maybe there lay the solution to her problem.
If she didn’t want to embarrass him by breaking the engagement, she’d force him into taking action. She’d continue the masquerade as long as necessary, and then, once Lilly was safe, Nic would she reveal the shocking truth—that she was really that blonde, shallow, wanton princess he so despised.
He’d never marry her then.
Nic crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head back to take in the dark purplish sky and bit her lip to keep from crying.
She couldn’t cry. For heaven’s sake! She wasn’t here to find true love. She was here to get a job done.
It’s a job, she reminded herself, crawling into bed. She was helping those who needed her most.
Early the next morning Fatima was admitted to Malik’s office and seeing him still on the phone, she took a seat on a low chair in the corner and waited patiently for him to finish his conversation.
When he finally hung up, he looked up at her. He was wearing a pair of dark framed reading glasses. ‘‘Do you know why I wanted to see you?’’
Fatima’s tranquil expression betrayed nothing. ‘‘You will tell me, I am sure.’’
He studied his cousin a long moment. Fatima had taken an almost immediate dislike to Nicolette and he still hadn’t figured out if it was jealousy, insecurity or something deeper. ‘‘I’ve felt your hostility to our guest.’’
Fatima didn’t even blink. ‘‘She’s not going to marry you, cousin.’’
‘‘Not if you continue to intimidate her.’’
Fatima lifted her right hand, a gentle dismissal. ‘‘I am being truthful with her, and with you. I do not trust her, Malik. She’s playing you.’’
One of his black eyebrows arched slightly. He barely glanced her way. ‘‘That’s an awfully Western expression coming from you.’’
‘‘I’ve been to the West, I’ve lived in the West, I understand Western culture as well as you do.’’ Fatima shook her head soberly. ‘‘Malik. Listen to me.’’ She stared at him pointedly, one of those dagger sharp stares that is next to impossible to ignore.
He met her gaze, her dark eyes unsmiling. ‘‘Listen to me, cousin,’’ she added flatly, no urgency in her voice, just conviction. ‘‘She’s. Not. Going. To. Marry. You.’’
Malik pulled off his reading glasses and dropped them on his desk, rubbing his eyes as he did so. ‘‘Why not?’’
‘‘She’s too independent. She’s not interested in our country, or culture, and quite honestly, I don’t think she’s all that interested in you.’’
Malik frowned, partially agreeing with her, partially disagreeing knowing that Fatima had always been bright, but she didn’t know about chemistry, or attraction. She had no concept about physical desire, and when it came to physical desire, the princess was very attracted to him. Nic might not want to marry him, but she definitely was interested in being intimate with him.
‘‘I’m not worried,’’ he said rising from his chair and moving toward Fatima. ‘‘She needs me,’’ he said, standing over his cousin. ‘‘Her country needs what I can offer.’’
Fatima shook her head. ‘‘But what if she gets just enough from you that she doesn’t need the rest? What if she needs less than you think she does?’’
Good point. Fatima had always been smart. She’d excelled in school. She could have done anything with her life, but she’d chosen to remain here, at the palace. What would she do with her life, he’d often wondered. A member of the royal family, she was worth a fortune and with her father dead, her mother living in New York, she belonged beneath his protection. Who would ever be good enough for her?
‘‘I’ll have to be careful then, won’t I?’’ he answered evenly, and then he smiled at her. She was beautiful. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, firm chin, slightly pointed with masses of long silky black hair. Fatima looked like their grandmother but she had her father’s cunning mind. ‘‘Now you better go. The princess will be waiting for her language lesson.’’
Nicolette was waiting in the salon for Fatima, but she wasn’t thinking about her lesson. She was thinking that she had the strangest secret. It was her birthday today, her real birthday, but she couldn’t celebrate because no one knew who she really was.
It was rather odd thinking she’d reached twenty-seven. Suddenly it seemed like such an old age. Chantal had already been married several years when she turned twenty-seven. So far Nicolette had done…what?
Nothing.
Fatima arrived and the lesson proceeded without incident, and then as the serving girl arrived, bringing the now expected tray of tea and sweet biscuits, the serving girl curtsied to Nicolette. ‘‘Princess, His Highness would like you to join him for a late breakfast,’’ the girl said. ‘‘I’m to show you the way.’’
Fatima’s face tightened but she didn’t protest, and Nicolette followed the serving girl through the corridors and out to one of the gorgeous inner courtyards reserved for the sultan’s personal use.
Malik was already at the wrought-iron table that had been set for two. Bright flowers filled a dark green glass vase and Nic decided she’d make this her birthday party. He didn’t even need to know it was her birthday. It was enough that she could be with him now, start her day with his company. Already his company meant so much…
‘‘Good morning,’’ Malik greeted, leaning forward to kiss her on each cheek. ‘‘I’ve been thinking of you.’’
She shivered as his lips grazed her cheek. He smelled lovely. She wished she could capture his face between her hands and kiss him properly. No more fleeting kisses on the cheeks, but a long, deep kiss, one that would make her melt again. ‘‘Have you?’’
He leaned forward on the table, his black hair almost glossy in the bright light. ‘‘I’ve also felt very guilty.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘I’ve been unkind with regards to your sister. I know how I feel about my brother and sisters and wouldn’t tolerate anyone speaking harshly about them, and yet I have been incredibly intolerant of Nicolette’s idiosyncrasies. Forgive me.’’
Nic looked away, embarrassed as well as uncomfortable. ‘‘She’s not really so—eccentric.’’ She’d intended to reply matter of factly, but to her shame, her voice broke. Even when he apologized he made it sound as if Nic was this peculiar woman with cannibalistic tendencies. ‘‘Maybe she’s not Barakan, but she’s good. And kind. And she doesn’t say cruel things about people.’’ Nic drew a wobbly breath, shaken. ‘‘She doesn’t judge people, either. And she wouldn’t be here right now, judging you, or judging your cousin Fatima who can’t say a nice thing about anyone.’’
Finished she sat there, words spent, emotion spent, all illusions about a party dashed. It wasn’t a fun birthday morning. It was another horrible day living a lie. ‘‘Would you excuse me, please?’’ she whispered.
‘‘No.’’
