THEY stared at each other for a long, frozen moment before Khaled jerked his head away.
‘Leave me…’ he gritted, his teeth clenched, sweat pearling on his forehead. Lucy ignored his plea, dropping to her knees in front of him.
‘Is it your knee?’
‘Of course it is,’ he retorted. Both white-knuckled hands were curled protectively around his leg. ‘It’s just acting up. Leave me. There’s nothing you can do.’
‘Khaled—’
‘There’s nothing I want you to do,’ Khaled cut her off. Lucy looked up at him, and saw misery and fury battling in his eyes. ‘Go.’
‘You must have painkillers,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘Let me get them for you.’
Khaled was silent, and Lucy felt the struggle within him, although she didn’t fully understand it. Finally he jerked a shoulder towards the bedside table, and Lucy went quickly to rummage through it. When she found the small brown bottle, she experienced a jolt of alarmed surprise: it contained a powerful narcotic. A prescription for a powerful narcotic.
Wordlessly she checked the dosage label, and shook two pills out into her hand. She fetched a glass of water from the en suite bathroom and handed both to Khaled, who took them silently.
A few moments ticked by in taut silence and then Khaled eased back onto the bed, his hands braced behind him. ‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. ‘You can go now.’
‘The narcotic doesn’t take effect that quickly.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I can’t leave you in such a vulnerable state,’ Lucy replied. ‘As a medical professional—’
‘Oh, give it a rest,’ Khaled snapped. ‘You don’t think I know what I’m doing? You don’t think I’ve been dealing with this for four years?’ He glared up at her, his eyes flashing fury. Lucy took a step back.
‘Khaled—’
‘Go.’ It came out as a roar of anguish, a plea, and Lucy almost, almost went. But she couldn’t leave him like this, couldn’t walk away from the pain in his eyes and the unanswered questions in hers.
So she sat across from him on a low, cushioned stool and waited.
After a long moment Khaled let out a ragged laugh. ‘I dreamed of seeing you again, but not like this. Never like this.’
Shock rippled through her, cold and yet thrilling. ‘You dreamed of seeing me again?’ she repeated, the scepticism in her voice obvious to both of them.
‘Yes.’ Khaled spoke simply, starkly, before he shook his head. ‘But I don’t want you here now, Lucy. Not like this. So go.’
‘No.’
He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘You know I can’t make you go.’
‘No.’
‘But I would if I could.’
‘I gathered that.’ She paused, sifting the memories and recollections in her mind. ‘Has your knee been bothering you the whole time we’ve been here?’
‘It’s just a flare up,’ he said flatly, but Lucy thought she understood why he’d looked so grim. He’d been in pain.
Another few moments passed; the only sound was Khaled’s ragged breathing. Finally he pushed himself off the bed and limped stiffly to a table by the window, where Lucy saw a decanter of whiskey and a couple of tumblers.
‘You shouldn’t drink that on top of a narcotic,’ she said as Khaled poured himself a finger of scotch. He smiled grimly as he tossed it back and poured another.
‘I have a strong stomach.’
Lucy watched him quietly for a moment. ‘Everyone was told your injury wasn’t too serious,’ she finally said. ‘Yet obviously it is if you’re still suffering.’
Khaled shook his head, the movement effectively silencing her. ‘I told you, this was nothing more than a flare up.’
‘How long do they last?’
He turned to face her, a smile twisting his features. ‘You’re not my doctor, Lucy.’
‘Are you having some form of physiotherapy?’ she pressed, and he poured some more whiskey.
‘Yesterday you said you wanted to talk to me. Now seems like a good opportunity.’
‘Why, Khaled?’ Lucy asked softly. ‘Why did no one know the truth?’
‘Why,’ he repeated, swinging round to face her, ‘don’t you tell me what I supposedly need to know and then get out?’ He took a deep swallow of his drink. ‘I’d like to be alone.’
Lucy hesitated. This wasn’t exactly the way she’d wanted to have this conversation, yet she recognised that there might not be another opportunity. She drew a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Fine. Khaled…when you left England four years ago I was pregnant.’ She saw a current of some deep, fathomless emotion flicker in Khaled’s eyes before he stilled, became expressionless. Dangerous.
