Modern Romance April 2017 Books 5 - 8. Кейт Хьюит
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yellow walls. Gracie retreated to the sink, its edge pressing into her back. She had no idea what to say, to think, to feel. Malik...here. It felt impossible, ridiculous. Exciting, too, which annoyed her. There was nothing to feel excited about, even if seeing Malik again made her remember so much. Want so much, even if it was foolish. He pushed you away, she reminded herself. He told you to go.
Malik folded his arms, the movement seeming one of forbidding judgement. ‘You should have told me.’
‘About what, exactly?’ She folded her arms and met him with as challenging a look as she could muster. She wouldn’t be cowed by this cold, haughty attitude. ‘Maybe you should have told me you were a sultan.’
‘Heir to the throne,’ he dismissed, and she let out a laugh that sounded a little too high and wild.
‘Oh, okay, then.’
Malik arched an eyebrow in an eloquent gesture of silent incredulity. He was so different than she remembered. Yes, he was just as devastatingly attractive, but he was colder now. Sharper, too, and more hidden. Remote and unreachable, without the warmth and friendliness, the tenderness that she’d once revelled in. Except that had all been an act, she reminded herself. This was the real Malik. He’d shown his true colours when he’d kicked her out of his bed.
‘Don’t play me for a fool a second time, Grace. You know what I’m talking about. My son.’
The Grace hurt. She was Gracie. He knew that. And as for his son... Sam was hers.
‘I never played you for a fool,’ Gracie replied. Her voice thankfully came out cool, if not as cold as his. ‘If anyone was tricked, it was me.’
‘With fifty thousand dollars in your pocket?’
Colour and heat flared in her face. So he knew about the cheque Asad had thrust at her. He must have learned everything, no doubt from Asad. But why? His grandfather hadn’t wanted Gracie, cheap tramp that he’d thought her, in Malik’s life. Why tell Malik now? Or had he discovered it on his own? And why did she now feel guilty for taking that money?
When Asad had found her in Prague just hours after she’d sent a desperate email to an anonymous government address, she’d been both shocked and afraid. He’d bundled her into his blacked-out sedan and told her point-blank to get rid of the baby. When, horrified, she’d refused, he’d handed her the cheque with the stipulation that she never contact anyone in Alazar again.
Gracie had been so overwhelmed, so frightened, that she’d signed the paper he’d waved in front of her nose and taken the cheque. And yes, she’d cashed it. She’d considered it eighteen years of child maintenance payments. And she’d needed that money, for both her and Sam’s independence. It had enabled her to stay at home with him until he’d started school.
‘Why don’t you tell me what you know?’ Gracie suggested, her voice wobbling only slightly.
Malik let out a sharp bark of contemptuous laughter. ‘Hedging your bets?’
‘It would make for an easier conversation,’ Gracie returned, an edge now entering her voice. She could tell already that in the decade since she’d seen him last, Malik had painted her in the same colours that his grandfather had. Perhaps he’d always seen her that way, as the cheap whore Asad had branded her.
The realisation hurt, which was ridiculous, because she knew she shouldn’t care what Malik thought. But she hated being judged, especially when it was so patently unfair. Enough people in Addison Heights had judged her for having a baby as an unwed mother. She didn’t need it coming from Malik, as well. She’d shown him her true self, something he’d either forgotten or disbelieved.
‘Fine,’ Malik returned. ‘I’ll tell you what I know. I know after our night together you became pregnant with my child. I know you sent an email to a government address. I know my grandfather found you and offered you fifty thousand dollars for you to go away. I know you took it.’ His gaze was icy with contempt as he glanced around the kitchen. ‘Perhaps you should have held out for more.’
‘Fine,’ Gracie parroted him when she could trust her voice. She was torn between screaming and bursting into tears. After ten years of trying to make a life for herself and Sam, he reduced her to this? A money-grubbing tramp who hadn’t even been able to cut a good deal. ‘So you know all that. Now, what do you want?’
‘My son.’ The two words were spoken with such unrelenting authority that Gracie nearly jumped. Then she stared.
‘You want your son? Just like that? After ten years of absolutely nothing?’ She was trying to sound coolly incredulous, but her voice wobbled all over the place. In truth she was terrified. Asad’s icy dictates felt as fresh as they had when she’d been sitting in his sedan, the door locked, the old man’s face stonily impassive. Except now it was Malik giving the commands, his face that looked so cold and unyielding, and it felt far worse. Far more frightening.
‘Yes, just like that,’ Malik returned. ‘I only learned about his existence three days ago. You’ve had him for ten years.’ His expression didn’t so much as flicker as he added implacably, ‘Now it’s my turn.’
MALIK WATCHED GRACIE’S face pale as her slender body swayed and he knew he should have been gentler, more persuasive. The trouble was, he didn’t know how to be that any more. Ten years of living in a battle zone left a mark. And in any case he had neither the patience nor the time to woo this woman. He would take what he needed no matter what.
Still, he knew it wouldn’t do to frighten Gracie off before he’d even begun. This required careful handling. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
‘I need to see my son, Gracie.’ The old name slipped out before he realised, and he saw that she noticed. A welter of confusing emotions rose up in him, and he forced them all down. He could not let himself be clouded by sentiment. Not now, not ever. He was not his father.
‘Malik...this is such a shock.’ She pressed her hand to her chest. ‘I never expected to see you again. Your grandfather made it very clear I was to disappear.’
‘Which you were happy enough to do.’
‘Happy? No.’ She shook her head as she bit her lip, her face still pale. ‘But it seemed the best option, considering. In any case you can’t just bulldoze into our lives like this...’
‘You’ll find I can,’ Malik stated. A latent anger thrummed under his words, and he saw Gracie register it. ‘You never should have kept him from me.’
Temper flared in her eyes. So she was angry, too. Fine. ‘I didn’t have much choice.’
‘There is always a choice.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘So you’ve decided to paint me as the villain in this melodrama, despite the fact that I tried to contact you and your grandfather is practically insane. And you want me to just hand over my child like he’s some parcel you can collect when you feel like it. Great. Really great.’ She shook her head again as her arms crept around her body and she hugged herself. He could see how her body trembled and shook, and he felt a flicker of pity.
‘Let us try to discuss this reasonably, Grace.’ He tried to moderate his tone, even though he felt lit up like a stick of dynamite inside, with every word acting as a match to tinder. Anger and regret churned within him; the explosion was only a matter of time. He had a son he’d never known about, never been given the chance to know. The fault was Asad’s—and also Gracie’s. ‘You must see I have parental rights.’
‘Ye-es,’ Gracie admitted, the word drawn from her reluctantly. ‘But so do I.’
‘Then let us find a way forward.’ He was going to have to handle her very carefully, Malik could see. She would resist his ultimate intention: to bring both her and the boy back to Alazar. As for marriage...that would come in time.