Six Sizzling Sheikhs. Оливия Гейтс
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between them?
What could heal their scars, calm their fears?
‘Goodnight, Khaled,’ she whispered, and slipped silently from the room.
Khaled’s fingers clenched around his glass as he watched Lucy walk away.
Damn.
He had handled that wrong; he was handling everything wrong. He was losing her before he’d even had her, and he didn’t know why. How.
Or perhaps he knew all too well. No matter what Lucy said she wanted, he knew one cold, hard truth: she’d loved the man he’d been four years ago. She didn’t love him now, not the man he was, the man he would always be.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
Maybe we shouldn’t do this.
He wouldn’t allow her to back out. He didn’t care if she was unhappy. He was that selfish, Khaled acknowledged as he gazed out over the darkened palace gardens, the surface of the swimming pool glinting in the moonlight. He wanted her that much, and now he wondered if it—he—would destroy them both.
Over the next few days Lucy had the sense of time speeding up, slipping by so fast she couldn’t hold on to a single moment. Khaled told his father about their marriage, and with a jerky nod of acceptance—Lucy didn’t dare hope it was approval—a host of plans that would change her life for ever had been set in motion.
She tried to avoid the newspapers and television—all eager to cover a breaking story of an unexpected royal marriage, and to an English woman!—but she couldn’t avoid more personal confrontations. She needed to talk to her mother and to Sam.
The first conversation was the most difficult. Lucy’s fingers curled slickly round the telephone receiver as she listened to the phone ring in her mother’s house thousands of miles away.
They chatted for a few moments, and then Dana cleared her throat and asked, ‘So when are you coming back from that godforsaken place?’
Not a good beginning, Lucy thought wryly. ‘Actually, Mum…’ She took a breath. ‘I’m staying for a while.’ Dana was silent, and Lucy continued. ‘The thing is, Khaled and I… We’ve decided the best thing for Sam is to—to marry.’ More silence. Lucy closed her eyes and summoned her strength. She even managed a little laugh. ‘Come on, say something, Mum.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Lucy.’ Disapproval Lucy could have handled, but her mother sounded stunned. Shaken. Doubt swirled through her once more, putting everything into a hopeless fog.
‘It’s the sensible thing to do,’ Lucy said. How she was tired of saying that. Thinking it.
‘Really?’ Dana’s voice sharpened. ‘Because it sounds incredibly foolish to me.’
‘Mum—’
‘Lucy, why? Why are you opening yourself up to that kind of pain again? Do you remember what happened? How Khaled treated you? How you felt? How can you—’
‘It’s different now,’ Lucy interjected.
‘Is it?’ Dana sounded scornfully sceptical. ‘How?’
Lucy closed her eyes, her knuckles white as she clutched the phone to her ear. ‘It just is.’
‘I don’t know if I believe that, Lucy,’ Dana said frankly. ‘I’ve known men like Khaled, and I don’t trust—’
‘I’m not under any illusions about Khaled any more.’ Lucy cut her off, unable to hear any more of her own fears parroted back to her. ‘We’re marrying for Sam’s sake, to provide stability.’
‘Is that really necessary? Plenty of children grow up in single-parent homes and they’re fine. Look at you—’
‘But Sam isn’t me,’ Lucy interrupted. ‘He’s the son of a prince, and one day he will be king.’
‘So?’ Dana sounded belligerent, and Lucy almost smiled. Her mother was always ready for a fight, ready to champion her cause, or the cause of single mothers in general: you didn’t need a man. You were fine without one.
And Lucy had believed that and been strong without one, until she’d met Khaled and all her principles and opinions had toppled like flimsy cards. She’d been left with only wanting. Yearning. For him.
How weak did that make her? How pathetic? And it was happening again. Except, she told herself, this time she would be strong. She wouldn’t need or want.
She wouldn’t love.
‘It’s different, Mum,’ she insisted quietly. ‘And, besides, Sam will be spending a good part of his life in Biryal. I’m not about to give him up to Khaled, to absent myself from such an enormous aspect of his life.’
‘So you’ll absent yourself from your own life instead?’
‘My life is Sam,’ Lucy said quietly. ‘Surely you can understand that? I love my job, I love my house and my friends, but it’s not my life.’
Dana was silent for a long moment. ‘I just don’t want you to be unhappy,’ she finally said, and Lucy heard the sorrow in her voice. She felt it herself.
‘I won’t be.’ Please, God. Please, now that she knew what she was getting into. Please let her be stronger than that.
Except, Lucy thought as she finally hung up the phone, she was unhappy. She wanted more from her marriage and her life than something sensible. She wanted the feeling of inexpressible hope, wonder and love that she’d experienced with Khaled before, even though it had been false.
She wanted to love Khaled, and sometimes she wondered if she could—if she could love this new Khaled, a man hardened and yet also humbled by his suffering, a man deeper and darker, and yet stronger too.
Or was that man even real? And would that man walk away, withdraw from their marriage, when he decided it was the best thing for both of them?
The conversation with Sam was far easier. She’d told Khaled she wanted to tell him alone, and with a little shrug, his mouth tightening, he’d agreed.
‘But we will both talk to him,’ he stipulated, ‘about what it means to be a king.’
Lucy agreed; that was not a conversation she wanted to have today, or any time soon.
Now she perched on the edge of Sam’s bed as he bounced up and down; he was eager to tear down to the swimming pool and begin another exciting, adventurous day.
‘Sam, you’ve enjoyed it here, haven’t you? With Khaled?’
He looked at her incredulously, as only a three-year-old can do, making Lucy feel rather silly. ‘Yes!’
‘Good.’ Lucy smiled, drawing a breath.
Sam interrupted impatiently, ‘Can we go swimming now?’
‘In a minute, darling.’ She smoothed the hair back from his forehead, smiling a little sadly as he ducked his head away from her touch. He was growing up, growing away from her, even now. ‘I want to tell you something. I think it will be good news.’
Something about her sombre tone made Sam turn to her, alert. He looked suspicious. ‘What?’
‘You know how we’ve been spending time with Khaled—and he’s such a good friend to you? And…’ she paused, sucking in air ‘…to me?’ Sam nodded, still looking suspicious. ‘Well…what would you think, Sam, if Khaled was your daddy? If you called him Daddy from now on?’
A look of incredulous delight passed over Sam’s face like sunlight, and then suddenly he frowned. ‘Is he my daddy?’
How did three-year-olds know to ask such pressing, to-the-point questions? ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, Sam, he is.’
She