Chapter 32
From the moment I found out she had fled the building without telling anyone to the moment I jumped out of the car to find her at the museum, a fury unlike any I’ve felt before in my life coursed through every drop of blood in my veins.
We were photographed together in Turkey and in Ibiza. According to my PR manager, there are already rumors that Madeline is my new girlfriend.
The images alone wouldn’t spark speculation, but the fact that, above all, she worked for me could let the paparazzi put two and two together and realize that Madeline is special to me. I care little for what the press says, but my enemies care far more.
As I walk to the exact location she gave me, I barely notice that we’re attracting the attention of passersby. As always, I’m surrounded by bodyguards, but I’m breaking all the damn security protocols inherent to a head of state.
Normally, I’m a composed man. Few people can tell when I’ve reached my limit, but today I know that my emotions are impossible to contain.
Among them, there’s one I loathe. Despise actually.
Fear.
The idea that something might happen to a girl like Madeline, just because she’s with me, plays on my mind, causing unwanted anxiety.
I’ve escaped countless murder attempts, and even here in London, I diverted a kidnapping attempt. My bodyguards are trained to be strategic, besides being physically strong, but none of that matters if protocols aren’t respected.
My already hyperactive mind is prepared for the moment I see her. I have no doubt we will have an argument. I’m so fucking pissed off.
I stride forward, looking ahead. Then, as if it were a sudden opening and closing of curtains or an improper game of hide-and-seek, I catch a glimpse of the shine of her hair that is so unique, only to lose her in the crowd shortly after.
I pick up the pace, and just as I get close to her, people take a step back as if by unspoken agreement, and I can see her sitting on a bench.
I want to argue because I’m feisty by nature. I react if provoked and misbehave with twice the intensity. But when Madeline raises her head to meet my gaze, I see she’s miserable. Her tension is palpable. I instantly restrain myself.
I don’t have much time to think because as soon as Madeline sees me, indifferent to the dozens of onlookers, she closes the space between us and hugs me.
Going against everything I’d been thinking on the way, I hug her back. Then I hold her face in my hands. “Never run away from me again, Madeline. Whatever happens, talk to me. Don’t leave like this. I don’t give second chances.”
“I didn’t run away, or I wouldn’t have turned my phone back on.”
“Your Excellency, we have to leave,” the head of my security guards warns.
Shielding her from prying eyes and surrounded by the security team, we make our way back to the car.
I help her get in and fight the urge to keep her close to me. Madeline needs to explain what made her disappear for almost the entire afternoon.
“What happened?”
It takes her a few seconds before she starts talking. “I panicked. Suddenly, everything seemed too much to handle. I needed to think because I felt like I was on a rollercoaster and I had no idea when or where it would stop.”
She doesn’t meet my gaze, and I can’t tolerate that.
“Look at me, Madeline.”
When she does, her eyes are filled with tears.
“Was that why you left without telling me? Because you’re scared?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m listening.”
“When I arrived in London, for the first time, I’d taken control of my life. I was raised to be the good, obedient girl. I was fine with that because I longed to be accepted by my parents above all things. Then Zoe came back.”
“Back?”
“Yes, it’s a long story, but I can say that because of my mother’s bigotry, we didn’t speak for years. When we reunited, she helped me gather the courage to decide my own fate and not sit around waiting for a husband so I could marry into a life like my parents’.”
“Are you telling me that marrying me would also be a prison?”
“What else would it be? You don’t love me. You don’t even know me. Yet you’ll marry me because of your heir.”
“You can say no.”
“Can I?”
I don’t know how to respond to that because I know my honesty will shock her. I wouldn’t force her. I wouldn’t abduct her like my ancestors did with their brides centuries ago. But I wouldn’t hesitate to use every available means to seduce her and ensure we become a family.
I was raised by loving parents, and it was fortunate that they loved each other. Most of all, they loved us, their children. The unit we formed.
“I don’t play fair,” I start, opting for a half-truth.
“What does that mean?”
“I want both of you, and I’ll use whatever means I can to succeed.”
She doesn’t respond, and I continue, “Did you run away because you’re pregnant?”
“No, I didn’t know yet. I left work early to think, that’s all.”
“But now you know.”
“Yes.”
The confirmation brings an emotion I’ve never experienced before. Something primal, the certainty that, in a few months, my son or daughter, my heir, will be with me.
“Do you hate the idea of forming a family with me that much?”
She looks at her own hands. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m not your choice. It will be a convenient union to fulfill your position as the ruler of Sintarah.”
“Our union will be for the sake of our child. I’m not thinking about my duty as a ruler right now, only that I want my child to grow up with me around.
I know we don’t know each other well, Madeline, but I want you more than anyone before, or I would never have agreed to be in a relationship without a deadline. Don’t you think that’s a good start?”
She answers me with another question, perhaps because what I have to offer is not enough. “And what if your people hate me?”
“Is that your concern?”
“One of them, yes.”
“The people of Sintarah will love you when I tell them we have an heir on the way.”
“Will they love our child?”
For the first time, hearing it from her lips, it sinks into my heart that this child is not just mine—it’s ours. A piece of both of us. “I promise you they will, Madeline.”
“And you?”
“I want them. Even though we didn’t plan it, I want this child.”
She looks at me with an indecipherable expression. “Sounds good enough.”
Madeline doesn’t say anything else during the entire journey back to my house. When we arrive and I ask if she wants to give Zoe the news, she tells me no, she’s exhausted and wants to sleep.
I get the message.
Alone.
I take her to one of the guest bedrooms on the same floor as mine, and then I go to my office.
I’m not a drinker—in my country, only arak[13] is allowed—but I pour myself a generous dose of whiskey and let myself sink into a leather armchair.
My phone vibrates, and I’m not surprised when my mother’s name blinks on the screen.
“As-salam alaykom[14], my son,” she says when I answer.
“Wa Alykom As-salam[15], Mother.”
“I had a dream last night that my grandchild is on the way.”
Like all the other times she’s predicted events in my life, including the death of Hiba, my ex-fiancée, I feel a chill running down my spine. “Yes, my girlfriend is pregnant.”
“The girl you’ve been seen with?”
“That’s her. Madeline Turner.”
“English?”
“No, American. We’re heading to Sintarah tomorrow morning. We’ll talk peacefully when I get there.”
“Will she be a good mother to my grandchild?”
It takes me a few seconds to answer that. I’m a realist, not an optimist. Given Madeline’s reaction earlier, I’m not sure of anything.
“If not, I’ll fulfill that role,” I conclude, ending the conversation.