Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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‘Of course you have to keep a professional detachment.’ Natasha nodded. Amy was not going to confide in her, she realised, so she tried to salvage the conversation as best she could. ‘After all, you will have your own babies one day.’
Amy was tired—so tired of women who assumed, who thought it was so straightforward, that parenthood was a God-given right. Maybe, too, she was tired of covering up, tired of saying the right thing, tired of putting others at ease as they stomped right over her heart.
She looked up at Natasha. ‘Actually, I can’t have children.’ She watched the blush flood Natasha’s cheeks and then fade till her skin was pale. She knew then that somehow Natasha knew about herself and Emir—perhaps they had given themselves away last night at the celebration? Perhaps they’d ignored each other just a touch too much? Or was their love simply visible to all?
Yes, love, Amy thought with a sob of bitterness—a bitterness that carried through to her words. ‘So, yes, while it might have been a touch awkward for everyone at breakfast to hear the twins call me Ummi, for me it hurts like hell. Now …’ She wanted her tears to fall in private, for Natasha was not her friend. ‘If you’ll excuse me …?’
‘Amy—’
‘Please!’ Amy didn’t care if it was the Queen she was dismissing, didn’t care if this was Natasha’s home. She just wanted some privacy, some space. ‘Can you please just leave it?’
Had she looked up she would have seen tears in Natasha’s eyes too as she nodded and left her. And Natasha’s eyes filled again when she took her place back at the table and saw Emir sit tall and proud, but removed.
Natasha had seen that expression before. It was the same as it had been when he had lost Hannah. Grey and strained, his features etched in grief.
As Emir looked up, as he saw the sympathy in Natasha’s expression, he knew she had been told—that Amy must have somehow confided the truth.
That it was impossible for her to be Queen.
HE MET the day he dreaded and rose at dawn.
His prayers were deep.
Guilt lashed like a whip to his back. He had not allowed a year to pass before he touched another woman and deep was Emir’s prayer for forgiveness; yet there was nothing to forgive, his soul told him. That wasn’t the prayer that she needed to hear.
He could feel Hannah reaching from the grave, desperate for him to say it, for without those words how could she rest?
‘I will make the best decision.’
Still it was not what she wanted; still he was forced to look deeper. Yet he dared not.
He visited the nursery. There was Amy, curled up on the sofa, reading a book with the twins. He could not look at her. Later they rode with him in the back of a car to the edge of the desert, to visit Hannah and pay their respects.
Amy sat in the vehicle and watched the trio. When he turned to walk back to the car she watched him unseen, for the windows were heavily tinted. She ached to comfort him, to say the right thing, but it was not and could never be her place.
It had been five days since they’d returned from Alzirz.
Five days of ignoring her, Emir thought as they drove back.
Five days of denial.
And a lifetime of it to look forward to.
She could see his pain, could feel his pain as they walked back into the palace, and she proved herself a liar again.
‘I’m sorry today is so hard.’
He could not look at her.
‘If …’ She stopped herself, but with a single word it was out there: If it gets too tough, if things get too hard, if the night is too long …
He turned and did not wait for the guards to open his office door; instead he strode in, saw Patel and the elders quickly shuffle some papers. But Emir knew. He did not attempt politeness, nor even ask to see what was written. He just strode to the desk and picked them up. He looked through them for a moment, a muscle flickering in his cheek as he read them.
‘Sheikha Princess Jannah of Idam?’ He looked to Patel—a look that demanded a rapid answer.
‘She has many brothers.’ Patel’s voice was a touch high from fear. It was his turn to be on the receiving end of the King’s anger and he did not like it one bit. ‘She has many brothers. Her father too has many brothers …’
‘Sheikha Noor?’ Emir’s voice was low, but no less ferocious.
‘A strong male lineage also …’ Patel’s words were rapid. ‘And a family of longevity.’
‘Today is the anniversary of the death of Queen Hannah, and instead of being on your knees in prayer you sit and discuss the next royal intake.’
‘In my defence, Your Highness, we really need to address this. The people are impatient. Today they mourn, but tomorrow they will start asking …’
‘Silence!’ Emir roared. It was not today that he dreaded, he realised, but tomorrow, when he must move on, and the tomorrow after that one and the next. ‘You will show respect to your departed Sheikha Queen. You will give thanks for the Royal Princesses’s mother.’
‘Of course.’
‘You do not mention the Princesses here, I note,’ Emir said. ‘You do not seem concerned in the least as to the new Queen’s suitability for them.’ He cursed his aide and Patel did not wait to be told to leave. Neither did the elders. Within a moment the room was cleared and he stood alone. He did not want the day over—did not want it to be tonight. For it was killing him not to go to Amy, not to draw on the comfort she would give, not to have her again and again.
He was an honourable man.
And soon he must take a wife.
He looked again to the list that had been drawn up, tried to picture himself standing with his new bride at his side while his lover, the woman he really wanted, stood next to him, holding his children as he made solemn vows.
It had never been harder to be King.
He picked up his phone. It was answered in an instant and he was grateful, for given two seconds he might have paused and changed his mind.
‘Send the children’s nanny to speak with me,’ Emir said, and then specified, ‘the English one.’ He could only stand and wait to do this to her, to himself, but once, Emir needed it done this very moment. He had to bring things to a conclusion tonight—needed a clear head with which to make his decision. And with Amy in the palace it was an impossible ask. He could not get through this night with her near and yet out of reach to him.
Not an army, only distance could hold him back from her tonight.
‘Are you in trouble again?’ Fatima asked the minute Amy returned from her swim with the twins.
Amy was starting to warm to Fatima, and the twins were too—she was very firm, but she was also fair and kind and, perhaps more importantly, she had grown fond of the twins. They were taking over her heart, which was something they could easily do.
‘Trouble?’ Amy smiled, assuming the kitchen had rung again to complain about her meal choices for the twins. Or perhaps they had made too much noise when they were swimming on such a revered day. ‘Probably. Why?’
‘I just took a phone call and the King wishes to speak with you immediately.’
At some level she had known this was coming. Deep down she had known it was only a matter of time before it happened. She just hadn’t expected it today.
She