Basmadan was beginning to feel like home again.
Zaid stepped out onto the open balcony extending off his private office, welcoming the blistering heat of Gulzar, the sear of the sun on his skin, the way he had as a child, before the tension between he and his father had made it impossible to stay.
He had missed this place. Had spent years traveling the world, trying to rid himself of the emptiness that had opened up after he had left.
But now he was home. For good this time. A prospect that left him uneasy rather than comforted.
He braced himself against the stone railing and closed his eyes, absorbing as much of the heat as he could bear. It burned through his clothing, scorching him inside and out. A welcome punishment he'd too long foregone.
The door to his office opened and closed, breaking apart the moment too soon. He cast a sideways glance as Alim approached him.
"Yes?"
"It seems there is a problem with your fiancée," Alim said.
"Elaborate."
"She has dismissed her staff. Again."
Zaid paused. "Did she say why?"
"According to her, she doesn't need them. Apparently, she prefers to do things herself."
Zaid pushed away from the railing, and moved quickly, aiming for Harper's quarters. "Call them back into service," he said.
"And if they object?"
"They won't."
He'd hand-picked his staff for their loyalty, and paid them handsomely as a result. Harper's attendants, especially, had been carefully chosen for occasions such as these.
She should have been past this by now, her obsessive need for self-reliance. Only it wasn't self-reliance that ruled her. It was fear. The same fear that had ruled him as a young man, held him captive, left him clinging to every unhealthy habit he could find.
Harper's vices weren't as obvious as his had been, but they were every bit as damaging. Where he had drowned himself in alcohol and women and gambling debts, anything at all to quell the persistent ache left behind by his abusive childhood, she had barricaded herself behind a guise of self-sufficiency, determined to do everything herself, even if she crumbled under the weight of it.
He would see to it that she was broken of that bad habit. The responsibility to the child wasn't hers alone anymore. It was now one they shared. He would make her see that, make her give him equal responsibility to that child. Even if he had to pry it away from her.
Harper was standing in front of a full-length mirror, her hourglass figure draped in a cascade of cream silk when he let himself into her suite. A surge of desire hit him low in the gut, a primal instinct that demanded he admire her form, her voluptuous hips and full breasts. He dragged his attention north and caught her eyes in the mirror.
Her expression flared. “I didn’t realize knocking was a foreign custom in Gulzar.”
“I would have shown you that courtesy had you not terminated those responsible for answering.”
“I’m sure.” The team of designers fussing over her dress tugged more sharply on the bodice, and she gasped, her mouth popping into an O shape.
Zaid made his way slowly across the room, stopping only when he was a breath’s distance away from her. “Leave us,” he said, his eyes never leaving her reflection.
The designers left the room at once.
Harper’s eyes narrowed. "That wouldn't sound quite so demanding if you threw in a please or a thank you once in a while," she said.
"You're right. It wouldn't."
He ran his hands along the fabric at Harper's waist, leaning in close as he loosened the bodice. "I heard a rumor you were terrorizing your staff again. What little staff you have left."
Harper rolled her eyes. "I don’t need…staff."
“I beg to differ.”
"I've been taking care of myself since I was four years old. With the exception of the time I wore a dinosaur costume to school for two weeks straight, I think I've done an okay job."
“Another matter of opinion on which we will have to agree to disagree.”
She turned to face him. “Did you need something, or are you just here to give me a hard time?”
“I came to speak to you about your behavior,” Zaid said. “You can’t keep dismissing your retinue. People are starting to talk.”
"I don’t need their help.”
“And what of the child’s personal attendants?”
“I told you before. No nannies."
"You don't have a choice," Zaid said. "You have to let go of any preconceived notions you may have had about this child's upbringing. It isn't as simple as hiring a university student for a few hours on Friday night. He'll need a caregiver, a security detail, tutors, the list goes on."
Like hell would she delegate the responsibility of raising her child to someone else. Most of her early memories had been of the various friends and daycare workers her mother had left her with while she worked. Or at least, Harper liked to think she had been working. It hurt too much to consider other possibilities, like that she had been cast aside for a bottle of tequila and a drunken one-night-stand. Her child wouldn't have those insecurities. Not if she could help it.
"He'll have me," Harper said, her tone defiant. "I can give him those things."
"And what happens when you start your internship, or when we're called away to an event?"
Her mouth dried up. "I...I don't know."
She hadn't given it any thought. Hadn't entertained even an inkling of how hard it would be to do everything, be everything. There would always be corners that had to be cut, concessions that had to be made.
Being a doctor. That was the plan. It had always been the plan.
But if she was at the hospital, she wasn't home taking care of her son or daughter. And that meant someone else would have to be.
