Chapter Ten
MALIKCOULDN’TMOVE a muscle as he watched her swiftly disappear, eaten up by all the people still there, including Irena, who had dutifully hunted him out for the first dance she had insisted he save for her. When he’d glanced across the space that had been set up for the young people to dance, Lucy was nowhere to be seen.
He’d known what she was going to say before she’d uttered those three killer words. He’d seen it in her eyes and had been pole-axed. Should he have seen that coming? They’d made a pact but pacts were often broken. He should know all about that because it had happened before—women given boundaries, only for him to find that the boundaries had become too onerous for them somewhere along the way.
But for Lucy to tell him that she loved him...
He had pulled away at speed.
No! That had never been on the cards. He wasn’t after that. He was after the sanity and practicality of a marriage based on cool reason, with a woman who would understand the life they were signing up to.
A woman like Irena.
He forced himself to remain at his own ball for another couple of hours, making sure to disentangle himself from making any arrangements to do anything with any woman. Time enough for those sorts of life-changing decisions! Meanwhile, he would have to let his blood cool in the wake of Lucy’s confession.
He knew when she was leaving because he’d handled booking the ticket himself: first-class direct flight in two days, mid-morning.
In the meantime, he would do them both a favour and lay low, which was easy, given he had a suite of rooms in the city centre. By the time he returned to London, she would be gone. He knew when she intended to go to the office to clear her things. He would give her the chance and the privacy to do that without having to look him in the face.
She was proud and he imagined she would be embarrassed by what she’d confessed. He could tell her that it would have been the champagne talking, but why not spare them both the awkwardness of circling around one another, both sharing the same place until she left where memories of what they’d had would be everywhere?
He found himself drinking way too much for his liking for what remained of the evening, and had a thick head when he awoke the following morning in his apartment in the city. It was a different bed, different décor with no warm, yielding, sexy body to wrap his arms around, to breathe in, to caress.
He was still in bed at close to ten when his phone beeped, and when he looked it was to see a text from Lucy.
Changed my flight. Leaving in a couple of hours. I’ll clear my stuff out of the office tomorrow evening. It’s Sunday and no one will be around. Take care and good luck with the rest of your life.
His eyes felt damp when he pressed his thumbs over them.
Of course they weren’t tears—it was fatigue. And too much champagne, followed by whisky—an unfortunate combination. Why would he cry when this was exactly what he had planned from the outset?
Yet the pain was unbearable. All those years of telling himself that he was invincible when it came to his emotion washed away in a tide of suffocating sorrow.
What the hell had he done?
He knew exactly what he’d done. He’d bought into his own misconception that he was immune to love; that what he felt for Lucy was something he could control; that his head was always going to have the final say, because that was what he had stupidly decided would always be the best outcome for him.
Now, in the loneliness of his luxurious apartment, all he could feel was the misery of his own wrong turns and bad decisions. He’d been blind when he’d assumed that all he felt for her was lust. He’d conveniently forgotten the way she’d made him smile, the way she’d made him feel warm and satisfied inside. Love had spouted tentacles long before they’d slept together, but he just hadn’t seen it, and now...
He pressed his thumbs to his eyes again and felt the dampness of heartache tearing through him, leaking from his eyes.
Time to fix this. Or was everything lost for ever?
Once back in London, Lucy felt as though Sarastan and everything that had happened there had been a dream. A dream dreamt a thousand years ago when she’d been a different person from the one who now stood here, in her box in North London, unpacking her suitcase and gazing around her at surroundings that couldn’t have been further removed from the one she had left behind.
She was really tired. She’d managed to change the flight without any trouble at all. Actually, they knew who had booked it, and she felt if she’d shown up at one in the morning the staff there would have found a private jet, such was the power of the Al-Rashid name.
Malik.
God. She couldn’t believe what she’d told him. Was there anything to be said for acting on impulse?
And yet, telling him how she felt about him had been cleansing. She hadn’t meant to; she had always planned to leave with her head held high and her love firmly under wraps.
But then...there, at the ball and in the moment...it had all been too much.
Love had burst the barriers. Seeing him in the life he was going to be leading, away from her for ever, hadn’t been the salutary lesson she’d been hoping for. It hadn’t set her on the straight and narrow. It had just been a cruel reminder of what she was about to lose—the only man she could ever see herself loving.
She’d maintained her stiff upper lip all the way back to the palace. The driver who had brought her to the ball had been waiting to return her to Malik’s palace and the last thing she’d needed was to sob her way noisily all the way back.
But, as soon as she’d got back to her suite of rooms, the tears had come, a river of them, great, heaving sobs followed by horrible nausea, thanks to too much champagne.
Still, she’d woken the following morning and, despite the thick head, she had packed fast, taken a couple of tablets and phoned to change her flight. The thought of bumping into Malik had panicked her—no need, as it had turned out.
