Chapter Seven #2
And knowing where Liliana was tonight had proved too much and after dealing with formalities he had summoned the royal jet.
He had landed too late to escort her, though he was here to offer far more than that.
At least it had meant he’d avoided the cameras and attention of the red carpet, for this reunion should not be taking place in public.
For Rafiq this was extremely reckless.
His intention had been to arrive and gesture his head for her to join him, then leave. Then he had seen Liliana, the sketch of the dress come to life, and that man walking over to ask her to dance…
Indeed, Rafiq did not like what he was seeing—he knew on sight that this was the man Liliana had been referring to.
And so, he had slid a hand possessively around her waist and contact had been made, and then how could he not ask her to dance the last dance?
Their first, but also his.
She could not know this was strictly forbidden.
The music was slow and dreamy, and she wanted to sink into his arms and rest her head on his chest, but he held her very formally.
‘Later…’ he said, pulling her apart from him just a little. ‘When we are alone.’
He could feel the slight tremble of her body, and as they moved politely, formally, to the music, the contact was simply not enough. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
She nodded and before the last dance had even faded Rafiq was leading her outside, only not through the main entrance. ‘We cannot be seen…’ he told her.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘There are a lot of press outside.’
He seemed different, more austere. He’d held her back when they danced. Even now he seemed to be hurrying her when surely he should be taking her in his arms or at the very least holding her hand.
There was a car waiting and a driver too, as well as a couple of men who were walking both behind and in front of them, and then she saw the diplomatic plates on the car.
And she’d been too scared perhaps to hear before, but right now she simply had to know who he was.
‘Rafiq, who are you?’
‘We will speak when we are alone,’ Rafiq responded. ‘I thought we could go to my residence, or back to Haven Manor.’
‘No, tell me now.’ She halted him. Ready now to know. ‘Tell me,’ she insisted. ‘Who are you?’
He gestured to the men around him to step well back. ‘We can talk in the car, not out on the street.’
‘Tell me who you are, Rafiq, before I get in the car.’
‘Very well,’ he nodded. ‘I am royal. I know it can sound a little daunting—’
‘How royal?’ She cut him off with a question, thought back to the deference with which he’d been treated at Haven Manor, as if nothing had been too much trouble from the second he’d arrived. And now this security detail, the car, the everything. ‘How royal are we talking, Rafiq?’
‘I am…’ Oh, she looked up at him, and somehow knew he was more than a minor royal, more than some vague prince and then he confirmed it. ‘I am the crown prince of Al-Zahir.’
‘Crown prince.’ Liliana frowned. ‘Does that mean…?’ Her throat felt too tight and there was this need almost to put her hand down low on her stomach, but she fought it.
Did not want to give him a hint to the chance of a life that for the past few weeks she’d been trying to deny.
But if Rafiq was a crown prince, did that mean… ? ‘You’re the heir?’ she queried.
‘Correct.’
And it was too much.
Just by far too much.
And no, Liliana’s reaction was not one he was used to, for she shook her head. ‘I need to go.’
‘Liliana…’ He caught her arm as she turned to flee.
‘Rafiq, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say nothing, at least until you have heard what I came here to say.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, thinking of how they had slipped out of a side exit and rather guessed theirs was not a relationship that would be considered suitable.
God alone knew what it meant if she was pregnant.
‘I don’t want to hear it.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘I need to go.’
‘Not yet.’ He stepped forward, his hand still upon her upper arm, but she wrenched it away.
‘You said that the moment I felt uncomfortable I could leave.’
‘I did,’ he conceded, dropping contact.
‘Then I’m leaving.’
‘At least allow my driver to take you wherever you need to go.’
‘I don’t need your driver, Rafiq.’
She spun on her heels and with a sob ran off, back into the throng of photographers and models leaving, and the line of limousines, waiting to collect, but she ran in the opposite direction and was grateful to see the line-up of taxis.
She was scared.
Scared that she was pregnant.
Scared of the desire that still coursed after months apart. More, she was scared that this could be her life. Tumbling into bed when the crown prince graced London. She thought how he’d told her about his lovers…
She thought of that moment of possession, and his words, Rafiq would not like it, and even then, even with her lack of experience she’d known that he meant it. Of course he would expect she remain exclusive to him…
From one night in his bed, she already knew that.
He had made her his lover and made her his.
