Chloe felt ill. Just speaking her fears aloud made them so much more real, so much more likely to be true. “Please let me know as soon as you have anything.” She reached into her handbag and removed a small, gold card. Her name was written in looping calligraphy and on the back was her private phone number.
“Don’t speak to anyone but me, and if you call and a servant answers, please leave a message that you wanted to pass on additional donor information.”
“Of course,” he nodded, and she believed him. She trusted him. She just hoped he would be the bearer of very good news when he called.
Aysha was not happy with Chloe; that much as obvious. But for once, Chloe reveled in the fact she was royalty, that she need not care what her servant thought, even though she liked Aysha very much. Chloe was doing the best possible thing for her husband, her country and her marriage.
As the plane took off from Bern a short time later, Chloe stared out of the window, looking at the tiny houses below, the proud river sparkling through the city, the verdant parklands that merged with the city so artistically. Thousands of people were down below, living their lives, each of them with their own worries, their own joys. How many women around the world, living and past, had felt what she was? How many had grappled with this worry, had been plagued by doubts, only to be rewarded with a new little life growing in their belly?
And if she wasn’t one of them?
Chloe turned away from the view, focusing her gaze on her hands, clasped neatly in her lap. Her wedding ring sparkled at her, and she swallowed.
If she couldn’t have children?
He had an heir. She reminded herself of this forcefully. Amit was a perfect candidate. They needn’t have a baby after all. She’d simply help Raffa see that they could legitimize Amit. Surely once people saw them as a family, once Amit was brought onto the public stage, shown to be a King in the making, the public would embrace him?
And Chloe?
Where did that leave her?
A redundancy, that’s where. Why would Raffa need her? Oh, he wouldn’t divorce her. She’d known, when she’d married him, that come what may, this was for keeps. And she’d been happy with that – happy to pick up the reins of this new life and make of it whatever she could.
She’d been happy to forsake love and sex and true happiness for the freedom and privilege, the independence, that came of marrying the Sheikh of Ras el Kida.
Only now she’d tasted life as his wife and she couldn’t imagine things going back to how they were. She couldn’t imagine being simply Her Highness, living in the city, living as a princess with all of the trappings and none of the responsibility.
To be alive without knowing the pleasure of his body possessing hers. To be alive without knowing the pleasure of holding a sweet baby of their making in her arms…
She gasped audibly and turned back to the window. They were flying through clouds now; thick, fluffy clouds that made the plane pitch a little, though she barely noticed.
Her eyes swept shut and she pushed all thoughts of the future resolutely from her mind. She would carry on as before – she would presume everything was normal until – if and when – she was told otherwise.
“You’re distracted.”
Raffa stared at the desert with a scowl on his handsome face, his shoulders broad, his spine tensed. His eyes ran over the landscape that was ever-changing, shaped by the winds of time to resemble something different yet inherently familiar.
Kalim shifted beside him; Raffa didn’t respond.
“No.” Kalim frowned. “You’re… upset.”
“Upset?” At his, Raffa’s thick, dark brows shot upwards. “When have you ever known me to be upset?”
It was true, yet Kalim wasn’t convinced. “How is your father?” He probed gently.
“Surprisingly well. He seems to have rallied.” He shifted his gaze to his friend’s face for a moment. “Doctors say it’s not uncommon, towards the end. When patients accept their illness, accept what’s coming.”
Kalim nodded. “And your wife?” He knew he’d hit closer to the mark when Raffa grimaced and jerked his gaze away.
His wife? Could she be called that? She was a woman he slept with – that was all. He’d made sure of that. He’d pushed her away months earlier, and with good reason. The way he’d been after the ball, after seeing her having a conversation with Goran? He’d been like a savage animal. He’d never known himself to experience such a monumental loss of control. He’d terrified himself that night.
The feelings that had coursed through him unchecked, the way he’d wanted to use his innocent wife’s sensual needs against her? To make her pledge herself to him when this marriage was nothing more than a convenient match for both?
How dared he use her in that way? How dared he treat her like a possession of his?
It hadn’t been the first time, either. That first night, hadn’t he wanted to force her to confront this? To admit the strength of need that ran through her was as fever-pitched as his own?
I hate you for doing this to me. Her angry cry filled his mind now and he grimaced at the force of it. Jerk. She’d called him that. She’d told him she hated him. And she’d begged him not to stop.
“Raf?” Kalim lifted a hand and placed it on his friend’s shoulder.
“She’s fine.” The words were released from tightly clenched teeth. Was she fine?
She was amorous. He could arouse her to a state of passion in bed; he could drive her wild. But beyond that? He didn’t know.
I hate you for doing this to me.
Each month that passed without a pregnancy forming was something he was ashamed to admit he was grateful for. Because it gifted
