Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
S oraiya returned to her suite of rooms to wait for Zak. There was no point following him. She couldn’t bear seeing that stony expression turned on her again. No, she’d wait it out in her rooms where she could be alone with him, and certain of not being interrupted.
But when she reached the terrace, the table was still set for the candlelit dinner and she was suddenly overwhelmed, as she remembered the hopes she’d had for the evening and the news she’d been about to impart. But she could hardly tell him now. He wouldn’t want to know. It wouldn’t mean anything to him if he didn’t want her around. Such information as the sheikha had revealed was grounds for divorce if Soraiya wasn’t who she’d claimed to be.
She opened up the laptop and found the page of the genealogy site which her cousin had shared with her. Delving deeper, she found evidence supporting Sheikha Alishaba’s claim. She was linked to people she’d never heard of and families and names she hadn’t known existed. She closed the computer, closed her eyes and suddenly remembered she had heard one name before. Rather, not heard, but read. She remembered reading it on her mother’s computer. An old friend, her mother had explained. From school days in France. There had even been a photo. She remembered his green eyes. A color which no one else had in her family.
Feeling suddenly nauseous, she went into the bathroom and vomited. As she sat on the cool marble floor, clutching the side of the bath, she felt as if everything she’d known and valued all her life had crumbled away, leaving nothing but a shell. And she was an unwanted shell at that. All the things she’d strived for had come to nothing. Her skills, her hard work, her dedication, her perseverance against all odds. But those odds had suddenly become stacked way too high for her to overcome. She wasn’t who she thought she was. The question was, what was she going to do about it?
Her father would be informed. Of that, she was certain. Someone as vengeful as Zak’s mother wouldn’t keep such gold to herself. She’d tell him, so that she could get at the sons who’d spurned her and taken away her status.
And what would her father do? She closed her eyes and placed the back of her hand against her forehead as the tears re-formed once more. She knew. He’d disown her, and she wouldn’t be able to inherit the land which formed the basis of the future for Sirun, because she wasn’t of her grandmother’s blood line. She wasn’t her “true” granddaughter—born of both her mother and father. A stipulation designed to disinherit her father’s bastards now meant she, also, would be disinherited.
On top of that, her father would disown her. Blood ties were paramount to him, and there was no affection, nothing to stop him from disowning her. And where would that leave her? Nowhere. With no marriage. And pregnant.
What the hell was she going to do?
Zak paced the floor while his vizier stood sternly firm.
“You’ll have to divorce her,” Aabid said.
“No. No divorce. We don’t even have proof that her father knows the truth about her birth.”
Aabid raised an eyebrow. “Your mother knows. Do you really think she won’t tell someone who has the potential to destroy our trade negotiations? That would be precisely the kind of revenge your mother would enjoy!”
Zak stopped his pacing, and rubbed his eyes. He knew the vizier spoke the truth. He turned wearily to him. “He’ll disown Soraiya, won’t he?”
“Yes. Of course. You know King Qadir. If this is made public knowledge, which your mother will ensure, he will feel humiliated and he’ll take it out on Soraiya. And you. And you know the stipulation of Soraiya’s inheritance. You won’t get that now. Your mother has created chaos, just as she’s been wanting to do since you exiled her. You need to act quickly and decisively.”
“What do you advise?” Zak asked, knowing full well what his vizier would advise but hoping against hope that he’d hear something different.
“Divorce. There’s nothing else for it. You have the grounds—Soraiya isn’t who we were led to believe she is. You’ve been lumbered with a sheikha who brings you nothing except illegitimacy. And that’s of no use to a king. Yes, a quick divorce, and marriage to one of the other neighboring sheikha. You can take your pick. Of course, none of them will bring that piece of land, or the trade advantages allied with that, but at least they will be of royal blood and will bring other advantages. If you keep Soraiya, she’ll have brought nothing to your marriage. It would have been in vain. A useless match, and a humiliating one. You must take control and deal with the situation appropriately.”
Zak swore under his breath and paced away, pushing open the windows to allow in the evening air, cooler now from the mountains. He took a deep breath before turning back to his vizier. “I’m not divorcing her.”
“You will. You have to. You’re not a prince any longer, not someone who can choose to do what you wish. You are king and have broader responsibilities. You have to divorce her. If you don’t, you’ll be the laughingstock of our nation, our neighbors and our trading partners.”
“I won’t divorce her,” Zak ground out, practically face to face with the vizier. At last, Aabid must have realized that Zak was firm on this point, and he didn’t respond. Just threw up his hands and walked away.
“Just tell me why not? Do me the courtesy of explaining why you won’t get rid of this… this usurper. This cuckoo in the nest, this unwanted sheikha?”
“Because she is not unwanted.”
The vizier grunted. “Of course. After years of scandalous womanizing, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you, you’ve chosen this time, this woman, to fall in love with. What wonderful timing.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Aabid.”
“I can state the facts in any number of ways, but it doesn’t change them. Of all the times to fall in love, that you should choose now, is like God playing a joke on us.”
“She is my wife. I didn’t say that I have fallen in love with her, merely that she is not unwanted.” Zak shrugged. “Anyway, it has nothing to do with choosing. It just happened. Soraiya is a woman who is impossible not to like.”