There was no way she knew of to make this information more palatable, less surprising, so she ploughed on. ‘You have a child, Khaled. A son.’
The silence ticked by for a full, taut minute. Khaled just stared at her, a blank, unnerving stare that made Lucy want to explain, apologise, but she did neither. She just waited.
‘A son,’ he finally repeated, his voice still so terribly neutral. ‘And you did not seek to apprise me of this fact until now?’
‘Actually, I did.’ Lucy kept her voice even. Now that she’d told him, now that he knew, she felt calm, composed. In control. All the things she’d wanted to be all along—all the things she’d wanted to be four years ago. ‘I didn’t realise I was pregnant until after you left,’ she continued. ‘And, when I did, I tried to get in touch with you. Your mobile number had been disconnected—’
‘That’s all?’ Khaled bit out. ‘One attempted phone call?’
‘Not quite,’ Lucy returned coolly. ‘I sent an e-mail to you in Biryal. I got the address off the government website—’
‘You sent an e-mail to a generic government e-mail address and expected me to get it?’ Khaled interjected, raking a hand through his still sweat-dampened hair. ‘With the kind of information it contained, it was undoubtedly dismissed as a tabloid’s ploy or the ravings of a scorned mistress.’
‘And isn’t that what I was?’ Lucy flashed, her own temper rising to meet his. ‘Except I didn’t happen to be raving.’
They glared at each other for a long moment and then with a sudden, ragged sigh Khaled turned away. ‘What’s his name?’ The question surprised Lucy, softened her.
‘Sam.’
‘Sam,’ he repeated, and there was a note of wonder in his voice that made him seem somehow vulnerable, and made Lucy ache.
‘He’s three years old,’ she continued quietly. ‘He had his birthday four months ago.’
Khaled nodded slowly, his eyes on a distant horizon. From downstairs there came a sudden burst of raucous laughter that felt like an intrusion in the sudden cocoon of warmth Sam’s name had created.
Khaled straightened. ‘I’ll have to have a DNA test done.’
Lucy blinked. It was no more than she expected, but still it hurt. ‘Fine.’ She drew a breath. ‘Khaled, I didn’t tell you about Sam because I wanted something from you. You don’t need to worry—’ She broke off because Khaled was staring at her in what could only be disbelief, his eyes narrowed, his mouth no more than a thin line.
‘Worry?’ he repeated softly, and Lucy shrugged, the movement defensive.
‘Worry that I came here asking for money or something. Sam and I are fine. We don’t need—’
‘Me?’ he finished, and Lucy felt a chill of apprehension. This wasn’t what she’d expected, what she’d wanted.
‘We’re fine,’ she repeated firmly, and Khaled shook his head.
‘Every boy—every child—needs his father.’
‘Plenty of children are raised without one.’ Like she had been. Children didn’t need fathers—not ones who walked away, at any rate. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and met his gaze. She saw sparks firing the golden depths of his eyes.
‘Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want me in my son’s life?’
His words were almost a sneer, a condemnation and a judgement. Lucy threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She was ready to fight. God only knew, after four years of living with so many unanswered questions, the broken pieces of a shattered existence—not to mention of her heart—she was ready. ‘Yes, I am saying that. You haven’t exactly proven yourself reliable, Khaled. The last thing I want is for Sam to come to know you, love you, and then for you to do another disappearing act.’
The skin around Khaled’s mouth had turned white, his eyes narrowed almost to slits. ‘You are insulting me,’ he said in a dangerously quiet voice.
‘Is it an insult?’ Lucy arched one eyebrow. ‘I rather thought I was telling the truth.’
Khaled muttered a curse under his breath, then stalked back to the table by the window to pour himself another drink.
‘I think you’ve had enough, considering you’re on medication.’
‘I haven’t even begun,’ Khaled snarled, his back to her. ‘And I don’t need any advice from you.’
‘Fine.’ Lucy’s heart thudded but she kept her voice cool. Still her fingers curled inwards, her nails biting into her slick palms.
What did Khaled want?