"Let me offer you a proposal," Zaid said. "Take a year off. Familiarize yourself with Gulzar, give yourself time to adjust to your new roles as queen and mother. And at the end of that time, we will revisit the idea of continuing your medical education."
Harper blanched. "A year? You want me to take a year off?"
"It's not an uncommon practice."
Not uncommon, but also not one Harper wanted to consider. She would lose too much momentum, fall farther behind. A prospect she found hard to stomach.
"Think about it," Zaid said. "In the meantime, I have called your staff back into service, as well as provided them with a considerable stipend for their troubles. Lunah is with them now." He traced the two-inch gap where the dress didn't close completely, and Harper bit down on her lip, reveling in the feel of his bare skin on hers. "There is no shame in accepting help when it is needed."
Harper rolled her spine, her body spinning into overdrive, heating her blood until it melted into a hot pool low in her gut.
She had missed him. Had missed this. It had been four days since their engagement party, and in that time, she hadn't so much as seen him in passing, or heard his voice in the hallway. A disappointment that had gelled into relief. She had been denied her daily temptation, and she had survived. And with enough time apart, eventually it would die away.
That's how it worked in theory, anyway.
The reality was that she could no sooner stop her body from craving Zaid than she could stop it from craving water, or air.
She moistened her lips and settled into him for a moment before collecting her senses and stepping away.
"Is there a problem?"
"Yes, a big one, and it's getting bigger by the second."
"I'm flattered."
"I was talking about me," she said. "I can't breathe inside this stupid dress."
"I like the dress."
"Yeah, well, you should have been here three days ago, when it fit." She stepped behind a privacy partition and began peeling it off her swollen body. "At this rate, we should order another tent. One for the reception and another for me to wear."
"The designer can fix the dress."
She resurfaced, this time donning a faded pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt crested with her medical school emblem, her hair pulled into the same no-frills, messy bun he had come accustomed to seeing. A new snugness rounded her T-shirt, stretching it tight across her full breasts, leaving little to Zaid's imagination.
"Have dinner with me tonight," he said.
She lifted an eyebrow at him, then curled up on the couch with one of her science books. "What, there's no treaty that needs to be signed, no threat of embargo negotiated, no international incident to neutralize?"
"Not that I'm aware of, no."
She looked up at him. "You're serious."
"We're to be married soon. It wouldn't hurt get to know each other."
"What's the catch?"
"There is no catch."
"There's always a catch."
He crossed over to where she was sitting, lifted her hand to his mouth, and pressed a kiss to her palm. "Be ready at seven o'clock, rohi. I'll see you then."
Harper snapped her book closed, blowing out a sigh. "And who, might I ask, will I be entertaining this time?"
The corners of Zaid's mouth curved upward. "Me."
#
Later that evening, Harper stepped into the large dining room, stomach fluttery with nerves. Despite all reasonable logic to the contrary, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was going on a date. With Zaid.
What was the etiquette for dating one's fiancé of convenience? No doubt there was a blog outlining the proper protocol somewhere. If only she'd taken the time to search for it.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, wishing she had opted for more formal attire than the white button-down top and beige linen slacks Lunah had selected for her. With the exception of the two top buttons she hadn't been able to fasten, thanks to her ever-expanding bust line, they had been expertly tailored to fit her body type. But she still didn't feel comfortable in them. In Basmadan in general.
It had been two weeks since she'd first seen the dining hall at Basmadan, and still she was taken aback by how lavish and extravagant it was. It felt too precious for such mundane activities as family meals.
Not that she'd ever shared a meal with a family.
Dinner growing up had been an array of TV trays, boxed meals, fast food. Whatever she could whip up on her own. And she would scarf it down in front of the TV or while studying on the worn fake leather couch that had followed her and her mother from apartment to apartment. Even when she'd gone off on her own, having a sit-down meal seemed frivolous, a luxury she couldn't afford, not when there were papers to write and grants to secure and shifts to fill.
She followed the long table, her fingers grazing the backs of the high-back chairs, trying to imagine a family large enough to fill every one. The idea was as foreign and unfathomable as life in Gulzar had once been.
Sensing a stir of motion behind her, Harper whirled around, nearly knocking into Zaid. Her hands made contact with his firm, warm chest, and she steadied herself, secretly mapping out the feel of him, the sleek musculature of his body, the thump of his heart beneath his smooth gray tunic.
"Oops." She took a giant step back, trying to regain her composure. "Sorry."
Zaid pulled out one of the chairs and invited her to have a seat.
"Thank you," she said, her cheeks warming.
