Chapter Fourteen
Liliana felt as if she were wading through molasses just to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom.
And then wash and dress.
After just a few days off for ‘personal reasons’ she was back at work.
Taking the tube again had been agony.
There were no photographers waiting for her first day back.
And as good as his word, all the salacious articles had been taken down.
Arriving in the office, all she got was a nice smile from Margo, who she’d expected to fall on her neck and demand the gossip, only no-one had questions.
She rather guessed that Rafiq had taken care of that too.
Simon came over. ‘Good to see you back, Liliana.’ He nodded and walked off.
It was as if Rafiq had never arrived at the ball. As if there had been no scandal, no photos. It was as if their time together had been erased.
Normal life slowly returned, except it could never go back, because she was pregnant with his baby and in love with the unattainable.
At night, she would love to say she’d started sewing, with some of the gorgeous fabrics he’d gifted her.
Proving to him and herself that she intended to go it alone.
Only she didn’t want to be alone.
Taking the tube home at the end of her workday was the worst.
A few times she just sat there, let the tube rattle on and take her through tunnels and flashes of blue sky above ground, but it seemed paler than the skies in the desert.
Then the announcement would come—they were at the end of the line.
Occasionally he called.
‘Liliana?’
Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice.
‘Rafiq.’
It felt luxurious to say his name,
There were no endless messages, or flowers or anything, just short calls and polite requests—that she see a private doctor, which she just had for the second time.
‘How was the doctor’s visit?’
‘It went well.’ She nodded. ‘Everything looks fine.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘My blood results and such, and he did an ultrasound. There’ll be another at twenty-one weeks. That’s in five weeks’ time.’
‘I can count Liliana, and I have not forgotten how far along you are.’
‘Of course.’
He was very polite and businesslike, and she secretly hoped he would suggest being there for the next ultrasound, but he didn’t.
‘Is it moving?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Well, I could see it moving on the screen, and kicking and such, but it’s too soon for me to feel it yet.’
He was silent.
In fact, Rafiq pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and fought for control.
‘How’s your manager?’ he asked in a voice that sounded a bit cross, but he was trying to hold things in.
‘He’s being very polite.’
‘Excellent.’
‘What did you say to him?’ she asked. ‘To everyone? Nobody’s even mentioned the ball.’
He didn’t respond.
Rafiq, Liliana had long since decided, was very comfortable with silence.
‘Things seem calmer with you too.’ She filled in the gap, terrified he’d end the call. ‘I meant between the countries. I read that progress is being made with the cultural exchange—you’re meeting with the King of Al-Nawar.’
‘I don’t discuss such matters on an open line.’
‘Of course not.’
‘And, given you would rather not see me until the baby is here, I cannot go into detail.’
‘Rafiq, when I said that…’ She swallowed, telling herself that she meant it, trying so hard not to give in. She had calmed down, of course. If anything she was proud of him for keeping Yara’s secret. Oh, she was so tempted to back down. To tell him she’d been wrong.
But then she thought of her mother, sitting by the phone, waiting for the master to call.
It was Rafiq who broke the long silence. ‘You meant it.’
‘Yes, but I lie a lot, remember.’
Rafiq gave her nothing. ‘I ought to go. Call me if you need anything.’
‘Do you want…?’ She paused. ‘I have some photos from today’s ultrasound. Should I send them?’
‘Sure.’
‘I don’t know if you…’ she started but he had already rung off and she had no idea when she would hear from him again.
Oh, he should have been here today, at the doctor’s with her. She could have had that; he could have been here in London for this day, and right now every day that was without him felt a day that was too long.
Perhaps she had been too presumptuous, Liliana thought as the tears came. Perhaps when a future king offers you almost everything, you should be very certain you mean it when you scorn his offers.
Because she did want to see him again, desperately; instead he respected her wishes.
Just a little too completely.
Rafiq would respect her wishes completely.
He knew she was weakening, God knows he was too, but he was determined not to see her until he had put things right.
His phone bleeped a message and two black-and-white images came onto his screen.
One was a still image; he looked at the profile and the curve of spine, and the little hands and feet.
And the next, he pressed and watched their baby moving, little hands waving and a tiny mouth opening and closing, and then it seemed to push off, like a swimmer kicking from the pool wall.