His back and shoulders were taut with tension and fury as he tossed back another finger’s worth of whiskey. Lucy was suddenly conscious of how tired she was; her mind spun with fatigue, every muscle aching with it.
‘Why don’t we continue this conversation tomorrow?’ she said carefully. ‘I don’t leave until noon. I think we’d both be in a better frame of mind to consider what’s best for Sam.’
‘Fine.’ His back still to her, Khaled waved one hand in dismissal. ‘We can have breakfast tomorrow. A servant will fetch you from your room at eight.’
‘All right,’ Lucy agreed. She waited, but Khaled did not turn round. ‘Till tomorrow, then.’ She walked towards the door, only to be stopped with her hand on the knob by Khaled’s soft warning.
‘And, Lucy…’ He turned round, his eyes glittering. ‘We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.’
The door clicked softly shut and Khaled raised his glass to his lips before he thrust it aside completely with a muttered oath. It clattered on the table and, pushing a hand through his hair, he flung open the doors that led to a private balcony.
Outside he took in several lungfuls of air and let it soothe the throbbing in his temples, the still-insistent ache in his knee. He hadn’t had a flare up like the one tonight in months, years…and Lucy had seen it. Seen him, weak, prone, pathetic.
He’d never wanted that. He’d never wanted anyone—especially her—to know. Hadn’t wanted the pity, the compassion that was really condemnation. He didn’t want to become a burden, as his mother had, to her own shame and sorrow.
It was why he’d left, why he’d taken the decision out of Lucy’s hands. It was the only form of control he’d had.
Yet now he realised he would have to put that control aside. Things would have to change. He would have to change. Because of Sam.
Sam…
The air was sultry and damp; a storm was coming. He felt as if one had blown through here, through his room, his life, his heart.
Sam. He had a son. A child; flesh of his own flesh. A family at last. It was an incredible thought, both humbling and empowering.
A three-year-old son who didn’t even know of his existence. Khaled frowned, guilt, hurt and anger all warring within him. He wanted to blame Lucy, to accuse her of deceiving him, of not trying hard enough to find him, but he knew that would be unfair. He had not wanted to be found.
He had pushed her out of his mind, his heart, his whole existence, and thought things would stay that way. He’d made peace with it, after a fashion. He’d certainly never planned on seeing her again.
Loving her again.
For a moment, Khaled allowed himself to savour how she’d looked—kneeling before him, the sweep of her glossy hair, her slender, capable hands that had once afforded him so much pleasure. He remembered the way that satin dress had clung to her curves, pooled on the floor, and even in the red haze of pain he had a sharp stab of desire.
Desire he wouldn’t—couldn’t—act upon. Yet neither could he deny that Lucy was in his life once more, and now he would not let her leave it. He wouldn’t leave, because things were different.
Sam had changed everything.
Exhausted, Lucy entered her bedroom and peeled off her evening gown, leaving it in a puddle of satin on the floor. She knew she should hang it up, keep it from creasing, but she couldn’t be bothered. Her mind and body cried out for sleep, for the release of unconsciousness.
For forgetfulness…for a time. A few hours; that was all the respite she’d been given.
And then tomorrow the reckoning would come.
What did Khaled want?
Just the question sent her heart rate spiralling upwards, her breath leaking from her lungs. She hadn’t anticipated him wanting anything. She’d planned, hoped, believed that after today she would walk away, free.
Yet now she realised she might have entangled herself in Khaled’s snare more firmly than she had before. Now perhaps Sam was entangled too.
What did Khaled want?
And had she been so naïve—stupid, really—to think he wouldn’t want anything?
That he wouldn’t want his son?
But he didn’t want me.
She slipped under the covers and pressed her face into the pillow, trying to stop the hot rush of tears that threatened to spill from behind her lids.
She didn’t want to cry now. She didn’t want to feel like crying now.
Yet she did feel like it; she craved the release. She wanted to cry out in fear for herself and for Sam, and in misery for all she’d felt for Khaled once and knew she could not feel again.
And, surprisingly, she felt sad for Khaled. What was he hiding? Lucy couldn’t tell what kind of injury had him in its terrible thrall, but it was serious. More serious than she could treat as a physiotherapist. It was the kind of injury, she suspected, that could keep him from playing rugby ever again…no matter what Eric had said.
