hover over her like a protective and loving spouse because he wasn’t really her husband in the truest sense of the word. No, he was genuinely offering her what she had told herself she needed and craved: an independent life in which they would live separate in mind and body. So why did that sensible arrangement now seem much less inviting? Why did his attitude currently feel like something of a rejection? She shook off that strange notion and told herself to stop overthinking everything before she drove herself mad.
Her grandfather was delighted to hear from her and eager to be assured that Raj was treating her properly, while adding that he would be arriving for the wedding, the fierce pride in his voice as he mentioned ‘state’ wedding so strong that it made her roll her eyes and swallow back a sigh. Winnie and Vivi were far less accepting of the change of bridegroom.
‘He’s a lot younger than the oldie,’ Vivi warned her worriedly. ‘Make sure he doesn’t try to get too friendly because he may have a different agenda.’
And when Zoe protested about how kind and considerate Raj had been so far, Winnie snorted. ‘He’s a prince, a future king—obviously he’ll be full of himself. And I looked him up online...he’s incredibly good-looking. Watch out for him trying to change the terms of your agreement.’
But when Zoe went to bed that night there was no sign of Raj being full of himself or looking to change the terms of anything. He had joined her earlier for dinner out in their private courtyard, a space shaded by towering
