His phone rang in his pocket and he took it out. Saw the name. He smiled mirthlessly and restrained himself from throwing the phone at the window.
He answered it, saying, ‘Haven’t you done enough damage, Callaghan? Tell me—did you know that first night that my wife would betray my trust? Did she come to you or did you approach her? Actually, I don’t even want to know.’
He emitted an expletive and terminated the call, throwing the phone down.
It pinged almost immediately, but Sharif ignored it. He was bone weary.
He walked through his empty apartment, noting that it was exactly how he remembered, before Liyah had arrived.
He walked into her room. There was the slightest hint of her fragrance. But of course—she’d been sharing his room. Because he was the biggest fool on earth.
He went into the dressing room. All the clothes that he’d purchased for her were hanging up. Shoes lined up. Jewellery laid out. He was about to leave when he noticed something and turned back. Her wedding ring. The second one. It was there. She’d never taken it off after he’d put it on her finger. But she’d left it behind.
He should be welcoming the sight of it there. Clearly she’d got the message that the end of this marriage was nigh. But it didn’t feel good to see it. He felt as if it was mocking him. For being such a fool.
He turned and walked out, leaving the ring behind.
‘You look so beautiful, Sammy—really. Everything will be okay...trust me.’
Liyah’s sister was fighting back tears. ‘Father threatened to kill him.’
Liyah said in soothing tones, ‘Our father is many things, but he is not a murderer.’
Samara had fallen pregnant with her fiancé’s baby. Hence the fast-tracked wedding, to mitigate the scandal of sex before marriage.
Liyah said now, ‘You’re marrying Javid, and that’s all that matters. Once you’re married our father can’t say anything.’
Samara nodded and sniffled. Their other sisters fussed around.
Liyah took a step back for a moment, and saw her own reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in clothing very similar to her wedding day outfit. Traditional Bedouin robes. She quickly blocked out the thought, not welcoming anything that led to thinking about Sharif.
It had been almost a month now, and the pain and sense of betrayal were still acute.
Her sisters were covering Samara’s face with the elaborate face veil. Samara put out a hand. ‘Liyah?’
Liyah stepped forward, taking her sister’s hand. ‘I’m right here.’
They started to make the journey from the women’s quarters to the throne room, where the wedding would take place. Against her best intentions, Liyah couldn’t stop her mind deviating with sickening predictability to Sharif.
When her father had been told he wasn’t coming to the wedding, he’d said, ‘A husband should be with his wife. What did you do, Liyah? You don’t please him?’
She’d actually received an email from Sharif today. But she hadn’t opened it yet. She’d thrown away the phone he’d given her, so she had no idea if he’d been trying to contact her via that.
She didn’t know what she would do, but she figured she would have to contact him again at some point to discuss the divorce. It was obvious that their marriage couldn’t continue now—not when the very reason for her existence as his wife was no longer valid.
His grand plans for revenge had been ruined. And it wasn’t as if their relationship was ever going to morph into a real marriage, no matter how hot the sex, or the fact that it had seemed as if Sharif was enjoying spending time with her.
She’d deliberately avoided looking at the international news, not wanting to see the Marchetti Group’s demise. Or to see pictures of his brothers again, looking so grim. Had he told them that he blamed Liyah for the leak?
They were in the throne room now, and Liyah focused on her sister. This was what was important. Not her broken heart.
Much later that night, after the first day’s festivities had ended, Liyah opened up her laptop. She was tempted to delete the email without opening it, but she was too weak.
There was nothing in the subject line.
She sucked in a breath and opened it.
Liyah, I’ve been trying to contact you. Please call me. We need to talk. Sharif.
No frills. No elaboration. No doubt he wanted to talk about the divorce.
Liyah typed back.
You can instruct your legal team to send me divorce papers. I am happy to proceed.
And then she sent her reply and shut the laptop.
Over the following days Sharif left messages with her father’s aides, but Liyah refused to take any calls or return them. He sent her more emails, but she refused to look at them. And then one day one of her father’s aides came to tell her that Sharif was at the palace to see her.
Liyah panicked. She wasn’t ready to deal with Sharif and his accusations again. Especially not here, where her father’s disapproval permeated the atmosphere.
She told the aide she would meet Sharif, and as soon as he left pulled a shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped it around her shoulders and head before leaving her room.
A group of female palace workers were heading towards the palace entrance and Liyah followed them, slipping between them. When they reached the main courtyard Liyah’s step faltered.
Sharif was standing beside a four-by-four vehicle in a polo shirt and jeans. Sunglasses. She wasn’t the only one who faltered. Sharif’s gaze tracked to the women and Liyah averted her face suddenly, hurrying to keep up with them. She wrapped the shawl over her face to try and disguise herself.
She had no moment of warning, and the breath left her chest when her arm was taken and she was whirled around. Dark brown eyes ringed with gold met panicked green.
‘I knew it was you,’ Sharif breathed,
He pulled back
