Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STANDINGBESIDEHIM and not speaking was a form of agony, so too their obvious desire to avoid touching. The horse race was well attended, reminding her of news footage she’d seen of Ascot or Australia’s Melbourne Cup, well-dressed men and women piling into the racecourse, prepared for a day of fun and adventure.
In other circumstances, India might have enjoyed the day, but the argument she’d had with Khalil—several days ago now—was still festering in the back of her mind. She’d tried to make her peace with what had happened, but the more she thought about it, the angrier she became, the more hurt.
That he would trust someone like Ethan Graves over her!
Hearing him speak about the other man’s conduct, she could perfectly understand why Khalil had wanted to hurt him, but to allow her to become collateral damage?
‘After the morning’s events, I will have to leave you for a time. It’s tradition for me to ride a lap of the course.’
She nodded without looking at him. One of the servants who’d helped her dress for today had already explained the procedure. ‘Fine.’ She didn’t look at him.
‘India,’ he sighed. ‘This has to stop.’
She compressed her lips.
‘The doctor said you are not supposed to be upset.’
She fidgeted her fingers at her sides. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You have not been fine for days.’
It was true. They’d seen each other multiple times and she’d barely spoken to him. She wasn’t trying to prolong their argument, only she had no idea what to say. Her heart was in tatters, her mind furious. She hadn’t realised how desperately she’d been clinging to the idea that their first night together had been about something else, something completely separate from all of this.
She’d been wrong.
She’d been a pawn to him, a dispensable, worthless tool to inflict pain on a man who didn’t even deserve his consideration.
It was impossible to forgive.
‘Do you blame me?’ she asked, looking up at him finally.
He swallowed hard. ‘No.’ Surprise stirred in her eyes. ‘I don’t blame you at all, India.’
She looked away quickly, emotions rioting. They were just words, but they moved through her in a way that was terrifying, so she needed to remember why she was so angry with him, why this was all such a disaster.
His fingers curled around her cheek, turning her to face him. ‘We can leave.’
‘We can’t leave,’ she demurred. ‘We are in a royal box with cameras trained on us. You have to ride your lap of honour or whatever. We’re stuck.’ And she didn’t just mean here, at this fancy horse race. They were stuck in every sense of the word, trapped by one night, for the rest of their lives.
He shook his head. ‘We can leave.’
She didn’t respond this time. Aware of the cameras, she lifted her hand to his, removing it from her cheek. To the outside world, it was a moment of shared affection, but for India, she simply needed him to stop touching her. She felt too much, even then, swaying towards him as though there were an inevitability to their being together, when that wasn’t—couldn’t be—true.
‘And then what, Khalil?’ She let the words fall between them, rock boulders into choppy water. ‘Tomorrow there’ll be another event, and another the day after that. This is my life now.’ She swallowed hard, but a lump in her throat made it almost impossible to breathe. ‘There’s no sense trying to run away from it.’
He wanted to ride his horse as he did in the desert. He wanted to lean low to the stallion’s mane and whisper words of urgency, to kick his side three times, fast, so that the beast took flight, carrying him as though he would make for the horizon at any moment. He wanted to ride far away from here, and this. But not all of this. His eyes sought her without his permission, landing on the royal box and scanning the seats until he found her. She was still standing, as they’d been together, her eyes trained on him. Even at this distance, he could feel her tension, her stress and strain.
There’s no sense trying to run away from it.
He turned the corner, so his back was to her now, and he resisted—just—a desire to cast a glance over his shoulder.
She was right. They couldn’t run away. Though the desert beckoned him, there were no answers there. It was no longer an escape path for him. Khalil’s place was here, with her. They were having children together, and she had agreed to marry him. In a matter of months, he would be crowned Sheikh of Khatrain and all the responsibilities of ruling this great country would fall to him.
They would live together as man and wife and they would need to forge a path that didn’t involve so much recrimination.
He couldn’t hurt her again.
He sat up straighter, the clarity almost blinding. He hated himself for what he’d done to her. More clarity. He didn’t want her to feel as she did now. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted a fresh start.
Everything exploded inside him at once, so now, with renewed purpose, he did speed his horse up, dismounting as soon as he’d finished the lap. He lifted one arm into the air in a gesture of acknowledgement; the crowd roared their applause. He barely heard it. He took the steps two at a time, pushing past his security into the private enclosure, taking the next staircase until he reached the royal box.
It was empty.
‘Are you better?’
He stormed into her room without so much as knocking, but India had expected that. She turned to face him slowly, her face pale.
‘India?’ His voice was tortured. ‘Are you okay? Is it the babies?’
