Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
T he next morning she awoke, alone in her palace bedroom, as she’d been all night, and lay there for a while, thinking about Zak’s reaction the previous night. At various times during the night she’d wondered if she’d imagined it. But in the cold light of morning, she knew she hadn’t. Zak didn’t want her to work as she’d done for her father. Why, she didn’t know. But if she was going to gain any satisfaction from this marriage, she needed to find out. And what better way than by confronting him? Then she’d be able to address his concerns with solid facts. She’d get her way. She’d make sure of it.
She jumped up and walked to the window, where she flung aside the curtains. It was early and, although their apartment was quite separate from the palace, she could hear people at work close by. Below her were their private gardens — lush and verdant with the water which descended the craggy mountains behind them — and below that, out of sight, lay the city, surrounded by the stony hammada plains which reached out endlessly to a pale gray horizon. She’d like to see the city. She glanced up toward the look-out where the palace blended into the mountainside. From there, she’d be able to see her new country. She’d check that out later. This was her world now, like it or not—and at that moment she was undecided—but she was determined to make the best of it.
A knock at the door made her turn around sharply. Was it Zak? Could it be him, come to make amends for his absence? She grabbed a robe and flung open the door, but it was only her assistant with a trolley of clothes and, more interestingly, a tray of food.
While she gave her full attention to the food, Daria wheeled in the trolley of clothes she’d ordered from her favorite designers. Within their apartment and gardens, she could wear what she liked. But, unlike her own country, she knew she should wear more traditional clothes elsewhere.
“How about this, Sheikha?” Daria held up a floral dress which was nearly transparent. It is very sensuous.” She raised an eyebrow. “Perfect for your honeymoon.”
Soraiya took the dress and was seriously tempted. But replaced it on the hanger. “As you well know, Daria, we have postponed our honeymoon until after the French delegation has visited, and the coronation.”
“But, Sheikha, you can have your own honeymoon here, within these walls, can you not?”
She shook her head with a grin. She’d known Daria for years and had been relieved that she’d agreed to come with her, and often took her advice. “I can. But not today. Today, I’ll be leaving the apartment. I wish to look business-like, professional. That’s the image I’m going for this morning.” She plucked a beautiful white silk abaya with embroidered trim and matching hijab from the wardrobe and held it up against her. It was modest, regal, and acceptable. Now she knew Zak a little better, she knew he was no monster. Whatever had made him angry when she’d first talked of helping him with matters of state would be easily overcome. She was sure. She’d start as she meant to go on.
What a difference a couple of days could make! Last time she’d walked through these corridors and gardens, she’d felt nervous — intimidated even. But since she’d been intimate with Zak, everything had changed and she could appreciate the beauty of the ancient palace, so very different from her own. It was such a maze of pathways and buildings that she got lost a few times and had to ask people for directions.
When she eventually entered the offices, she found a clerk who became very flustered when she asked him for the files she wanted. She frowned as she watched him thumb through some papers in an old-fashioned filing cupboard and produce a couple of files, fumbling with confusion. But Soraiya was glad of his confusion because she soon discovered he’d given her not only the itineraries and plans for forthcoming visits but also the budgets and financials associated with them. She only had time to skim their contents when the door burst open and the Prime Vizier, Aabid, swept into the room. His craggy, thin face gave nothing away as he bowed.
“What a pleasure — and a surprise — to see you here, Your Highness.”
“Thank you! As our honeymoon has been postponed until after the coronation, I thought I’d get started right away.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Get started? On what exactly?”
She looked up, alerted by his chillingly polite tone that something was amiss, and frowned. “Familiarizing myself with the country’s affairs.”
It was his turn to frown.
“So I can be of assistance,” she added helpfully, thinking that he may not be aware of the work she’d done in her own country. “I worked on state affairs in my country, especially on diplomatic missions such as the forthcoming French delegation.”
“Yes, I’d heard. An unusual arrangement.”
She cocked her head to one side, now certain that he disapproved. “Not so unusual, I think, for someone of royal blood with an MBA in International Relations.” Stated like that, she almost convinced herself of the ease with which she’d gained her role. But it covered years of studying and working hard to please her father. She might not have received the love she craved, but at least she’d gained his respect.
“Indeed. However”—he tapped his steepled fingers together which unnerved Soraiya—“you may find things a little different here.”
Uneasiness flickered in her gut. “And why is that?”
“The king may have other ideas.”
She gave a small grunt. She knew that. But couldn’t imagine Zak’s “ideas” would hold up against her logic. She was born and educated for this role, and all she had to do was make him see that.
“I’m sure the King won’t mind,” she said with a smile, returning her attention to the paper files in front of her. She’d look into hiring a company of first-rate IT specialists she knew to get the administration up-to-date.
She continued to focus on the papers, aware he hadn’t moved. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the vizier gesture to the clerk. She looked up, but this time didn’t smile, simply raised an imperious eyebrow.
