Modern Romance April 2017 Books 5 - 8. Кейт Хьюит
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she was asking the question. Marriage.
Malik hesitated, and that second’s pause told her more than she’d ever wanted to know. ‘A marriage based on convenience as well as respect and attraction.’
‘Those are three totally different things.’
‘Yet they can coexist.’
‘Can they?’ Gracie gazed out at the market square, trying to untangle the ferment of her feelings. Marriage. Was this what she wanted, a union based on expediency rather than any kind of love and affection? Because the message she was getting loud and clear was that Malik didn’t love her. Never had and never would. And while her life in Illinois might have felt small, living in a loveless marriage felt even smaller. More constrictive and definitely more hopeless.
‘It’s not very romantic, is it?’ she said after a moment, keeping her gaze on the market because she didn’t want to see the expression in Malik’s eyes.
‘No, but I am not one for romance.’
‘You were in Rome.’ The champagne, the coins in the fountain, the fairy tale. What had happened to it all? Had he changed that much—or had he merely been presenting a front back then, as she’d feared?
‘I am not that naïve boy any longer, Grace, and you are not that girl. If you are looking for a fairy tale, you will not find it here.’ Malik took a breath and then ploughed on. ‘But in truth I do not think you will find it anywhere. What we could have would be much better. Much stronger. More real.’
‘How?’ The word emerged through numb lips. How was it possible to feel so hopeful and sad at the same time?
‘Because the fairy tale fades away and notions of romantic love disappear. None of it is lasting or real.’
His unswerving belief in what he was saying made something wither inside her. ‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Yes.’ Another pause as he deliberated what to say. She didn’t know if she could take Malik running down the whole concept of love. Ten years of loneliness and, yes, she’d been holding out for the fairy tale. ‘My father believed in the fairy tale,’ Malik said. ‘He thought he had it with my mother, and perhaps he did, although I do not know. But then she died and he never recovered. He walked away from his family, from his duty, from life, a weak and wrecked man. Is that the kind of life you really want?’
‘No one wants to lose someone they love,’ Gracie protested. ‘I’m sorry for your father. He obviously experienced something very difficult.’
‘And made it even more difficult. To be enslaved to emotion...to allow someone to have that power over you...who would want it?’
I would, Gracie thought. But not with someone who vowed never to feel the same. ‘You obviously don’t.’
‘No.’
‘And yet they say it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.’ A flush rose to Gracie’s cheeks. Did she love Malik? She could, she suspected, if she let herself, but how awful was it to think you could love someone who had no intention of loving you back? She sat back, not wanting to press the point.
‘I do not share that sentiment.’ Malik leaned forward, his eyes glittering. ‘Gracie, when we marry, I will respect you with everything I am and have, treat you with kindness and honesty at all times, and make your body sing with pleasure every night. Surely those things are better than some ephemeral concept of love.’
He spoke the last word on a sneer that made Gracie blink. Her body felt warm. Sing with pleasure every night. Yes, she had no doubt Malik could do that—and the possibility of experiencing it at least once more was incredibly tempting. How could it not be? But it still didn’t make up for the appalling lack—knowing someone would never return her feelings, never feel the intensity and devotion that she would feel. Living like that would be horrifying, soul-destroying. And yet that was what Malik was offering her.
‘It’s a big decision, Malik,’ she said at last. ‘I need some time to think.’ Because she wasn’t the only one involved in this. She had to think of Sam, too, and what was best for him.
‘Of course,’ Malik returned swiftly, but Gracie was just clocking that he’d said when they married, not if. Was the outcome really in question for him? Did she have any choice?
‘Spend the next week getting to know Alazar,’ Malik said. ‘And getting to know me. And then you can make a decision, and we will discuss the matter again.’
Gracie nodded, accepting, even as she silently acknowledged that she didn’t actually know what decision she was making—or if it had already been made for her.
* * *
The next week was surprisingly sweet. Although he still had to deal with matters of state, Malik found time to spend with both Gracie and Sam, whether it was merely relaxing by the pool or going further afield to see more of Alazar. He showed her the national park and the country’s only zoo, with its camels, lemurs and a magnificent white tiger; they had meals in intimate rooms at the palace and picnics on a bluff overlooking the jewel-bright sea.
And they talked, sharing more than they ever had before, whether they were simple jokes or discussions of philosophy. Over the course of the week Malik felt as if the tightly held parts of himself were slowly loosening. He was enjoying things he’d never even considered before—the taste of good food, the beauty of a blue sky, the purity of his son’s laughter. And spending time with Gracie, listening to her share her ideas.
He’d also enjoyed kissing her thoroughly at the end of each evening, although with effort he’d kept it to mere kisses. His body ached to do far more, and he knew Gracie’s did, as well. But he hoped that an enforced abstinence might make Gracie more willing to agree to the marriage that would have to take place, and soon.
Every afternoon he spent an interminable half hour debriefing his grandfather, who was increasingly bedridden and twitching with impotent anger.
‘You are making a fool of yourself with that woman. A fool,’ he spat towards the end of the week. The gossip had finally reached his ears, although Malik had tried to be discreet.
‘I am winning her over,’ he stated calmly, suppressing the flash of rage his grandfather’s contempt caused him. ‘We cannot secure the succession without her, and a forced marriage will not help the kingdom. The days of such archaic arrangements are over.’
‘Nonsense. Banish her to a remote palace—’
‘This is the twenty-first century,’ Malik cut him off. ‘Do you think the Western world will do business with a country whose queen is in exile, simply because she is American?’
Asad glared at him and silently fumed. Malik knew his grandfather knew he was right—he just didn’t want to admit it. ‘I am wooing her gently,’ he stated. ‘It is necessary. If that makes me a fool in your eyes, then so be it. I will do what I must to secure my country’s future as well as my throne.’
Sketching the briefest salaam, he turned on his heel and left the room.
Was he a fool? The question was like a fly buzzing about his brain as he returned to his private office, constantly annoying him. He’d spoken the truth to Asad, but only part of it.
He was enjoying his time with Gracie, necessary as it was. He was glad to get to know her as well as Sam, but he was conscious that he could not stay in such pleasant limbo for ever. He couldn’t let himself weaken, or let his feelings for Gracie and Sam cloud his judgement. He needed to keep a distance between him and Gracie. He also needed to set a date for their wedding—but to do that he required Gracie’s cooperation.
He found her on a bench in the gardens, a book opened on her lap, her face tilted to the sun.
‘You look peaceful,’ Malik remarked as he joined her on the bench.
A shy smile of pleasure lit her face and she closed her book. ‘I feel peaceful, surprisingly.’