Her nod was a sad, tentative admission.
Raffa refused to soften. “I’m glad you came, though. It saves me the trouble of having these sent back.”
He lifted a pen, his fingers shaking slightly as he hovered it over the space for his signature. He’d stared at the line for weeks now, knowing he needed to sign it, knowing he needed to give her what she wanted and end the marriage, but he hadn’t. And now, with her in his office, he finally scrawled his name – and for the worst possible reason.
He did it so he could have the satisfaction of seeing her react.
He wasn’t disappointed. When he straightened, the papers held in his hand, Chloe looked as though she was about to faint. But then, with what must have taken a monumental effort, she assumed some of her usual expression, a hint of ice around her eyes as she stood. Only the wobbling of her knees betrayed her. He watched as she crossed the room, and came to stand right in front of him, but he didn’t hand the papers over.
“Tell me why you left,” he demanded, and despite his efforts at restraint, the words emerged as a hoarse, dark plea. Perhaps the depth of it surprised her, because her eyes jerked to his and she stepped back a little, shaking her head an infinitesimal amount.
“It’s for the best,” was all she murmured.
And the quiet, plaintive little sentence was like striking a match over gasoline. Raffa slammed his palm on the edge of his desk and spun away from her, stalking towards the window. Crowds had begun to form; hundreds of people dressed in black with highlights of gold, to honour the deceased King.
“For whose best? Not my best!” He said quietly, but with enough anger to make the room shake. “Not my country’s best. For your best, then, I presume you mean. So tell me, Chloe, what was it about being my wife that you hated so much? What about me that made marriage so abhorrent? Tell me why you felt your only option was to run away as though you were some kind of unwilling prisoner in my bed?”
He continued to look out of the window, so didn’t see the way she stumbled back slightly, didn’t see the way her fingertips grazed the edge of his desk, needing something solid to connect with.
“Tell me that you hated me,” he said grimly. “Tell me that you hated being married to me. That you ran from me because I didn’t deserve you. Because I treated you like a possession instead of a woman. Tell me the words I have thought these last three months.”
Behind him, Chloe shivered, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Her mind was fuzzy around the edges and black spots hovered on the edges of her mind.
“Damn it, if you’re trying to protect me –,” he spun around in time to see her knees buckle and her body sag forward. He swore under his breath, striding across the room and catching her just an inch before her head connected with the hardness of the floor.
Her face was pale against the black fabric of his robe, and now that he held her, he felt for himself how slim she was beneath the clothes she wore.
A new emotion usurped all others. Fear.
“Call a doctor,” he shouted in his native tongue, the words ringing out like a bell through this wing of the building. He heard the response – thudding of military boots as security officers ran, and the bursting open of his door as two more servants entered the room. Chloe was beginning to stir, but Raffa held her still, his eyes boring into hers when she blinked them open.
“Stay where you are.”
Chloe frowned, her mind blank. Which was where? She blinked again. No. She wasn’t dreaming. The last twenty four hours had really happened.
Malik had died. She groaned, trying to sit up, but Raffa’s hands on her shoulders were like vices. Her head was in his lap, and his body was warm, all around hers. She needed to stand, but being close to him like this was the best thing she’d ever felt.
But then she remembered. The divorce papers.
Their marriage was officially over. Well? What else had she expected? She’d sent them to him. She’d walked out on him, and she’d hidden from him. Did she think he might still be foolish enough to want to convince her to stay?
And even if he did, she couldn’t give into that. She couldn’t give him what he needed – and he needed that baby now more than ever.
It jerked her into action. “Let me go.” She said with desperate urgency and determination, even when her heart was breaking, and now when she tried to move, he didn’t fight her. He helped her up though, and guided her to a seat. Once she was settled, he strode across the room and filled a crystal glass with iced tea, bringing it back to her and holding it out. She took the glass from the bottom, careful not to touch his fingers – there’d been enough touching already.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’ve been travelling all day. I hadn’t eaten. And the shock of Malik…” And seeing you again, she added mentally, closing her eyes as though that might blot her husband from her mind and her heart.
It didn’t.
“The doctor will be here soon,” Raffa said, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“I don’t need a doctor,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m fine, truly.”
But the door pushed inwards and a medical professional appeared, distinguishable by his white coat and black leather bag. He joined the servants who were hovering in the door, unsure of how to proceed.
Chloe hadn’t seen this man before, but for once, the doctor was a servant who met her eyes. In fact, he smiled into them kindly, and when he spoke it was as though they were equals.