She’d been prepared to tiptoe her way down, but the place had been quiet and, out of curiosity, she’d tiptoed to his rooms to find that he wasn’t there. He hadn’t come back at all, and that had cut her to the quick, because where had he spent the night?
At his parents’? Or with someone else? With the brunette? Surely not? That would surely have been frowned upon, but then was she really up and running about how modern or not the women in Sarastan were? Who knew what they got up to, tradition or no tradition? They could hit the local pole dancing clubs when the sun set, for all she knew.
Which thought made her smile for a minute or two.
She would give all those summery, optimistic dresses to charity so that there were no visible reminders of her time out there, and then she would head to the office to clear her stuff. Sunday would be a brilliant day to do that because there would be no curious eyes, no questions. She’d be able to disappear without any fuss.
In the morning, she would do a food shop and then head in to the office—it would be safer in the evening. Hedge-fund managers in charge of billions often had an annoying habits of working at the weekend but no one worked on a Sunday evening. That was beyond the pale.
And yet...
It had been oh, so easy to be calm and collected from the safety of her box in Swiss Cottage. Broken hearts were so much easier to nurse when there were no reminders around.
Just heading in on the Tube was a reminder of the familiar route she would be leaving behind. Her feet slowed as they approached the impressive, towering building that housed Malik’s elite task force. The sun had set and it was very quiet. Groups and couples were drifting along, heading for who knew what restaurant, bar or evening dinner party somewhere?
It was chilly. Even through her jeans and the old jumper she had flung on she could still feel the cold nipping at her.
Deep breath.
She was already taking out the two bin bags she had brought with her as she pushed through the revolving door into the foyer where Sam, the guy at front desk at the weekend, smiled and tried to engage her in conversation.
‘Just clearing a few things,’ she said chirpily, but her smile was glazed and her eyes were a little unfocused.
He looked puzzled.
Probably thinks I’m nuts, Lucy thought as the lift pinged on its way up. Too bad; in half an hour, she’d be on her way out and that would be the end of that.
She stared down at the ground of the silent, deserted office as she made her way to Malik’s office suite, which was past the central area with its minimalist furnishings and its state-of-the-art computers, all now switched off.
She banged lights on as she went. She took a deep breath as she stood outside Malik’s office and then opened the door and stepped in to a darkened room—her outer office, where over the years she had accumulated, frankly, the sort of bric-a-brac that her sisters would fondly have laughed at. There were framed photos, plants, an array of pens in cases, because who could resist a decent, colourful pencil case? There were some little ceramic objets d’art which were great for fiddling around with when she was bored and taking a quick break.
She banged on the light and there was her desk, as clear as she had left it weeks ago...bar the massive wrapped box on top.
It was in silver wrapping with a big red bow.
She stared, frozen to the spot.
What the heck was this and what the heck was going on?
Inside his office, where he had been sitting for the past two and a half hours, Malik vaulted upright the minute Lucy switched on the outside light.
He’d never felt more nervous.
Watch and wait...? See what happened when she opened that box...? No, that felt a little too voyeuristic, although it was cravenly tempting.
He pushed open the door, cleared his throat and then they were looking at one another. Her face was a picture of open-mouthed shock. Her big, blue eyes were wide with absolute astonishment.
‘Lucy...’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I... Why don’t you sit down? Before you fall down.’ He moved forward quickly, dragged her leather chair out from behind her desk and rolled it over to where she hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d entered the room.
‘What are you doing here?’ she again demanded shrilly, ignoring the chair. ‘Why have you come here? You knew I’d be here collecting my stuff, Malik! Why have you picked now to show up?’
‘Because...’ He faltered to a stop but then nodded to the box on her desk. ‘Lucy, would you open the box? It’s...something I bought for you...’
‘Tripped up at the last minute by a guilty conscience, Malik?’ she asked with dripping sarcasm.
Galvanised into action, she strode over to her desk, ignoring both him and the chair, and yanked open the drawers to begin the process of stuffing her belongings into one of the bin bags.
‘No need to feel guilty,’ she muttered in a driven undertone. ‘No need to feel sorry for me. I’m quite capable of moving on from you, whatever you might think.’
‘What you said...’
‘What about it?’ She stopped to glare at him but even in mid-glare she noted that he looked haggard. ‘And how the heck did you manage to get here so fast?’ she demanded accusingly. ‘Last time I saw you, you were about to disappear back into your “find a bride” party.’
Her eyes blurred with tears.
‘I didn’t disappear back into it for long,’ Malik admitted roughly. ‘You left me...you walked away... I went to my place in the city centre. You asked how I got here? Private jet. I didn’t have the patience to go through the usual channels. I had to get here...had to see you...’
‘And now you have. So, you can disappear back to Sarastan in your private jet and pick up where you left off there!’
She was being horrible but how could she help it? How could she be expected to hang on to her self-control when he was standing in the room like her very worst nightmare come to life.
‘Did you mean it? What you said...about loving me...’