She had tried to prepare herself for the culture shock, had been diligent in her study of Gulzar and its customs. But it was all information, an accumulation of facts, most of them useless when it came to navigating her new way of life. She had been just as diligent in her study of Zaid. But in both areas, there seemed to be a steep learning curve. His actions toward her oscillated between two extremes, and she was at a loss how to decipher their meaning.
"You're scowling again," Zaid said, taking a seat across from her.
"I'm trying to figure you out," she said. "One minute you're barking orders, making demands, and the next you're inviting me to dinner, insisting we get to know one another before we're married. It's...confusing."
"There is no need for confusion. I am a demanding person, that is true. And I want to get to know you. That is also true. So you see, the two are not mutually exclusive."
"Maybe it would be easier to get to know someone if you weren't trying to control them all the time."
"I wouldn't have to exercise my control over you if you would leave certain things to other, more capable people," Zaid said.
Harper's scowl coalesced into a full-on glare. "Would you be saying that if Alim were in my position?"
"Alim isn't pregnant with the heir to the throne. Or if he is, he's playing it pretty close to the vest."
Harper drew her mouth into a thin line. "So you think I need a big, strong man to do my heavy thinking for me because I'm a woman? That's progressive."
"You are a woman," Zaid said. "But you are not superwoman. Whether or not you're ready to admit it, you can't handle everything yourself. You need to delegate, let someone help you."
"Like you?"
"Like anyone."
He was asking for too much. Trust. Surrender. It was easy enough, in theory. But Harper had tried that before, and it had only ever ended badly.
She shrugged like it meant nothing. Like his eyes on her didn't leave her feeling vulnerable, as though her skin had been peeled away. "You know, I can't remember a time when I didn't have a job, or a full slate of classes. It feels weird not having anything to do."
"So find something to do," Zaid said.
"I suppose I could apply for a job at the cell phone kiosk in the marketplace, so long as they don't ask for references."
"Or you could put your medical degree to good use," Zaid said. "The Royal Medical Centre is active with a number of medical non-profits. I'm sure they could benefit from your knowledge."
"Maybe." But it wouldn't be the same. She wanted to practice medicine. Save lives. Not attend board meetings and plan gala fundraisers.
Zaid's tone grew almost imperceptibly softer. "As little consolation as this may be, you are not the only one whose future has been upended due to recent events."
"You had the one thing you've worked toward your whole life taken away from you?"
"No," Zaid said. "I had a brother who died and left me with a country he had driven to the brink of economic collapse."
"Oh," Harper said, resisting the urge to facepalm. She sipped on her water glass to regain her composure. "I just assumed you always wanted..."
"To be king?"
Harper nodded.
"No," Zaid said. "My assuming the throne was never a consideration. Not for me. Certainly not for my father."
"I take it you didn't have the best father-son relationship?" She had noticed the way his tone darkened whenever he spoke of his father.
Zaid shook his head. "My father did most of his speaking with his fists. My mother suffered the brunt of it, but not even Matthias escaped unscathed."
Harper's body went cold, numb. "I never realized," she said quietly. "It must've been hard for you to come back here. To Gulzar. To Basmadan."
"There are moments," Zaid said, taking in the room around them. "I was fifteen the last time I saw my father. It was in this room. My mother was crying, and I realized he had hit her. And the next thing I knew, his security guards were pulling me off of him, pinning me to the ground while they ushered him to safety. He swore he would kill me if he ever saw me again, and I have no doubt he would have made good on his promise. Just as I am sure that, given the chance, I would have done the same to him. My mother sent me away that same night. I begged her to come with me, to leave him behind and start a new life elsewhere, but she refused. Her honor and sense of duty forbade it. Not long after, I received word that she had passed away."
"Zaid. I'm so sorry." It was enough to make her soul ache. Enough to make her want to reach for him, console him somehow. But she didn't dare.
He sipped his wine, as though the words he'd spoken had left him emptier somehow. "It was sudden. And a very long time ago."
Tension lay thickly over the room. She hadn't known of Zaid's past. It hadn't come up in any of the results when she'd performed an Internet search on him, on his family. But she had no doubts he had been telling the truth. There had been too much pain and resentment in his voice. It hung over every word, a residual anger that clung to him, even as he sipped his wine, pretended otherwise.
Harper said nothing, engaging her attention on her food as silence lapsed between them. She wasn't used to silence.. The sound of nothing seemed as jarring and out of place as the lit candles and fine china.
She rested her chin on steepled fingers, and stared intently at him. "You're awfully quiet for someone who insisted on a getting-to-know-you dinner."
"What would you like to talk about?"
Harper shrugged. "I don't know. What do you do for fun?"