Had he left England because his rugby career was finished? And why would that have meant they were finished? The only answer, even now, was that she simply hadn’t meant enough to him. Not like he’d meant to her.
Her mind still spinning with too many questions and doubts, her heart aching like a sore tooth with sudden, jagged, lightning streaks of pain, she finally fell into a restless and uneasy sleep.
Lucy hadn’t even risen from bed when she heard a perfunctory knock on her bedroom door the next morning. With a jolt she realised it was already eight o’clock, and Khaled’s servant had come to fetch her.
‘Just a moment,’ she called out, throwing off the sheets and reaching hurriedly for clothes. Unshowered, groggy from sleep, she knew she’d be at a disadvantage for her breakfast with Khaled.
Calling out an apology, she quickly splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and indulged herself in a touch of make-up.
She didn’t need any disadvantages now.
Opening her door, she saw Yusef, the palace staff member from the stadium yesterday.
‘Good morning, Miss Banks,’ he said smoothly. ‘Prince Khaled is waiting.’
Wordlessly Lucy followed him down the corridor, and then another, and yet one more, until she was hopelessly lost. Finally Yusef brought her through a pair of double doors to a wide, private terrace overlooking the gardens she’d glimpsed by moonlight two nights before.
Khaled stood as she approached. He was, she noticed a bit sourly, dressed in a crisp, white shirt and immaculately ironed chinos, his hair still damp from a shower. He looked fresh and clean, the picture of good health, his skin a dark golden-brown, his teeth flashing white.
Lucy’s heart gave an unexpected lurch at the sight of him. When he smiled, he reminded her of the man she’d known, the man she used to love. The rugby star, the player.
The man who had broken her heart.
There was, she thought, no sign of the pain-wracked sufferer she’d seen last night. Even Khaled’s limp was virtually unnoticeable as he walked round the table to pull out her chair.
‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, and Lucy grimaced.
‘Not particularly.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Khaled moved back to his own chair and picked up a porcelain coffee-pot stamped with the Biryali royal emblem. ‘Coffee?’
Yusef, she realised, had quietly, discreetly disappeared. They were alone.
‘Please.’
Khaled poured the coffee, and before she could ask he handed her cream. ‘I remember how you like it.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy murmured, flushing. She poured a generous amount of cream while Khaled watched with a faint smile.
‘Do you still take half a teaspoon of sugar?’
‘No,’ she said, somewhat defiantly, even though she did. She didn’t want him to be like this: confident, charming, urbane. In control. The way he’d been four years ago, when he’d reeled her in and she’d fallen so hard.
Almost savagely she thought she preferred the pain-ridden man she’d encountered last night. He’d been vulnerable; he’d needed her. This man didn’t. This man expected her to need him.
Khaled just smiled and took a sip of his coffee, which Lucy saw he still drank black. She stirred the cream into her own coffee as she gazed out over the terraced gardens. Compared to the rest of the island with its craggy rocks and seemingly endless scrub, the gardens were luxuriously verdant, thick green foliage and bright bougainvillea tumbling over the landscaped ledges. Lucy could hear the bright tinkling of a nearby fountain, although she couldn’t see it.
As if reading her thoughts, Khaled said, ‘There are many hidden delights in the palace gardens. I will give you a personal tour.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy replied, her voice scrupulously polite. ‘I won’t have time.’
Khaled merely smiled, arching one eyebrow in such blatant scepticism that Lucy’s heart lurched again, unpleasantly, and she set her cup back in its saucer with a clatter.
‘What do you want, Khaled?’ It was the question that had been tormenting her since last evening, when she’d realised with a growing dread that Khaled wasn’t going to go his own way, or let her and Sam go theirs, as she’d so naïvely, stupidly, anticipated.
Khaled took a sip of coffee. ‘That is an interesting question,’ he mused. ‘And one I will be glad to answer. But first…’ He set his cup down and gave her a long, level look. ‘I’d like to know what you want.’
