“If you truly respect me, leave now, Zafir. Let me leave Behraat.”
Even now, a fragment of hope flickered inside her, waiting for him to persuade her otherwise.
He stepped back, slowly, irrevocably and Lauren’s knees gave out under her.
“As you wish, Lauren.” That dark gaze swept over her face with a thoroughly hungry appraisal before he turned and marched out of the suite.
Without looking back once.
Lauren sank against the bed, struggling to pull air into her lungs, squeezing her eyes to keep the wet heat at bay.
She would never amount to more than a willing woman to Zafir. And maybe she had been okay with that status quo in New York, but not anymore.
Not when it was her child’s well-being in question.
A playful giggle echoed somewhere and she turned toward the balcony looking out onto the vast courtyard below. A boy, somewhere between five and nine—she couldn’t tell any closer than that—ran on the cobbled stones, his dark hair shining under the light of bronze torches, a mischievous smile on his face, chased by a man around the fountain.
The man let him run around two more circles before he caught up with him and slung him on his shoulder.
She felt as if a fist was squeezing her heart as she realized the magnitude of her decision.
Zafir was the ruler of a nation, a man who had a long list of priorities in which she didn’t feature, a man who could set aside everything else quite ruthlessly when it came to Behraat. And she and her child would only be complications in that path.
After what she had suffered at her parents’ hands, she would never put her child through it.
* * *
It had been the longest week of Lauren’s life. She felt as though she was sitting on shifting sands with no tether.
More than once, she had picked up the phone, eager to blurt out the news to Zafir. She just wasn’t programmed to lie or hide the truth as she was doing.
Zafir refused to let her go back to the hotel, so she spent her days locked up in the palace. Scared of weakening, she cut herself off from everything. And when life intruded, it only brought a truth that crystallized her decision.
Having learned that Lauren was the sheikh’s scandalous female guest, Huma had come calling. Hugged Lauren and chattered on and on about how decent life was in Behraat now, about how she had enrolled herself in a women’s college to study nursing.
“Just like you,” Huma had whispered with a proud smile.
And in the same innocent way she did everything else, she informed Lauren of the rumors about the sheikh’s upcoming wedding and the celebrations that would ensue.
Nausea filled her throat as Huma continued merrily.
Childhood friends, reunited after several years, daughter of a High Council member, born to be a sheikha and so on...
The excruciating doubts she had had about hiding the pregnancy from him, the conflict that had eroded her from within, everything evaporated at the bitter news.
Not even a little regret pricked her as she packed that night.
Her child would be secondary to neither duty nor a new bride in his father’s life. She would make sure of that.
CHAPTER FIVE
LAUREN STARED AROUND the terminal, the beautiful architecture of the private airport building filling her with awe. The same soaring circular ceilings, grand archways and a colorfully hued marble stretched as far as she could see, a far cry from the commercial airport she and David had flown into.
On learning that she’d been scheduled on a privately chartered flight, Lauren had called it a huge wastage of resources. But as Farrah had pointed out with a lingering question in her eyes, the sheikh had decreed that she be sent off in style.
And no one could defy the mighty sheikh’s word.
Whose withdrawal had been absolute and chilling.
When her stomach grumbled, Lauren opened her energy bar and took a bite. After the elaborate, mouthwatering meals of the past week, the granola bar tasted foul in her mouth but she forced herself to chew.
“We’re ready to board you,” announced the flight attendant, carefully shying away his gaze from Lauren.
From gleaming dark wood paneling to supple wide leather seats sitting on priceless Persian rugs constituted the decor. A flat-screen plasma television faced the seats.
Despite the disparity in their lifestyles and cultures, there had been a connection between them from the first moment. A connection that now had a permanent consequence...
Her throat felt thick with an emotion she refused to name.
A woman, dressed in traditional tunic and trousers with her hair concealed in a loose scarf, approached her, a glass of sparkling water in her hand. “Hello, Ms. Hamby,” she said deferentially. “I’m a qualified nurse, so please let me know if you feel faint.”
Had he informed his whole staff that she was incapable of looking after herself? “I’m a nurse too, so I would know,” she added a little sharply.