“Was there something else, Aabid?”
“I believe a group of ladies will pay you a visit later this morning. Suitable ladies.”
“And I’ll be very pleased to meet these suitable ladies. But I’ll stay here until then.” He still didn’t move. “Maybe we could meet up later, Aabid? No doubt after I’ve gone over the itinerary for the French delegation, I’ll have some questions for you.”
Reluctantly, he bowed. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
“And please, call me Soraiya.”
He bowed again but, judging by the air of disapproval he exuded as he left the room, she doubted he’d be calling her Soraiya anytime soon.
She was quickly absorbed. After years of working on visitor itineraries, she knew how important the details could be and how much they could affect the outcome of the negotiations. She instantly saw how minor changes could be made, which would have a large impact on the success of the visit. One of her father’s rare compliments was that she had an instinct for such projects.
But her concentration couldn’t withstand the sound of raised voices coming towards her. She assumed some underling was being admonished by their manager until the door burst open and an angry-looking Zak entered the room. The door was closed behind him by the clerk, and Zak stood before her, hands on robed hips, and his brow lowered over eyes that were coal black.
She rose uncertainly. “Zak, I?—”
“Soraiya,” interrupted Zak. “What do you think you’re doing?” He spoke between gritted teeth as if he were determined to contain a fury which she didn’t understand.
“I wish to get to know your administration so I could see where I can fit in.”
“You don’t fit in. You are my wife, not one of my administrators.”
Her mouth dried with fear. What was going on? Who was this stranger before her? He certainly bore little resemblance to the man who she’d known so intimately last night. She forced herself to breathe evenly. She refused to be cowed. She knew fear could be sensed and exploited. She’d learned that from her father.
“And can’t your wife also work to help her new country and husband?”
“I don’t need your help.”
“My father valued my help.”
He scoffed. “He so valued it he married you off at the first opportunity!”
She recoiled as if he’d struck her. She flexed her hands, which tingled with the pain of his attack. The work she’d done for her father had been all she’d had—the only place from which she’d derived any sense of self-worth. And Zak had just suggested it had meant nothing to her father. He had to be wrong.
“ That was always going to happen,” she mumbled, unable to deny the truth of Zak’s statement completely. “I was a daughter and therefore… expendable.” She bit her lip to stop it from trembling, shocked by the attack from this man, her husband, a stranger. This wasn’t the man she’d been with last night. “But,” she nodded for emphasis, determined to regain her equilibrium. “I worked hard for my country and I believe I was an asset to it.” She sucked in a deep breath and looked up at him. His eyes softened slightly and her show of strength nearly dissolved into tears. She dug her nails into her palms. She should be used to such treatment, so why on earth was she being so emotional? But she knew why. She’d thought he was different, and she’d lowered her guard.
He sighed. “Of course,” he relented. “I’m sorry. What I meant to say is that we have capable people who can do the work.”
“But they are not a sheikha. They are not your queen. They do not speak four languages fluently, nor do they have a Masters in International Relations from the Sorbonne. Do you really imagine I could not be of use to you? Especially with the forthcoming diplomatic visit. I’ve met some of these people. I know how they work, what they like.” She paused, groping for some argument which would convince him. “Now your mother is no longer here, I can take her place. I can do the same things she did.”
His eyes suddenly grew hard again. “I don’t care how many languages you speak, you will not interfere with the running of my country!”
“ Our country.”
He ignored her. “Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” she said, sweeping around him and out of the door. She paused. “If I am to be banished to the royal apartment, then perhaps you would at least grant me access to the outside world.” She looked away. She couldn’t lie to him while she faced him. “My laptop isn’t working.”
He shrugged. “Order one.”
“I need one immediately. There must be a spare one in the palace, surely?”
“I’ll have one sent to you.”
She walked away and only then allowed her eyes to fill with tears. She was shocked at the difference between the man who’d given her such pleasure and this man—so cold, so distant, treating her like a stranger. What was going on?
As she entered the apartment, she slipped off her robes and scarf and changed into a short white summer dress with shoestring straps. She brushed out the severe bun, allowing her hair to fall around her shoulders. In her country, they were less formal, and she needed to be in touch with her real self. She looked in the mirror, reassured she was still there, that Zak hadn’t managed to destroy her. She’d fight this because she had a whole life ahead of her with this man. Something would have to change, and it wouldn’t be her.
At that moment there was a knock at the door and Daria entered with the laptop she’d asked for, along with a login to access the apps which had been placed on the desktop. They were social media sites which women often used. Most women. But not her.
The palace officials must have imagined that she wouldn’t have the knowledge to navigate the filing system, which was far more rudimentary than her own country’s. But she soon found what she was looking for. She’d somehow neglected to tell her new husband, or any of his staff, that, as part of her undergraduate degree, she’d studied information management. If they’d shown the slightest interest, she’d have told them. But they hadn’t, so she hadn’t. And, as she opened the files, she was glad she hadn’t.