For Duty's Sake (10 page)

“Eleven this morning.”

“Won't the event coordinator have gone home for the day at that point?”

“He will make himself available.”

She supposed that for a man who considered himself on call to his position 24/7, asking an employee to stay
late of an evening did not seem like an unreasonable request. “Okay. Mom will be over in about an hour.”

She'd called her parents the night before, after getting the shot of Vitamin B6 and before taking the safe-for-pregnancy sleeping pill. Lou-Belia had been uncharacteristically calm when faced with the news of impending grandparenthood and the upcoming royal wedding. She'd agreed to come over in the morning, suggesting Angele get a good night's rest.

Angele couldn't help thinking that Zahir had somehow managed to contact her parents ahead of time and apprise them of his wishes to encourage her to get more sleep.

“Is your father coming also?”

“He is.”

“It will be a busy day for you.”

Angele didn't argue, but wondered if busy was a code for challenging, because she knew that was exactly what her day was shaping up to be. Not that Zahir's would not be equally difficult. He had to come up with a definitive plan to announce what many would say was scandalous news. He would be questioned and criticized.

The media was going to have a field day with the situation; the perfect prince had fallen from grace.

And it was her fault.

Knowing he had anticipated her being on the pill or some equally effective form of birth control added to her sense of guilt. Not that he couldn't have at least asked, but
she'd
known for a fact they weren't using anything.

“What is that look?” he asked, his brows drawn to
gether in a concerned frown. “Do you wish to postpone these meetings?”

“That's hardly an option.”

“I will make it an option if that is what you need.”

“How can you be so nice to me right now?”

“How can I not?”

“It's my fault we're in this situation.”

“Assigning blame is useless, but if you must do so, then assign me my portion. I was the one who waited too long to act on the intentions in the contract between our two families.”

“I
knew
we weren't using birth control.”

“Yes.”

“Aren't you angry with me? You were furious yesterday.”

“Yesterday is best left in the past.”

And she knew he meant both literally the day before and their ill conceived night together.

“You're going to be a figure of public speculation and gossip for months because of this.” And she knew how much that had to bother him.

“Highly doubtful. It will be a nine day's wonder. And I refuse to forget that had Elsa been more vindictive and less greedy, I would already be so.”

The knowledge obviously weighed heavily on him. Angele could see it in the rigid tension of his shoulders and the haunted shadows in his gray eyes.

“That's in the past too.”

He shrugged, but she knew he was too much of a perfectionist to extend the same acceptance for mistakes to himself that he seemed determined to offer her.

“My own idiocy is not something I will forget anytime soon,” he said, confirming her thoughts.

“So, we've both been idiots. It's time to move forward.”

He laughed, the sound as surprising as it was surprised. “I do not believe anyone has called me an
idiot
in all my adult years.”

“Not to your face anyway,” she said, tongue in cheek.

His dark brows rose. “Not behind my back, either.”

“Your arrogance is showing again.”

“It is never very far below the surface, I assure you.”

“What happened to the humble servant to your people?”

“The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Not in your world, anyway, right?”

“My world is your world.”

“It is now.”

“I could wish you were happier about that fact.”

“It is what it is,” she said, using the American vernacular for one of his favorite Arabic proverbs.

His jaw went taut, though nothing else gave away the fact her reply had not made him happy. “There was a time when you were nothing but pleased to be my intended.”

“It's going to sound trite, but I grew up.” She smiled, hoping to take any sting the words might have for him.

She wasn't trying to slight him, merely tell him the truth.

“Those words should be bitter, but from your mouth they are not.”

Good. She was determined to live by her decision to
accept her fate and stop whining, even internally. “I'm not bitter.”

“Then there is great hope for our future.”

“Yes, I suppose there is.” They would never have the happy families fantasy she'd always dreamed of, but they could have a solid marriage and good life together.

She could do nothing but hope.