A sense of guilt formed in her gut. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he’d be genuinely concerned, nor that he’d think the note she’d left pleading ‘a headache’ might indicate anything more severe.
‘I’m fine,’ she said with a shake of her head.
‘“Fine” again?’ he demanded, crossing to her and pressing his palm to her forehead. She pulled away, but he put a hand on her hip, holding her close. ‘What is it? Do you need the doctor?’
She shook her head. ‘It was just a headache. From the heat, I think. I feel better now. I’ve had some water and rested a little.’
His eyes scanned her face with care. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She swallowed, looking away from him. ‘You shouldn’t have come back early. I didn’t mean to spoil your fun.’
‘I wanted to check on you,’ he explained slowly, as if lost in thought.
‘It wasn’t necessary.’
He sighed with exasperation. ‘Actually, it is perfectly necessary. We need to talk.’
Her eyes swept shut on a wave of dread. ‘What about?’
‘This marriage.’
She felt as though she were approaching a precipice with no idea if she were to be thrown off it or not. ‘What about it?’
‘This won’t work.’
Her heart stammered almost to a stop.
‘I don’t want to see you like this. I don’t want to make you miserable. You don’t deserve this.’
Her eyes flared wide. ‘Are you...saying...you don’t want to get married?’
He stared at her, silent, shocked. ‘No,’ he said, firmly. ‘I don’t mean that.’
She frowned. ‘So, what?’
‘The fact that you’re pregnant means we must marry. There’s no other way. I can’t order the twins into the line of succession if they’re born out of marriage. We’ve discussed that.’
‘Then I don’t understand what you’re saying now.’
‘I want this marriage to work. More than that, I don’t want to fight with you. It has to stop. Neither of us can live like this.’
Her heart stammered, because he was right, but it was still so clear that he thought the worst of her. Even after all that she’d said to him, pleading with him to accept her version of events, he still didn’t. And he never would.
‘I want us to start over. I want us to focus on the good between us—the babies we are to raise—and nothing else. I want us to remember that there is chemistry here and that we can make whatever future we want for ourselves. But most of all, I don’t want to see you sad and miserable and to know that I am the cause of that.’
His words, on some level, were important—she needed to hear them. But at the same time, they were just a further reminder of how false all this was.
‘I want you to be happy.’
Her smile was weak. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘Damn it, it’s not kind. I have been the exact opposite of kind, please don’t say otherwise. But I do want to fix this, India, and I have every intention of succeeding.’
Her stomach squeezed. ‘Why?’
Silence fell, thudding around them, and finally, he spoke. ‘Our children deserve that we at least try, don’t they?’
‘But how do we do that? After everything that’s gone between us?’
‘Have dinner with me tonight.’
‘We have an event.’
‘We’ll skip it. It doesn’t matter. This is more important.’
Something fluttered in her chest. But hope refused to settle. ‘I don’t think a dinner is going to solve this.’ Whatever good he claimed lay between them, there was bad, too, and it stretched unendingly.
‘Isn’t it worth, at least, the attempt?’
Her eyes probed his, her heart frozen in her chest, her nerves firing disjointedly. Was he right? Did they owe it to their children to at least attempt to form a truce of sorts?
‘Where?’ she said, after a beat.
Satisfaction arranged his features. ‘Leave the details to me. I’ll meet you here, at eight.’
In the end, he sent a servant instead, a man dressed in a suit who greeted India one minute after the hour. India wore a simple dress—the same one she’d brought with her from America—and teamed it with a pair of sandals. She’d left her hair out, flowing loose down her back in voluminous waves. The servant took her away from the guest suites and through the palace, a circuitous route that she would have no hope of backtracking if she were forced to make her own way. Eventually, they emerged into a courtyard, and, beyond it, a large open space that housed a gleaming black helicopter.
Khalil stood beside it, his arms crossed, his eyes watchful.
She was a mix of nerves and anticipation, but it was anticipation that was at the fore as she moved towards the vehicle, the servant forgotten, nothing penetrating her mind now but this man and her awareness of him.
‘Good evening, India.’
His voice wrapped around her, warmer than the night air. ‘Khalil,’ she responded in kind, dipping her head in a nod, earning a smile from him.
‘After you.’ He gestured to the rear doors of the helicopter.
She hesitated.
‘Is there a problem?’
She sent him a sidelong glance. ‘Well, I’ve never been in one before,’ she said with a slight laugh.