"There isn't much room in my agenda for fun."
"There must be something. You can't spend all day, every day, diffusing international incidents and brooding."
She pulled her expression taught, mimicking the stone cold look Zaid often slipped into.
"I assure you, I do not spend all my time brooding," Zaid said. "I take pleasure in many things."
"Name one."
Zaid sipped his wine. "This is nice."
Harper reached across the table and confiscated his wine glass. She swirled the liquid, a full-bodied red, then inhaled the aroma. "That is nice." She took a sip. "Gigondas?"
"I was talking more about the company than the wine, but impressive, nonetheless."
She passed the wine back to him. "One of the few traits I inherited from my mother."
"She was fond of fine wine?"
"She was fond of any wine," Harper said. "Though hers usually came in a box."
Harper stared at her empty plate, the silence now more palatable than conversation.
"I've never heard you talk about your mother," Zaid said.
"There isn't much to say. She died when I was sixteen. She had been sick for a long time."
It wasn't a lie. Not in the strictest sense. Her alcoholism had been as much an illness as any physical malady. It held the same power over her, kept her from being a mother, sapped her health until her body could no longer keep her alive.
It wasn't her mother's fault. Harper had spent years trying to convince herself of this, to absolve herself of the anger and resentment that coated the few kind memories she had left. She feared that if she didn't, she would succumb to her ire, let it reside in her, leave her as emotionally maladroit as her mother had been.
She refused to put her child through that.
Zaid placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her. She hadn't realized he was standing behind her.
"Shall we?"
She took his hand and let him guide her out of the dining room, down the long hallway toward her suite. He slipped an arm around her waist and she melted into him before she could think better of it.
She hated how his touch made her feel, made her want to feel. For years, she'd been in control of her own body, taken care of her own needs. She had taken pride in the fact that she'd bared herself to no one, been vulnerable to no one. She had found comfort in it, let it fill her with power.
And then she had slipped, let the walls that made up her self-imposed isolation to fall away and allowed someone unworthy inside.
A mistake she would never let happen again.
"You don't have to escort me to my room," she said. "I can find my way."
"No doubt you can. But our night isn't over yet."
She stopped, her expression firm as her eyes met his. "I'm not going to sleep with you."
"Who said anything about sleeping together?"
"You were thinking it."
"I think many things, rohi." Zaid tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then traced the line of her jaw, allowing his touch to linger. "And I am not the only one."
Her body craved him, his touch, the feeling of his mouth on hers. More than it had ever craved anything. More than it craved oxygen, life itself.
"I'm pregnant," she said. "My body is a high on a cocktail of hormones. It means nothing."
"Of course." Zaid ran his thumb along her bottom lip, his eyes dark, filled with the same desire that burned in her. "It's a completely natural, normal reaction."
Her mouth fell open, and she had to summon all of her strength not to take his thumb into her mouth and taste him.
"Forever is a long time to go without the touch of another."
"Then you'll take a mistress," she said. "Besides, you'll probably want children of your own eventually. Someone to carry on your legacy. An heir of your own."
"I don't want a mistress."
"What do you want?"
Zaid's gaze fell to the swell of her breasts. "You really have to ask that, rohi?"
She shook her head. "We can't do this."
"Why not?"
"It's not a good idea."
"It's not a bad one," Zaid said. "We are soon to be married. And we're attracted to each other."
"Hardly a solid foundation for a physical relationship."
"Securing an heir for a fledgling monarchy isn't the most sound foundation for a marriage, and yet, here we are."
Harper didn't say anything. She wanted to indulge in Zaid, to taste him, feel him, wrap her body around his and work them together until they both cried out in pleasure and exhaustion.
But the sensible part of her brain knew better. Knew that indulging in Zaid would only make things more complicated.
And things were complicated enough already.
"It's too risky," Harper said.
"You worry an awful lot about risk."
"I worry a lot about everything. It's one of the side effects of having truly horrible luck."
"I don't believe in luck. I believe in opportunity, in taking what you've been given, no matter how small or insignificant, and growing it into something more."
She couldn't handle more. Already the tension threatened to pull her apart, particle by particle, until there was nothing left.
Zaid led her to her apartment, his hand lingering on the small of her back. And she let him, absorbing his warmth, the feel of him.
Biological urge or not, she wanted him. More than she dared admit. So much it terrified her.
They paused at large, wooden door, turning to each other, searching each other out.
Harper pulled away first, crossing the threshold of her suite and blocking the entrance. "Thank you for dinner."
"It was my pleasure." Zaid brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her lightly. "Let me know if you need anything."
She backed away, out of reach, then closed and locked the door before she could change her mind.