‘Very well.’ Lucy licked her lips and took a breath. ‘I want to return to England this afternoon. I want to get back to my son, and my life as it’s been, with nothing changed. And I want to forget we’ve ever even had a conversation.’
As she said the words, Lucy realised how harsh they sounded, as well as how much she meant them. And, gazing at Khaled, who had not spoken or even changed expression, she realised how unlikely it was for anything she wanted to come to pass. ‘You asked,’ she said with a shrug, and took a sip of coffee.
‘So I did.’ Khaled rubbed his jaw with one long-fingered hand, his expression fixed on the distant mountains. Somewhere in the garden a bird shrieked, and then Lucy heard the rustle of wings as it took flight. ‘These things you want,’ Khaled finally said, his voice mild, ‘necessitate the absence of my presence in my son’s life.’
Lucy swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘Does that seem fair to you?’ He sounded genuinely curious. Lucy swallowed again.
‘It’s not about what’s fair, it’s what’s best for Sam.’
‘And you think it’s best for Sam not to know his father? His father who wishes to know him, love him?’
Lucy felt the fear and fury rise within her like a great dormant beast, though even now it was tinted with a fledgling, uncertain hope. His father who wishes to know him, love him. She’d never had that. Sam had never had that. Yet the thought of Khaled in that role was impossible, frightening. Dangerous. She glared challengingly at him. ‘And is that what you think you are? What you want?’
‘Yes.’ The single word was so sincere, so heartfelt, that it left Lucy temporarily speechless. She believed him, accepted that single word, and it left her blindsided.
She lowered her gaze to the table and focussed on the intricate scrollwork on her sterling-silver fork. Even so, her eyes filled and her vision blurred. She blinked back the treacherous tears. ‘I find that hard to believe,’ she said in a low voice, even though that wasn’t quite what she meant. She found it hard to trust—trust that he wouldn’t let Sam down, that he wouldn’t let her down. Again.
Khaled was silent; it felt as if the whole world was silent, except for that faint, musical tinkling of the distant fountain.
‘You have a very low opinion of me,’ he finally said, his voice as low as hers. ‘To say such a thing and, worse, to believe it.’
Lucy’s heart twisted. She didn’t want to feel guilty, and so she wouldn’t. ‘And why shouldn’t I have a low opinion of you?’ she asked. She looked up, met Khaled’s hard gaze. ‘You left, Khaled. You left me without a word or an explanation, without even the briefest of goodbyes. Why shouldn’t I think you would do that to Sam?’
Khaled’s fingers clenched around the handle of his coffee cup, and Lucy saw his knuckles turn white. ‘Are you going to judge me on the basis of that one action, Lucy?’ he asked. ‘One decision?’
Lucy gave a short, abrupt laugh of disbelief. ‘You speak as though it was one misstep, Khaled. A mistake, or a little slip. That one decision defined everything. It defined you to me, and what you thought of me. Of our relationship.’
Khaled stilled, his fingers loosened. ‘And what did I think of you?’
She shook her head. Now that they’d begun, she felt compelled to tell the truth. She was past blushing or tears, humiliation or hurt—for the moment, at least. ‘I shouldn’t even say we had a relationship, because we obviously didn’t. We had an affair. Torrid. Tawdry. And it wasn’t worth enough for you to even let me know you were leaving the country. For good.’
Khaled rotated his cup between his long, brown fingers, and Lucy stared, strangely mesmerised by the simple action. His fingers were so familiar to her—they’d touched her, caressed her—and yet they were so strange. He was a stranger, and she wondered if he always had been.
‘I realise I hurt you,’ he murmured. ‘But that is past us now, Lucy. For our son’s sake, it has to be.’
It wasn’t an apology, not even close. Even now he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t say sorry. ‘That’s not true, Khaled. I agree I may have to put my own feelings aside, but your past behaviour has given me no reason to trust you with Sam.’
She spoke flatly, her expression and voice both bleak, and yet it was as if she’d brandished a knife. The tension that suddenly stilled the air could have been cut. With chilling precision, Khaled set his cup back down on its saucer; when he spoke his voice was just as cold as that careful action.
‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘you do not have the luxury of such feelings. And this decision, Lucy, is not yours alone to make.’