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
He was right, and their marriage would be like this too. It would be a first for them both, and they would need to learn a lot as they went. Screwing up her courage, she stepped into the helicopter. And though she was braced for it to be luxurious, the sheer decadence of the interior nonetheless took her breath away. From the plush white leather seats to the wood grain details, to the bar fridge in the centre that boasted an array of expensive champagne, she felt as though she’d entered the twilight zone.
‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Mineral water?’
He nodded, indicating that she should take a seat on the long bank of three at the rear of the helicopter. She did so, fastening her seat belt while he retrieved a couple of bottles of water.
A moment after he took the seat beside her, the rotor blades began to spin, and the door was slammed shut by a servant.
She jumped, so he laughed softly. ‘Relax, azeezi.’ He leaned closer to her. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’
‘It’s probably very normal for you,’ she murmured. ‘But this is a big deal for me.’
He put his arm along the back of the chair, his fingertips casually brushing her shoulder. ‘Try to enjoy the experience.’
As it turned out, her nerves settled as the helicopter lifted into the air. Or perhaps they just became focussed on another element of the night. His fingers moved softly over her skin, sending little sparks and shock waves through her, so that within moments she’d forgotten that they were in the air in a machine that could hardly be described as aerodynamic. A moment later, the view drew her attention, so she shifted, closer to the window, her eyes chasing the incredibly beautiful city, so that Khalil stared at her, his eyes observing every shift on her face, all the fascination and wonder dancing in her features.
The helicopter ride took twenty minutes. They passed the city and tacked further south, before moving inland, covering a vast expanse of desert that finally gave way to a gentle mountain range.
The helicopter set down at the foot of it, and then the doors were opened.
‘This is...the middle of nowhere,’ she said with an uneven laugh.
‘Not quite.’
‘Where is it, then?’
‘The Athani Mountains.’
She blinked, excitement bursting through her. ‘The fireflies?’
‘Astrid suggested it.’
India grinned. ‘I’ve never seen them before.’
‘She said that too. I thought a new chapter in our relationship required a new experience.’
‘Two,’ she corrected. ‘The helicopter and the fireflies.’
‘Even better.’ He kissed the back of her hand, his eyes holding hers. ‘I want to make this work, India.’
Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, and she nodded. ‘I know that.’ A sigh whooshed through her, as finally she reconciled herself to this decision. ‘I do too.’
It felt more meaningful than when she’d agreed to marry him. That had been logistical, this was more. It was a statement of intent, a promise to make this work, to be good to one another, to find a way to parent their children together that didn’t involve navigating a warzone; to be a family.
She slipped her shoes off as she exited the helicopter, transferring them to her other hand, so that it was easier to walk across the cool desert sand. Khalil did likewise, catching her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. She blinked up at him then wished she hadn’t, because the moon was shining on him like a spotlight, making him appear larger, and like the only person in her world.
A new start was good, but it was a mistake to get too carried away. This was still essentially a business arrangement. He needed a wife, he needed heirs, and she was pregnant with his twins. She wanted her children to grow up in a family, she wanted his support, and, yes, she needed his financial help. There were reasons for them to enter into this marriage—a marriage neither would even be contemplating if it weren’t for the unique circumstances that were playing out.
This wasn’t love.
It wasn’t special.
It was—
‘Oh, wow.’ She stopped walking about twenty yards from the entrance to the caves. A swarm of fireflies danced past them, their delicate, ethereal beauty shimmering in the night sky, their little bodies aglow with what looked like embers. ‘They’re—incredible.’
‘Wait for it,’ he said, squeezing her hand and drawing her with him, nearer to the caves. Once inside, she saw what he meant. Here, they were everywhere, flying through the tunnels, creating enough light to easily see by. They ignored India and Khalil, exploring the ancient cave walls instead.
‘They are spread throughout the kingdom, but this is the most numerous collection. It’s the perfect environment for them, the right climate and light, the best food source.’ He hadn’t relinquished her hand. ‘When I was a young boy, it was my favourite thing to do with Astrid. We would come to these caves whenever we could, and watch them fly around. I would try to catch them, but as soon as I did their lights would go dim, as though they were hiding from me. I found it hard to reckon with that, at the time. Admiring them so much I wanted to grab some, to take home with me, but realising that if I did so, I would lose what I had loved.’
‘A predicament,’ she murmured, imagining him as a child. ‘Was there no way to bring some to the palace?’
‘Perhaps, but my parents did not encourage it. They reminded me that everything has a place and theirs was here.’
‘Your parents sound very wise.’
‘They are.’
‘You didn’t answer me, the other night. I asked how often you see your parents. Are you close to them?’
‘I admire them very much.’
She pulled a face. ‘That’s not exactly an answer.’
