‘So if Khal marries her you will stand by his side and wish them well? I can see it now. You can visit them each summer in Zayyar. If you are lucky, their children might even call you Uncle.’
Roman’s eyes snapped up to meet the gaze of his all too knowing housekeeper.
‘There. That’s all the reaction I needed to see.’
‘Just because I feel the marriage is the wrong choice for both of them, it doesn’t mean there is something deeper going on. I know Khal, and I know he would not be happy with a woman like Olivia. She is too adventurous, too unpredictable. She wants to see the world, to be surprised by life. Not trade one palace prison for another.’
‘And have you said any of this to the woman herself?’
Roman sat down on the bar stool, pulling the linen tighter on his hand and feeling the sting of pain that came with it. Jorge was right. He had not told Olivia how he felt about the marriage. Not honestly. He had spent half his time with her trying to convince her to marry Khal, and the other half trying to make her forget.
Was it really surprising that she had run from him again at the first chance? From the start he had handled her badly.
Women like Olivia were out of his league. She was too open, too caring and kind-hearted for a cold, unfeeling bastard like him. She deserved love. She deserved the happy-ever-after that she craved. And if he couldn’t give it to her himself then he would make damned sure that she had a decent chance of finding it elsewhere.
‘Shall I have the boat readied for departure?’ Jorge asked hopefully.
Roman nodded once, watching as his housekeeper practically skipped from the room. He really should give that man a raise, he thought darkly as he moved to look out at the waves crashing against the lighthouse in the distance.
The marriage would not go ahead—not if he had anything to do with it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE FIRST THING that Roman noticed as he entered the Sheikh’s penthouse hotel suite was the utter stillness of the place. A single palace guard welcomed him inside before returning to his post outside the doorway. There was no butler to accept his coat or announce his presence—in fact no one at all roamed the halls as he passed through from room to room.
He had almost given up when finally he reached a large dining room that looked out over the lush green mountainscape of Monteverre’s famous rolling hills. Khal stood alone at the head of the long dining table, his back turned as he stared out at the view.
Roman cleared his throat, feeling as though he had interrupted a moment of quiet meditation and wishing he had called ahead of his arrival.
‘Roman. Now, this is a surprise,’ Khal said, surprise filtering into his dark features as recognition dawned.
But Roman had not missed the mask of dark stillness that had been on his friend’s face. That look bothered him deeply, and yet he knew that if he asked his concern would be met with a stone wall.
They were much alike, he and Khal.
‘I need to speak with you,’ Roman started, finding the words much more difficult than he had anticipated.
Truthfully, he was unsure where to begin. He had come here, all guns blazing, ready to rock the boat and make sure this ridiculous marriage did not go ahead. But how exactly did he tell his best friend that he had not only broken a rather important promise, but that he had done it in the worst way possible? He had promised to bring the Princess back to Monteverre to take her place as Khal’s future wife, and instead...
Well, instead he had found himself consumed by a passion and a need so intense it had bordered on obsession.
He had not stopped thinking of Olivia in the few hours they had been apart. Memories of her assaulted him at every turn. If he closed his eyes he could almost smell the warm vanilla scent of her hair as it had lain spread across his pillows. He could almost hear her throaty laughter. She consumed him like no other woman ever had.
In fact, it was a mark of the strength of his feelings for her that he chose not to fight for her.
He was not here to lay claim to her.
He was here to set her free.
Khal sat heavily in one of the high-backed chairs, putting his feet up on the marble tabletop and surveying Roman with one raised brow. ‘By all means, speak.’
‘The Princess is the wrong choice for your bride.’ He met Khal’s gaze purposefully, making sure that there was no mistaking the seriousness of his tone.
‘You sound quite sure.’
‘I am. And I would like you to take my concern into account. There are things more important in life than politics.’
‘Such as friendship, perhaps?’ the Sheikh suggested, a strange hint of cynicism in his voice.