That assurance was a huge surprise to Izzy and not an entirely welcome one because in the back of her mind she had already been guilty of thinking that if she gave birth to two girls Rafiq might choose to be less involved with them and seek less regular access. Her cheeks coloured with shame at that ungenerous thought because it was selfish of her to want to keep the parental sharing to the minimum. Their children would benefit most from having two interested parents.
‘Are you planning to visit the children here on weekends and school holidays?’ Rafiq enquired curiously, wondering and in great surprise at himself if it could even be vaguely possible to run a marriage on such a part-time basis.
And Izzy froze as if a fire alarm had gone off and sat up with a sudden jerk, a befuddled expression stamping her triangular face as she shook her head. ‘Visit them…here?’ she repeated in disbelief. ‘Why would I be visiting my children when they’ll be living with me?’
A silence laden with electric undertones fell and Rafiq gazed back at her with much of the same frowning disbelief.
‘I mean, I know we never actually talked about the arrangements in any detail but I naturally just a-assumed,’ Izzy stammered, watching the dark tension clench his lean, devastatingly handsome features taut with a sense of foreboding.
Rafiq was very still. ‘And I assumed that you would be leaving the children here in Zenara with me to be raised as royals,’ he breathed in a raw undertone. ‘I thought you understood the situation. It is not solely of my choosing that they should live here but how else can they learn the language and how to integrate with our life if they only make occasional visits?’
Izzy had already heard more than enough. She snaked out of the bed like an electrified eel, stooping in haste to gather up her discarded clothing. Her hands snatched at her panties in desperation and she struggled to climb into them. Her hands were shaking. She could not credit, refused to credit that he could have thought for one moment that she would be prepared to walk out on her children with only occasional visits back to see them on offer.
‘What sort of a monster do you think I am that I could agree to walk away from my kids?’ she demanded wrathfully.
Lean, strong face hardening, Rafiq also left the bed. ‘I did not attach such an offensive label to you. This is an emotive subject and you need to calm down.’
‘I don’t need to do anything I don’t want to do!’ Izzy slammed back at him furiously, outraged to register that she was on the brink of tears.
‘Izzy.’
‘You made horrible assumptions about me and got me to marry you on false pretences!’ she condemned in gritty interruption. ‘When I leave Zenara in a few months’ time I will be taking my children with me!’
‘Not without my consent,’ Rafiq slung back at her without hesitation as he hauled up his jeans and zipped them.
Izzy froze. She was in a mood, fit to be tied, wholly unable to rationalise the rage and hurt and sense of threat she was experiencing and that declaration of his was the last straw. ‘Not…without…your…consent?’ she questioned incredulously.
‘Not without my consent,’ Rafiq repeated with unapologetic emphasis.
‘Well, we’ll just see about that!’ Izzy flung back wildly, dragging open the door between their rooms and slamming it shut again with a thunderous crash.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU CAN’T JUST get into bed and ignore this!’ Rafiq raked down at her as she lay in her bed.
Izzy spared him a brief glance that couldn’t quite contrive to take in all of him for, clad only in jeans, a shirt hanging open on his bronzed torso and with his feet still bare, there was an awful lot of tall, lethally well-built Rafiq to encompass.
Izzy parted her lips. ‘Watch me,’ she urged curtly.
Rafiq stalked across the room like a predator ready to spring on prey and she watched even though she didn’t want to. Something about that fluid prowling, loose-limbed grace of his tugged at her every sense and, gritting her teeth, she turned over and buried her hot face in the pillow. She was a mess of conflicting feelings. Rage and hurt. Lust and self-loathing. Fear and resentment.
‘We have to talk about it,’ Rafiq grated.
‘Nothing to talk about,’ Izzy said mutinously. ‘We’re not going to take a twin each and call it quits, are we? And since no sane parent would do that to their children that leaves us standing in conflicting corners.’
Rafiq flung back the sheet covering her and she flipped over in disbelief, her sapphire eyes alight with fury. He scooped her up, ignoring her struggles, and planted her down on the side of the bed.
‘We will talk about this,’ he said again fiercely.
Bridling like a cat that had been stroked the wrong way, Izzy smoothed a hand down over the silk and lace sleep shorts and strappy top she had put on, uneasily aware of how much skin she was exposing.
‘How could you think for one minute that I would walk away from my babies?’ she demanded rawly.
‘I spent my formative years with a mother who continually walked away. Yes, I saw other maternal examples, in my uncle’s home in particular, but I have always been aware that, just as there are men who can walk away from their children, there are also women who choose to do the same thing,’ Rafiq completed in a driven undertone.
Izzy could not argue with that statement, but she still flung her head back to look at him, unable to accept that explanation for his assumption about her. ‘But you know me. I can’t believe that you thought I would do that.’
‘You said you wanted your life back the way it had been. When you