He laughed. ‘You’re right. We are as close as we can be, given the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘I was sent away to school when I was thirteen. I finished high school as a boarder. I missed them, and I changed a lot, in the time I was gone. Afterwards, I went to university, then did a rotation in the military. So for many years there, I hardly saw them. But they’re good people, and my father has been an excellent sheikh.’
‘Is it tradition for royal children to be sent away?’
‘Yes.’
She stopped walking. ‘How strong a tradition?’
He grimaced. ‘Strong. But not unbreakable. If you do not wish for our children to leave home, then we can arrange an alternative.’
Her heart split. There was so much in that sentence to unnerve her! ‘Our children’, ‘home’, and his willingness to be flexible, to accommodate her needs. It was beyond what she’d expected.
‘I can’t even think about it yet,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘It sounds like the last thing I would want. I know that I could never have been separated from my parents at that age.’
‘Did you enjoy high school?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I had a good group of friends and I loved studying.’
‘Was it not something you wanted to pursue, after high school?’
‘What?’
‘Studying.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘I did. I went to college for a couple of years.’
It was obviously something he hadn’t expected her to say. ‘What degree did you undertake?’
‘Economics. I dropped out before I could finish.’
‘Economics?’ His brows shot up.
She laughed. ‘What? You don’t think it suits me?’
‘I just—had no idea.’
‘I’ve always loved economics with a crazy passion.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s so visceral. People think it’s dry and boring, but they don’t understand that it’s the framework of our civilisations. Societies are made and shaped by economic policy, all of our programmes for social justice are made possible by the economic forethought of the government. Economic strategies have the power to save lives, enrich whole societies and make fundamental differences to the world—from lowering crime rates in traditionally impoverished areas to expanding healthcare.’ Her eyes grew shimmery as she spoke and her cheeks were flushed. ‘It’s the cornerstone of all societies, it’s the underpinning of who we are. I am fascinated by it.’
‘Then why did you leave your degree?’
She contemplated not answering, but it was no big secret. Her eyes flicked to his, then away again. ‘My mom got sick. I wanted to be closer to her.’ She toyed with her fingers. ‘And college is expensive.’
‘They couldn’t afford it?’
‘Not really. Not that they ever said that, but I knew what her treatment was costing. I didn’t want to risk that she would walk away from her medical needs to keep me in school. The bills were enormous. They needed to dip into our college funds to pay for them.’ She lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘I came home and helped out around the house, got a job doing secretarial stuff so I could contribute—it wasn’t much but even just paying for groceries relieved some of their stress.’ India didn’t see the way Khalil’s expression changed, the look of pity that softened his features. ‘And then they died, and there was just Jackson and me, and a mountain of bills—’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled as she thought of him. ‘He was offered his college placement, right before they died. They were so happy. Medicine’s all he’s ever wanted to do. Even as a boy, he used to walk around with this little toy med kit, asking to listen to our heartbeats all the time.’ Her expression was laced with nostalgia, her eyes sparkling with the warmth of her memories. ‘Then Mom got sick and he became even more determined. All he wants to do is help people get better.’ She shook her head wistfully. ‘I swore I’d do whatever I could to send him through school.’
His eyes closed as he stopped walking. ‘And let me guess. His degree will cost one hundred thousand dollars?’
She nodded. ‘I should have told you that’s what I needed that amount for.’
‘You were under no obligation to tell me anything.’ He looked away again, so she barely caught his muttered oath. ‘But I should have asked.’
‘Would it have changed anything?’
He turned to face her, lifting his hand and catching her hair, his eyes on hers. ‘It would have helped me understand you better.’
It was such a specific—and low—amount, given her bargaining position. All this time he’d been thinking of her as mercenary, just like Fatima, when she’d given him incontrovertible proof that money was not—and never had been—a driving force for her. Why hadn’t he queried that at the time? Why hadn’t he asked her why she needed precisely one hundred thousand dollars? Why hadn’t he pushed her, when he’d asked about her job, and her reasons for doing what she did?
She hadn’t said she ‘wanted’ one hundred thousand dollars—she’d said she ‘needed’ it. He’d pushed that aside at the time but now he saw the desperation behind her plea, and the embarrassment she felt at asking for such a paltry sum, and was furious with himself for being so thoughtless. Anger had blinded him and he’d failed to see her predicament. Or had he simply not wanted to see it?
He had taken everything at face value because it had suited him to think the worst of her. It had suited him to see her as another Fatima, to believe she was just the same, driven purely by money, when the more the heard from India, the more he wondered if, actually, everything she did was driven by love.