“Huh,” grunted the vizier. “Her father seems to have managed it. If only he loved her, then perhaps the inevitable wouldn’t happen. But he doesn’t , and it will .”
It was Zak’s turn to grunt dismissively. “The man is a monster.”
“Yes, we all know that. But unfortunately, this monster is the father of your wife, and will not only disown his daughter, but also make sure she doesn’t inherit the land upon which the success of the French trade negotiations depends.” The vizier sighed. “Your Highness, you must face facts. Her Royal Highness is no longer a suitable match for you.”
“Maybe. But it’s too late. I may be a womanizer, and all the other things of which you accuse me, Aabid, but I have honor. And I would never divorce her, even if I didn’t respect and admire her. But I do. I was forced into a marriage with Soraiya, and I discovered she is not only a remarkable woman, but she is one it appears I cannot do without. I intend she will always be in my life. And that is an end to the matter.”
Zak glanced at his watch. He’d left Soraiya long enough. He’d leave his vizier to mull over what he’d said and hopefully come up with a Plan B. Because there was no way Plan A was going to happen if he had anything to do with it.
It was very late by the time Zak returned to their room. Soraiya was in bed, with the only lights coming from the window. Black and white. Shadows and moonlight. It seemed the world could be reduced to such simplicity.
Yes. No.
Stay. Leave.
She watched him undress, quietly get into bed, and lie on his back, looking up at the ceiling. She wasn’t aware that he’d even looked across at her to see if she was awake or asleep. Yet another binary state.
Her heart hurt with the pain of the division which had torn right through their happiness. Lying there, waiting for him, she’d hoped against hope all that had been said and done between them over the past few months of their marriage had meant something, had created something which his mother, and her father, couldn’t destroy. But, as she lay there waiting for him to make a move towards her, say something—anything—she realized he could do nothing but reject her. It would be madness not to divorce her. And her husband wasn’t mad.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last, needing to break the silence, to reach out and connect with him. “I’m so sorry.”
He turned to her then, and she sensed the heaviness of his spirit. But she couldn’t read his eyes in the dim light. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.”
“No, but it seems I’m no longer good for you or for Sirun. And I’m so sorry about that.” She just got out the words before a lump formed in her throat.
He turned to look back at the ceiling. “Again, you do not need to apologize.”
She could feel the cool tears trickle down the sides of her face as they lay in silence, looking up at the ceiling, the heaviness of the revelation pressing down on them both.
She swallowed hard. “Do you think my father knows?”
“Yes. I think it highly unlikely my mother wouldn’t tell him.”
“What do you think he’ll do?”
He sighed, rolled over, and faced her. “ Habibti , you know what he’ll do.”
She gulped. “Then perhaps a better question is, what will you do?” She turned to him.
He frowned. “You’re crying,” he said, leaning over her. “You mustn’t cry.” He swept away the tears with his thumbs as he cradled her face. Trouble was, it only brought on more tears. The sob was wrenched from somewhere deep inside of her. “No,” he moaned, kissing her lips, even as she tried to tear herself away from him, ashamed at her weakness. She’d let no one see her cry before. In her family, weakness was exploited. And here, now, she couldn’t risk any more vulnerability.
She moved away from him, slipped out of bed, and walked over to the open window, her nightgown billowing in the evening breeze, cooling her heated body. She swiped away the tears and turned to him. She would deal with this like she dealt with everything—head-on and logically.
“We must talk this through. It’s obvious what needs to be done.”
“Not to me, it’s not,” said Zak. “Come back to bed.”
“No, not until we’ve sorted out what we’re going to do.”
“This is too complex to discuss now. Besides, it’s very late. I think we should wait until morning, find out what your father’s reaction is, and then work out a plan.”
Plan . That word held a wealth of possibilities—both hopeful and disastrous—and she didn’t know what possibilities he imagined in that word. The curtain flickered behind her, allowing more light into the room. She caught a glimpse of his exhausted face.
“Come back to bed, please,” he said. “And we’ll work things out in the morning.”
Work things out. A plan. They were all euphemisms for the same thing. She had to leave. To stay would bring ridicule and further isolation upon Sirun. But she had tonight. She returned to bed.
Silently, he brought her into his arms and kissed the damp tracks of her tears as he caressed her. Her body was attuned to his now, and she opened her legs to accommodate him. A single kiss on the lips—full of longing from both of them—was all it took to ignite her need for him, a need which was clearly reciprocated in him.
He didn’t hesitate, but slipped inside of her straight away. There was no need for more foreplay. Soraiya needed to connect with this man who’d become the center of her life, and who she loved with all her heart and who she feared she was about to lose. And he? She didn’t know what drove him. Maybe nothing more than physical satisfaction. Because there were no words, no particular tenderness, but an almost desperate need to reach a climax.
And when they did, they parted immediately. He had his arm around her still, and she lay on it, but didn’t snuggle into his chest as she usually did. She didn’t pull the covers over her but left them as they fell and turned away, looking outside at the dark sky, knowing it would be a long night.