Lucy stared, livid that he had asked that, livid that he was here and yet unable to deny the truth of what she had told him.
‘What does it matter?’
‘A lot. The box...it’s not a guilt gift, Lucy. Please...would you open it?’
So, she did. She reckoned that she might as well, because the faster she could leave, the better. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be in the same room as Malik.
It was an enormous box and she wondered whether he’d thoughtlessly decided to get her a farewell gift of a new laptop for whatever new job she managed to find. She began tearing off the paper—thick, expensive paper, she couldn’t help but notice en passant. The bow got chucked on the ground. She could feel his dark eyes on her and, when she quickly glanced up at him, she shivered because she couldn’t read what he was thinking, not at all.
And she’d always been half-decent at doing that.
The paper kept coming off, layer upon layer upon layer, and then, just when she was about to give up in tearful, angry frustration and misery, there it was—a little black velvet box which she stared down at without touching.
‘What’s this?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Open it.’
‘Tell me.’ But she was already flipping open the little box, and there it was—a ring...with a diamond on it. The purest, most beautiful diamond she had ever seen in her life. Not that she’d seen very many, actually.
‘What’s this?’ she repeated, but her voice was hesitant, although she couldn’t staunch the rush of excitement that threaded its way through her.
She trembled as he took a few steps towards her until he was right next to her, so close to her that she could reach out and touch him.
‘Will you marry me, Lucy?’
‘Sorry?’ She blinked and wondered whether she’d misheard or else maybe hallucinated something she wanted to hear as opposed to what she actually heard.
‘I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?’
‘Will I marry you? How can you ask that when you’re already involved in the process of marrying someone else?’
‘Let’s sit. This conversation...isn’t one to be had standing up, staring at one another with a desk at the side. Makes me think I should be dictating something for you to transcribe.’ He smiled tentatively, crookedly, but he didn’t move, waiting to see what she would do.
Since her legs were beginning to feel like jelly, Lucy shuffled to the sofa by the wall and fell into it. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts were all over the place. She’d left the little box with the twinkling diamond right where it was on the desk and now she longed to cast another eye over it to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
He sat next to her, not too close but not too far. Close enough to touch, but only if he reached out—no place for any accidental brushing of hands.
They stared at one another.
‘You’re shocked.’
‘Are you surprised?’
‘No.’
‘The last time I saw you, you were telling me in no uncertain terms just how you felt about me.’ Her voice was laced with bitterness and, however much the diamond ring was calling, she wasn’t going to pay heed to the temptation to listen to that siren call. No, sir.
‘Lucy,’ he said heavily, and this time he did lean forward. ‘I always knew the path I was going to follow. Especially after my youthful...what shall I call it?...misjudgement, well, I accepted that love and romance, and all the complications that came with that, were never going to feature in my life.’ He sighed. ‘I knew what my parents had and I knew that it was a formula that worked—an arranged marriage with no room for misunderstandings. When we...started what we started...’
Lucy stiffened but didn’t pull away when he hesitantly reached across to link his fingers through hers.
‘Go on,’ she said tersely. ‘I’m listening. Just about.’
Malik smiled. ‘Everything about you is so wonderfully unique, Lucy. The fact that I’ve always thought that should have been a clue as to how I really felt about you.’
‘And which is how, exactly?’
Lucy wanted to sound sharp, but instead sounded hopeful, so she glowered to make up for the weakness, which made him smile just a little bit more.
‘Dependent,’ he said simply.
‘Dependent...?’
‘I’m in love with you, my darling, and if I didn’t have the courage or the wit to see that before then I am happy to spend the rest of my life apologising for the oversight.’ He looked at her with utter seriousness.
‘But what about all those plans you made? The ball? What about that brunette you spent the entire evening with? I half-expected an announcement to be made by the end of the evening!’
‘That was never going to happen,’ Malik said wryly. ‘It wasn’t a fairy tale story to be wrapped up in a few chapters with a wedding at the end. The only woman I had eyes for at that ball was you. The only woman’s voice I wanted to hear was yours. The only woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with... I realised...was you. So, did you mean what you said about loving me? I’ve been a fool, but will you have me now? Will you forgive me my blindness?’
Lucy smiled.
She clasped his hands with hers and leant towards him to brush his cheek with her fingers. That dear, dear face that she knew so well. How could she ever have imagined that what they’d shared could be left behind? He might have been blind to what he’d felt, but she’d been blind as well in assuming that what she felt could be contained. Somewhere along the line, attraction had cemented into something solid and wonderful, and she’d chosen to overlook that because she hadn’t wanted to admit to it.
So would she marry him—this big, complex, strong, vulnerable guy she’d fallen head over heels in love with?
‘Forgive your blindness? I think I can do that... I’ve been a fool as well for ever thinking that I could get you out of my system. Once you entered it, you were always going to be there for ever. And as for marrying you...?’ She dimpled in the way he had fallen for from day one. ‘I think there might just be a space in my diary...’