And everything in his life seemed to hang on to today.
‘Your Highness. Your flight is ready.’
‘Thank you.’
He turned off the image on his phone.
And headed to Al-Nawar.
Oh, she missed him so much. She thought of what he’d once said: I am not your father. And he wasn’t. Rafiq was a deep and complex man and they had, she was sure, fallen in love.
The tears fell harder then, and she let them, and they came with big gulps of self-recrimination, for she should have been careful what she wished for, because she had fallen in love with a man who respected her wishes.
Who kept his word.
Liliana truly fought not to call him back, to retract. She was sobbing into tissues. As her mother had.
Then later she sat watching the news and all the pomp of Crown Prince Rafiq arriving in Al-Nawar to a cheering crowd, being welcomed by the stony-faced king. She kept bracing herself for the announcement, to officially hear that Rafiq and Yara were betrothed.
Instead, she watched as he rode alongside a miserable king in a motorcade to the palace, past the cheering crowds with Rafiq by his side.
They were inside for a couple of hours, and then appeared on the steps of the palace to shake hands.
And Rafiq had surely caved to the two kings’ commands, because the king was now smiling.
So she sobbed her way through a complicated translation and found out that yes, agreements had been made, though for what she didn’t quite know.
And then she stopped.
Liliana stopped because she didn’t want history to repeat. And just as Rafiq had said he was not her father, she didn’t have to be like her mother either. She blew her nose and sat up on the edge of the bed, already regretting the headache her crying jag would cause.
And she refused to be reliant on Rafiq for her happiness, for her money, and right now she was being a pathetic drip, but she was proud of herself too.
For saying no to him.
For refusing to fold.
For not settling for less.
She stood and examined herself in the mirror. The pale blue shift dress she had bought to disguise her bump no longer hung well. It was a little tight across the bust and hips and when she turned to the side she could see the soft swell of her belly.
There had been a few glances at work, but whatever Rafiq or his office or whoever had said, meant that no-one had asked. Not even Margo, who she’d used to gossip with.
Before Rafiq.
Everything felt like a before and after.
Before she’d been happy and lively; now she stood, all bloated and red, and pathetic. And she hadn’t been like that—she’d cared about pretty dresses and shoes, and the old Liliana would not have lain idle with ream upon ream of gorgeous fabrics sitting in her spare room.
It was out with the tape measure and off with her bra, and she yelped when she saw just how much she’d grown.
Not just her bust, and not just her hips, but in herself. She could manage without him. Somehow their time had made her stronger.
If she could stand up to an arrogant crown prince she could deal with anything…
And look fabulous while doing so!
She looked through the fabrics, her hand reaching for one, but then again pink really could be problematic, and it just might make her cry.
Then a gorgeous silk caught her eye, a deep orange, and she reached for some sheer chiffon in the palest peach, the very palest peach, and layered the two in her hands.
They were perfect.
She made a simple shift slip from the silk, and then spent hours perfecting the chiffon and when she awoke the next morning it was hanging from her wardrobe. Like a pale desert sunrise, Liliana thought, not that she’d actually seen one.
Maybe a desert sunset.
Except she’d been too busy being made love to by Rafiq to see one.
Instead of crying, she let the memory make her smile.
Liliana had a wonderful job, well, not really, but there were wonderful perks, like wearing stunning clothes for work.
‘Wow!’ Margo said. ‘You look…’ She smiled.
‘Better?’ Liliana offered.
‘Better,’ Margo agreed. ‘Like a mango ice cream.’
‘Thank you!’
Margo had sat beside her in recent weeks, and offered not words of advice, because she had no idea what was going on, but quiet support.
‘Did you make that one too?’
‘I did.’
‘Can you make one for me?’
She had never asked by one of her colleagues before.
‘Seriously,’ Margo said picking up the chiffon and admiring it. ‘Though hopefully I’ll get a discount, given we’re friends.’
Margo wasn’t merely asking her to make one, but offering to pay her for it.
And given where they worked and their passions for high fashion it was rather a big deal.
‘I’ll give you a discount.’ Liliana smiled, so pleased to have friends.
‘Dress by Liliana.’ Margo winked.
With a little help from Rafiq.
He really had given her the most wonderful gift, and it tore at her heart that he could be so thoughtful at times and yet so remote at others.