Modern Romance April 2017 Books 5 - 8. Кейт Хьюит
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is Sam?’
‘One of your staff took him to play boules. He’s loving it here.’
‘I am glad.’
‘But this can’t last for ever,’ Gracie pointed out. ‘In some ways it feels like the calm before a storm. I want life to go on like some endless holiday, but I know it can’t.’
‘No,’ Malik agreed. ‘It can’t.’ It was the perfect segue into talking about his own plans. ‘I will need to make an announcement soon, about Sam.’
Gracie’s eyes widened and her teeth sank deeper into her lip. ‘Already?’
‘Considering my grandfather’s health, time is of the essence. I thought we could go away, the three of us, for a few nights. I want to show both of you the heart of Alazar. We can talk to Sam about who I am. Who he is.’
‘That seems like a good idea,’ Gracie agreed cautiously. ‘But what happens after that?’
‘I will announce Sam to my people.’ He paused. ‘After we have married.’
‘Oh, really?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘What happened to me making a decision?’
‘Gracie, you must see the inevitability of this. Sam cannot be my heir if he is not legitimate. I am trying to be as patient as I can, and I think we’ve both enjoyed this week together. But we must move ahead.’ Asad’s words echoed through him and he finished, his tone flat and final, ‘We will marry as soon as we return from the mountains.’
‘What a romantic proposal.’
‘You know I am not romantic.’
‘I also know I don’t want to be bullied into a marriage,’ Gracie snapped. ‘You have to give me time, Malik—’
‘I have given you time.’
‘Without an actual choice! What is the point in that?’
Malik sighed, his patience at an end. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘At least pretend I have some say in the matter,’ Gracie answered sarcastically. ‘Really, sometimes I wonder how much of your kindness is real and how much is an act simply to get what you want.’ Her breath came out in a rush, her expression turning bleak. ‘I don’t know if I can live like that.’
Malik felt himself tense. In his impatience, he’d gone too fast, run too rough. ‘We can be happy together, Gracie. I know we can.’
‘Then wait and see if I come to the same conclusion,’ Gracie answered quietly, her eyes still troubled. ‘Can you at least give me that courtesy?’
Everything in Malik howled no. He wanted to make Sam his in the eyes of Alazar, but just as much he wanted to make Gracie his. But he knew enforcing his will now would backfire badly. ‘Malik?’ she prompted, her voice soft and sad. Wordlessly he nodded.
‘THERE IT IS.’
Malik leaned forward, one long, lean finger pointing out of the window of the helicopter towards the palace perched incongruously on a mountaintop. ‘Palace of the Clouds.’
‘Wow.’ Gracie leaned forward as well, taking in the magnificent sight. The palace was a maze of rocky walls and tall towers, its foundations built directly onto the mountain, its turrets and minarets seeming to touch the sky. ‘How on earth did they build it?’
‘With much hard labour. It is eight hundred years old,’ Malik said. ‘Built by the Sultan for his favourite wife.’
Gracie arched an eyebrow. ‘How many wives did he have?’
‘I believe around six hundred.’ Malik grinned. ‘In that way, we have already moved forward.’
‘What a relief.’ The banter was light, but it still sent a frisson of alarmed awareness through her. She knew Malik was clinging to his patience for her to make a decision about their marriage. And really, it was no decision at all. She understood how little choice she had, and yet she needed to be sure in her own mind—and her own heart.
In some ways she felt as if she’d been moving inexorably towards this since Malik had appeared again in her life, but in another way... Marriage. Being the wife of a sultan. Living in Alazar. And more worrying...being married to a man who had as good as promised not to love her. Were the things Malik had said he could give her enough? Was she willing to relinquish any hope of loving and being loved for the sake of her son’s legacy?
‘Your father only had one wife, though, didn’t he?’ she remarked, remembering what he’d said earlier about his father living the fairy tale—the fairy tale he didn’t want.
‘Yes. As I said before, he only had one wife, and he loved her very much.’
There was a subtext to his words, to the cool tone he’d unconsciously adopted, and it was one Gracie didn’t like—that Malik’s father might have loved his wife, but Malik had no intention of loving his. She’d been trying to come to terms with that reality, but it was hard.
And yet in ten years she hadn’t met a single man she’d been interested in dating, much less marrying. Maybe Malik’s was her best offer, and in truth it was an attractive one. Respect, kindness, honesty, passion. These were all amazing things. So why did she still feel trepidation?
The answer was painfully obvious. Because she was falling in love with him. Because he’d hurt her once before, terribly, and after the week they’d spent together he now possessed immeasurably more power to hurt her again, and far worse. Was what he was offering worth that risk? Could she live in a marriage knowing her love wasn’t returned and never would be?
‘Where does the helicopter land?’ she asked as she looked out of the window to avoid Malik’s direct gaze as well as the unhappy circling of her own thoughts.
‘There is a helipad behind the palace, on a flat outcropping of rock.’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘Not at all. It was blasted several years ago, when my grandfather wished the Palace of the Clouds to be more accessible. Before the helipad, it would have taken a seven-day trek on camel to get here.’
‘Now, that would have been cool,’ Sam said, and Malik and Gracie exchanged a wry smile. Moments later they were landing, and then a member of staff was escorting them across the rocky terrain to a steep set of stairs cut directly into the mountainside that led to the palace’s main entrance.
Gracie stopped to admire the view—an endless, snow-capped mountain range with the desert beyond. The bleakness she’d once seen from the royal jet now held undeniable beauty.
‘I can’t believe anyone made it up here, much less built a palace,’ she said. Malik took her elbow to help her up the stairs.
‘I told you, I come from a strong and independent people.’
‘So does your son,’ Gracie murmured, for Sam had strode ahead, taking the steps two at a time despite their precarious placement.
‘He will make a good sultan.’
Gracie didn’t reply; the prospect of her son being leader of a country still sent her nerves jangling.
Malik took her hand and squeezed it. ‘It will be all right, Gracie,’ he murmured.
‘You sound very sure.’
‘I am sure.’
She glanced at him, wishing she could understand what was going on behind that opaque gaze, that unreadable expression. The last week had been wonderful, but it hadn’t always felt real. Their marriage wouldn’t be an extended holiday, and they wouldn’t even have the prospect of more children to look forward to, a fact that Gracie thought she could come to terms