Postcards From Paris. Sarah Mayberry
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her. Bizarrely he itched to touch her, to warm that tantalisingly goose-bumped skin with his hot hands. But he would do no such thing.
‘Because I am desperate.’ Clear blue eyes implored him.
‘Desperate?’ He repeated the word with disgust.
‘Yes. I can’t go back to that party.’
‘So that’s why you set up this little charade?’
‘No, I didn’t set it up, not in the way you mean. I just took advantage of the situation.’ Her voice lowered.
‘You tricked me into following you. You arranged for that photographer to be there.’
‘No! I had no idea that either of you had followed me.’
‘You’re lying. That guy knew you.’
‘He didn’t know me. He knows who I am. There’s a difference. The press have been following me around all my life.’
‘So you are telling me this wasn’t planned?’
Annalina shook her head.
‘Think carefully before you speak, Princess. Because, I have to warn you, to lie to me now would be very foolish indeed.’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And that is the truth.’
Despite everything, Zahir found himself believing her. He dragged in a breath. ‘So that...that little display you just put on...?’ He curled his lip against the traitorous memory of the way she had leant into him, the way she had messed with his head. ‘What exactly did you hope to achieve? What makes you so desperate that you would bring disgrace upon your family? Fabricate a scandal to rock the foundations of both of our countries?’
‘Disgrace I can live with. I’m used to it.’ Her voice was suddenly very small. ‘And the scandal will die down. But to be forced to marry Rashid Zahani is more than I can bear. That would have been a life sentence.’
‘How dare you disrespect the King in this way?’ Defensive anger roared in his voice. ‘The engagement will still be announced. The marriage will still go ahead.’
‘No. You can force me to go back to the party, even force me, with the help of my father, to go ahead with the announcement of the engagement. But, once those photographs go online, I’ll be dropped like a stone.’
Zahir stared into the beautiful face of this wilful princess. Her skin was so pale in this ghostly light, so delicate, it was almost translucent. But her lips were ruby-red and her eyes as blue as the evening sky.
He knew with a leaden certainty that she meant what she said. There was no way she was going to go through with this marriage. He could still find that photographer, destroy the photos, but ultimately what good would it do? What was to be gained?
Hell and damnation. After all the planning that had gone into this union, the careful handling, the wretched party... It had taken all his powers of persuasion to get Rashid to agree to marry this European princess at all. Months of negotiations to get to this point. And for what? To have the whole thing thrown back in their faces and Rashid humiliated in the most degrading way. No, he could not let that happen. He would not let that happen. He had been a fool to trust this wayward princess, to believe the empty promises of her desperate father. But the situation had gone too far now—he had to try and salvage something from this mess. He had to come up with a clever solution.
Decision made, he took hold of Annalina’s arm.
‘You will accompany me back to the party and we will seek out the King and tell him what has happened. Then we will announce your engagement.’
‘Didn’t you understand a word I said?’ The fight was back in her eyes. ‘The King won’t marry me now. That’s the reason I just did what I did.’
‘We will announce your engagement—not to the King, but to his brother, the Prince.’
‘Yeah, great idea! I take it you must be employed more for your brawn than your brains.’ Zahir felt every muscle in his body stiffen at her mocking jibe. He was going to enjoy punishing her for her insolence. ‘The Prince is hardly going to want to marry me either, is he?’
‘As of five minutes ago, the Prince has no choice.’
Narrowing his eyes, Zahir watched defiance turn to confusion turn to a creeping realisation. A strangely perverse sense of pleasure stole over him.
Her trembling hand flew to her mouth then made a fist as she stuffed it between her lips, biting down onto her knuckles to stifle her cry.
‘Ah, yes, Princess, I see the truth is dawning.’ Zahir threw back his shoulders, almost enjoying himself. ‘I am Zahir Zahani, Prince of Nabatean, brother of King Rashid. And, as of five minutes ago, your future husband.’
ANNA FELT FOR the railings of the bridge behind her, grabbing at the bars to stop herself from sliding to the ground.
‘You...you are Prince Zahir?’
One arrogant, scowling dark brow raised fractionally in reply.
No. It wasn’t possible. The full horror of what she had done gnawed away at her brain. Being caught in a clinch with a bodyguard to get out of her engagement was one thing, but for the ‘bodyguard’ to be the fiancé’s brother was quite another. This went far beyond the realms of scandal. This could cause an international incident.
‘I... I had no idea.’
He shrugged. ‘Evidently.’
‘We need to do something—quickly.’ Panic caught up with her, squeezing her vocal cords, spinning her brain around in her head. ‘We must stop that photographer.’
Still Zahir Zahani didn’t move. What was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Anna felt as if she were in a terrible dream, running and running but getting no further away from the monster.
Finally he spoke. ‘To use your phrase, Princess, it’s too late. It’s done.’
‘But that was before I knew... There’s still time to find him, pay him off, stop him.’
‘Possibly. But I have no intention of doing any such thing.’
‘Wh...what do you mean?’ Confusion and frustration held her in their grip, hysteria not far behind. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Because, like you, I intend to take advantage of the situation. We will go back to the party and we will announce our engagement. Just as I said.’
Horror now joined the bedlam in her head. He wasn’t serious. Surely he didn’t mean it? She stared into his cold, forbidding features. Oh, God. He did—he really did!
Releasing the railings, she pushed herself upright, immediately dwarfed by this towering figure of a man who was blocking her way, her vision, her ability to think clearly. ‘No! We can’t. The idea is preposterous.’
‘Is it, Princess Annalina? He glowered down at her. ‘How will you feel tomorrow when those photographs are published? When you have to face your father, your people and the rest of the world? Are you prepared for the consequences?’
Her face crumpled.
‘As I thought.’ His mocking voice echoed in the dark around them. ‘Not quite so preposterous now, is it? You have no alternative but to do as I say.’
‘No. There has to be another way.’ Think, Anna, think. Why did her poor brain seem to have turned to sludge? ‘If the photographs are published I’ll simply explain that it was all a misunderstanding—that I didn’t know who you were...that it meant nothing.’
‘And that would achieve what, exactly? Apart from prove that you are the sort of tramp who goes