His words trickled icily into her consciousness, realisation pooling with dread in her stomach.
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I’m stating facts. If the DNA test reveals what I believe it shall, Sam is as much my son as yours, and I have as much right to his time and attention as you do. And,’ Khaled continued, his voice soft, chilling, ‘I think you’ll find I have far more resources than you do to see I am granted custody of my own child.’
Lucy’s vision swam. She tasted bile in her throat, on her tongue, and forced it down. She blinked, tried to focus, to think, but all she could hear or feel was Khaled’s threat echoing sickly through her head and heart.
Resources. Custody. He was talking about legal action.
Lucy rose unsteadily to her feet. With a few shaky steps she made it to the balcony, her fingers curling around the railing as she took several deep breaths of fragrant air.
If Prince Khaled el Farrar of Biryal went against her in a custody battle, Lucy was sure she’d lose. At best, she’d gain partial custody, or perhaps only visiting rights.
She choked back a gasp of horror, of terror, and heard Khaled rise from the table behind her. She felt his hand solid and firm on her shoulder and managed to choke out, ‘Don’t touch me.’
After a moment, he removed his hand; her shoulder burned. ‘Lucy,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t want to threaten you. I don’t know what kind of man you think I am—’ He broke off, sighing wearily. ‘No, I do know, and it seems it is a virtual monster—unfeeling, cruel.’
‘You aren’t giving me many reasons to believe otherwise,’ Lucy retorted.
‘And what recourse have you given me?’ he countered. ‘You came to Biryal, it seems, with the specific purpose of finding me, telling me about our child. Yet now you act as if I have hunted you down and forced the information from you! Why did you tell me, if you didn’t want anything from me? You could have kept the information to yourself.’ His voice rang with bitterness. ‘You’ve managed to do that for nearly four years.’
‘I didn’t think you’d want him!’ The words were ripped from her lungs, her heart. She felt tears crowd her eyes again and dashed them away angrily. ‘Why should I think you would? You walked away from me quickly enough.’
‘Sam is my child.’
‘As opposed to just your lover.’ She nodded with a mechanical jerking of her head. ‘Yes, I understand. Clearly I rated myself too highly.’
‘If you thought you could tell me I had a child and expect no repercussions at all, then you were naïve,’ Khaled told her brusquely. ‘A fool.’
‘Yes, I realise that now,’ Lucy replied dully. She felt weary, all the fight gone out of her, leaving her with nothing but an aching, accepting despair. ‘I was always a fool when it came to you,’ she added with a bleak, humourless smile. She moved back to the table and sat down. She took a sip of coffee. It was cold.
Khaled leaned against the balcony, watching her with cool speculation. Lucy put her coffee cup down and forced herself to continue. ‘I don’t have much experience of fathers,’ she said, her voice flat and unemotional even though her heart was twisting painfully. ‘My own divorced my mother when I was six, and the last time I saw him was when I was nine.’ She had a sudden vision of his quick, easy smile, his promise that he’d see her soon—and then the waiting. So much waiting, followed by a deep, echoing despair when he hadn’t come.
She pushed the memory away, managing a watery smile as she looked up at Khaled; his expression did not change. ‘If I indulge myself in a bit of pop psychology, I suppose I could say I thought you’d be just like him. He left my mother without a backward glance, and he had no interest or time for me either.’
Khaled was silent for a long moment, and Lucy looked away. ‘I’m sorry for that,’ he finally said. ‘But I am not your father, and I have no intention of walking away from Sam now that I know about him. I will be in his life, Lucy, and, the more we can work together to love and support him, the happier I believe we will all be.’
Lucy nodded; her heart still felt leaden. She supposed she should be grateful for Khaled’s reasoned response. Despite the way he’d treated her, she believed now that he wouldn’t let Sam down. She had no choice. And despite his earlier veiled threats she didn’t think he’d try to take Sam away from her completely. Still, it was too hard, too new, too much. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t wanted it, even if that made her a blind fool.
‘Let’s eat,’ Khaled said, his voice almost brusque. ‘You look too thin.’
Lucy smiled wryly. ‘Life with a busy three-year-old makes it easy to skip meals sometimes.’