‘Where to?’ the taxi driver asked, and she thought of the gifts he’d sent. How, thanks to the lift he’d arranged, he knew where she lived. So, instead of asking to be taken to her home, she gave the address of her mother.
Oh, she touched her arm where his fingers had just been and could still feel the warmth and bliss of his touch,
No, she wasn’t scared of Rafiq.
What scared her was that she might say yes.
Liliana’s phone was flat by morning.
The battery drained by her frantic searches.
Al-Zahir, famed for pearl diving…check. And yes, he’d been schooled here in England—everything he had told her was true, except… There was so much that he had left out.
Rafiq had been born third in line to the throne. And while Rafiq had told her that his brother had died, he hadn’t told her the details. Or about the dreadful conflict that had long ago raged between the neighbouring countries but had flared up again fifteen or so years ago.
Rafiq’s father, the King of Al-Zahir, had endorsed the coup and had refused to retract his support when Khalid had been taken prisoner while riding in the Al-Zahir desert.
A few days later Rafiq had been ambushed in London and taken to Al-Nawar, where he’d too been held for the best part of a year.
The details were sketchy as to his capture and the conditions in which he’d been held, but Liliana closed her eyes in horror when she found out it was there that Khalid had died.
Had they been held together? she wondered.
And what had Rafiq meant when he’d said that Khalid had betrayed him?
She thought of the brutal scarring that laced his beautiful body.
‘Don’t ask,’ he had warned on the night they had met.
And now she bumbled through translations and found out he had somehow escaped from his captors. The miraculous feat unleashed the momentum that had finally toppled the despot king.
Then she read a few articles and reports about him and there were times she wondered if they were discussing the same man, if she’d somehow got things wrong, because the Rafiq they discussed was described as solemn, harsh…
Cold.
There was nothing about lovers that she could see, no relationships of note, but just as she’d exhaled in relief she clicked on another article and read that it was believed he kept a harem.
‘Oh, my God…’
It had almost been a relief when her phone battery died.
‘Lili…’ There was a knock on the bedroom door and her mother brought her in a mug of tea. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ she attempted to deflect, but of course, arriving unannounced in a ball gown last night was going to require a little more explanation than the vague excuse she’d offered last night.
Still she doubled down on it, muttering something about rideshare. ‘It was just easier to come here.’
‘Lili?’
Liliana could hear the dubious note and question in her mother’s tone. ‘I was just…’ She really didn’t like to talk about her personal life, even within her personal life! ‘I’m avoiding someone,’ she admitted.
‘That awful manager?’
Liliana gave a noncommittal smile; it felt easier to let her mother think she was avoiding Simon than telling her about Rafiq…
‘You can talk to me, Liliana.’
‘I know that I can.’ Liliana nodded and thought of Rafiq, how he’d simply stated he didn’t want to reveal things, and the honesty they had both found that night somehow strengthened her. ‘I’m just not ready to.’
‘Fair enough.’
With that out of the way it was actually nice being at her mother’s and when she suggested she stay another night, Liliana agreed.
Her mother’s phone charger didn’t fit her phone, and that rather helped matters! She was scared what more she’d find out.
And while she didn’t think Rafiq would be pounding on her door or anything…she wasn’t hiding from him.
Maybe a bit.
It was just nice to be home and in her childhood bed and to spend some quiet time with her mother. And for the first time in years, she asked after her father.
‘Do you ever see him?’
‘No…’ Her mother thought for a moment. ‘We spoke a few months ago, but he hasn’t been down to visit lately.’
‘Why would you still let him visit you?’
‘Lili, please…’ Her mother closed her tired eyes. ‘I don’t expect you to understand.’
Rafiq, though unused to women fleeing in terror when they found out about his title, knew she was simply overwhelmed.
Late on the Sunday night he had decided he would send flowers, perhaps to her work, at least give her his number, because if she felt even a tenth of what he was feeling, then Liliana must ache with need… .
‘Sir.’
He frowned as Salar knocked at the door to the drawing room.
‘I have a call for you.’
Rafiq nodded, hoping it was somehow Liliana while knowing that was impossible, since few could access his private line.
Of course it wasn’t her and he rolled his eyes at the sound of Yara’s voice.
‘You could have at least warned me,’ she said.
‘About what?’
‘I was giving a speech when the news first broke.’
‘What news?’