The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West
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demanded.
Things were going to get ugly very quickly, but for the first time in his memory, Sayed could not make himself care right at that moment. He’d lost his brother and the rest of his own childhood to politics and the violence they spawned in angry men.
Sayed had spent the intervening years taking on every duty assigned him, dismissing his own hopes and dreams to take on the welfare of a nation. He’d put duty and honor above his own happiness time and again, doing his best to fill an older brother’s shoes he’d never been meant to walk in.
He was tired. Angry. Done. Not forever, but for tonight he wasn’t emir. He was a man, a newly freed man.
“I spent my entire life being what and who I was supposed to,” he offered, not sure why, but feeling the most shocking certainty that his confidences were safe with this woman.
Aaliyah drained the last bit of amber liquid from her glass. “Yes?”
“It was not as if I was attracted to Tahira. Marriage to a woman who seemed more like a little sister than a future wife did not appeal.”
“But you never tried to back out of it.”
“Naturally not.”
“And that makes you angry now that she’s taken off for the freedom of a life of obscurity.”
“Are you sure you’ve had three doubles? You’re very lucid in some moments.”
Aaliyah giggled and then hiccupped and then stared at him as if she couldn’t quite believe either sound had come from her mouth.
He found himself smiling when, ten minutes ago, he would have said that would be impossible. Even his fury was banking in favor of the constant burn of desire Aaliyah sparked in him.
She smiled tipsily. “You’re both better off.”
“That is a very naive view of the situation.”
“Maybe.” Aaliyah shrugged. “I was born to an amazing woman who gave up everything she knew of life to keep me, not a queen.”
“My mother is amazing,” he said, feeling strangely affronted.
“I know. I read about her. Melecha Durrah is both a gracious and kind queen. Everyone says so.”
“Not nice?” he teased.
“I would not know. I’ve never met her.”
“She is,” he assured. “More so than either her husband or son.”
“Nice can be overrated.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My mother was too nice. If she’d ever just let herself get angry at the people who hurt her, she would have had a better life.”
“Perhaps she enjoyed the peace of forgiveness.”
“Maybe.” Aaliyah stood, swaying in place. “I think I’ll have another.”
He jumped up and guided her back to the sofa. “After some water, I think.”
“I don’t want water.”
“Yes, you do, you just don’t know it.” He wasn’t sure anything would prevent a hangover at this point, but staying hydrated would help.
“You’re awfully bossy.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m sure you have.”
He shook his head, filling two glasses with ice from the bar. He snagged a couple liter bottles of water as well as the ouzo before carrying it all back to the sofa.
He put everything on the coffee table before pouring them both a glass of water and topping off his ouzo.
“You weren’t even finished with your first drink,” she commented after taking an obedient sip of water.
“You’re five shots up on me.”
“And you intend to catch up?”
Why not? “Yes.”
“How did you know Princess Tahira had alcohol in her rooms?”
“I know everything about the people I need to.” With one glaring exception.
“Not everything.”
“No, not everything.” Clearly, he hadn’t known about the palace aid. “It would have been politic of you not to point that out.”
Aaliyah shrugged. “I’m a lead chambermaid, not a politician.”
“You don’t act like any maid I’ve ever encountered.”
“Gotten to know many of them, have you?” she asked with a surprisingly bitter suspicion.
“No, actually. That is precisely what makes you so different.”
Her ruffled feathers settled around her. “Well, I don’t usually work housekeeping. I was assistant manager of desk reception in my previous job.”
“Why are you working as a maid now?”
“They wanted my mother, but she died.”
“Your mother is gone, as well?” he asked, pity touching his heart as it rarely did.
“Yes. She was from Zeena Sahra.”
“Did you come to London to be with the rest of your family?” There was a small community of Zeena Sahrans residing in the British city.
“The Amaris don’t recognize me.”
“But that’s impossible.” Family was sacrosanct in Zeena Sahran culture.
“Mom refused to allow someone else in the family to adopt and raise me. The Amaris refuse to recognize a bastard.”
He frowned, inexplicable anger coursing through him. “Do not use such language to describe yourself. It is not seemly.”
“Neither was offering to pay me off if I’d change my last name.”
“They did that?” It boggled his mind.
Aaliyah nodded, an expression of deep vulnerability coming over her features he was fairly certain she was not aware was there. “No matter what Mom hoped, they were never going to accept me into the family. She is buried in the family plot. I won’t be.”
“It is their loss.”
“I keep telling myself that, but you know? Sometimes it’s hard to believe.”
“Believe it.”
“They’re not alone. I am and I don’t like it.” She covered her mouth and stared suspiciously at him, as if he’d drawn the admission out of her rather than her offering it unasked for.
“No one should be abandoned by their family.”
She tried to put on an insouciant expression that fell far short, but he wouldn’t tell her so. He found he enjoyed seeing what he was sure others did not.
The true Aaliyah Amari.
“It happens.” She shrugged and this time her glass tipped enough to spill its nearly full contents down the front of Aaliyah’s inexpensive black suit jacket.
She didn’t even jump, just looked down at the water-soaked jacket. “Oops.”
“You are all wet.”
“I am.” She cocked her head to one side as if studying him and finally said, “You could offer to get a towel.”
“Should I?”
Instead of answering, Aaliyah unbuttoned the front and started shrugging the black fabric off her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, his body tightening in a familiar