‘You must take care of yourself. How can you take care of Sam otherwise?’
Lucy did not respond, yet silently she wondered if she could now expect more of these imperious commands. This was Khaled the prince, the future king, not the feckless rugby star.
Yusef must have been waiting for some kind of summons, for it only took a single flick of Khaled’s wrist for him to wheel in a silver domed trolley. Lucy watched as he placed several dishes on the table: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, stewed tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms.
‘I forgot how much you liked the full fry-up,’ she said, and just the words caused a shaft of memory to pierce her: scrambling eggs in Khaled’s kitchen, barefoot, dressed only in his rugby jersey, laughing as she teased him that he never used his expensive pots and pans.
Did Khaled remember? Was that memory as precious to him as it was to her?
Watching as he served them both eggs—his face impersonal, blank—she knew it was not. He probably didn’t even remember it at all. The weeks they’d had together were as incidental and unimportant as the other days, weeks or months he’d had with no doubt dozens of other women. The only difference was that their weeks together had resulted in a child: Sam.
They ate in silence for a few moments, and Lucy found her appetite had returned as she dug into her eggs and bacon. Yet questions still crowded her mind, worked their way up her throat.
What now? What next?
She knew what Khaled wanted, but what did he expect? Yusef had cleared their plates and brought fresh coffee when Khaled told her.
‘I’ve made arrangements for us to fly back to England together, on the Biryali royal jet.’
Lucy’s mouth dropped open. ‘But—’
‘We leave tomorrow. We can have the DNA test done, and then I’d like to spend a few days with Sam in London, in his familiar surroundings. When he is comfortable and used to me, I’ll bring him back to Biryal.’
Lucy was still struggling for words. ‘Biryal? You want to bring him here?’
Khaled raised his eyebrows and took a sip of coffee. ‘This is my home, and therefore it must also be his home for at least part of the year.’
‘But…’ She shook her head, realising sickly that she should have anticipated this. What had she expected—that Khaled would come to London for weekend visits or take Sam to the zoo and the seaside once every few months? Had she actually thought it could be so simple? ‘Biryal is so…’She couldn’t imagine Sam here, in this rugged and unforgiving land, in this palace.
Terror struck Lucy’s soul as she realised the implications of that word, of who Khaled was: palace. Prince.
Prince Sam.
Khaled watched her carefully, and for a moment Lucy thought she saw compassion flicker in the golden depths of his eyes. ‘Sam is my heir, Lucy,’ he said. ‘One day he will be king.’
‘But—but he’s illegitimate,’ she protested, trying to sound reasonable. To feel reasonable. ‘If you marry—have other children—’
He shook his head. ‘It is Biryali tradition that a king may choose which son he wishes to succeed him, legitimate or otherwise. As long as there is a son, it doesn’t matter which.’
‘But you may have other sons,’ Lucy insisted, even though the thought of Khaled with a wife or other children was unpleasant to contemplate. But it was better than considering the massive life changes that would lie in store for Sam…and her.
‘There won’t be other children,’ Khaled told her flatly. ‘And, in any case, I choose Sam.’
Fear clutched at her and she shook her head frantically. ‘But I don’t want Sam to be king!’
‘One day he will be,’ Khaled replied steadily. ‘It is his legacy, his destiny, as it is mine.’
Lucy pressed her palms to her eyes, blotting out the world and its horrible reality for a few merciful seconds. Why hadn’t she considered this? Why hadn’t she thought more carefully about the Pandora’s box she’d be opening when she told Khaled about Sam?
Because, she realised with sudden, stark clarity, you wanted him to know. You wanted to see him again.
And she wanted Sam to have a father, unlike her.
Had she expected this, secretly hoped for this, when she’d decided to tell Khaled? The heart was deceitful, yet it shamed her to think she’d been so willfully blind to her own secret desires. She’d convinced herself that coming to Biryal, telling Khaled about Sam, was right. Her duty.
Yet now she wondered if she’d just done it for her own selfish reasons—because she’d still wanted to see Khaled. To be with him.
And who would suffer because of it? They all would, she supposed bleakly, and perhaps Sam most of all.