A
NGELE'S HOPE FOR THE
future seemed to prove true over the following weeks.

Often running interference with her family and his, Zahir willingly stayed in the States with Angele long enough for her to finalize preparations for her permanent move to Zohra. While she had to give up her apartment, he promised to buy a home with proper security for their trips back to U.S. in the future.

Announcement of their forthcoming wedding and the advent of their first child was met with a surprisingly positive response in both Zohra and Jawhar. The scandal rags didn't have much to report because the legitimate press had been given all the details along with photos of the “happy” couple together in both the United States and Zohra after she had officially relocated.

Zahir offered to handle the official press conference with his father, but Angele insisted on standing by his side. Begin as you mean to go on. That's what Lou-Belia had taught her and Angele had no intention of being a shrinking violet who spent her time hiding in the royal palace. They gave an interview to a leading personality reporter and Zahir made it very clear that he considered
the “miscommunications” during their “courtship” to be his fault entirely.

His hero status was growing by the minute and not just with the public. Angele found herself falling more deeply in love with the man she was about marry than she'd ever been.

Crown Sheikh Zahir bin Faruq al Zohra was everything she had ever wanted in a husband and his behavior over the weeks leading to the wedding only reinforced that truth. He continued with what she privately termed his
unnecessary
courtship. After all, they were already headed for the altar with no chance at either of them backing out.

Nevertheless, he'd taken her to dinner both in Zohra's capital and such romantic hotspots like Paris—a high speed helicopter was an amazing form of transportation. Apparently it was good to be sheikh.

In addition to his attention, he showered her with gifts and more flowers, warning her he would be less than pleased to discover she'd been giving them away to the domestic staff as she had his first offerings.

She'd kept them all, pressing the loveliest for safekeeping. More the fool her.

It grew increasingly difficult to maintain her emotional distance, but she wasn't about to wear her heart on her sleeve like she had her whole life. Not when his was still so firmly encased behind a brick wall.

Angele saw no evidence that Zahir's feelings toward her had grown romantically. She didn't consider his courtship in that light. It was a politically expedient tactic that might be working, but wasn't fooling her where it counted.

In regard to his feelings.

In fact, with his absolute refusal to touch her with anything more than the briefest buss of his lips over hers in greeting or parting, she was fairly certain even the passion he'd briefly exhibited for her was long gone. While he'd shared her bed at the apartment, he always went to sleep long after her and was up before she opened her eyes in the morning.

Sure as certain, he never touched her intimately.

That didn't stop him from having more opinions regarding their wedding than even Lou-Belia could lay claim to. Angele didn't care what color of linens decorated the formal dining room, or how the royal crests of the Zohra and Jawhar were displayed.

Zahir cared about both and so much more. He'd even given Lou-Belia some advice concerning Angele's trousseau. Angele had no idea what that advice was, only that Lou-Belia was beside herself that he'd offered it.

“As if I do not know exactly what fashions would best suit my own daughter,” her mother fumed as they traversed the high fashion district of Paris.

“I suppose it hasn't occurred to either of you that I've been choosing my own clothing for years now?” She'd been an editorial assistant on a fashion magazine, for heaven's sake.

Not that anyone seemed to remember that salient fact.

“You don't want my help shopping?” Lou-Belia asked, managing to sound both hurt and patently shocked.

“Of course, I want your company.” Which was not the same thing, but she was hoping her mother would not notice.

Not that it mattered. By the end of the day, Angele had had her fill of both her mother and Zahir's advice. Not only had he taken her mother aside, but he'd called two of the couture shops they had appointments with and made recommendations for particular outfits for her try on.

His choices were rather sexy for a man who was back to treating her like a favored cousin.

When she muttered something to that effect, Lou-Belia said, “Nonsense. He's treating you with respect.”

“I'd rather he treated me like a woman.”

“Apparently he's already done that, or I wouldn't be looking forward to becoming a grandmother before the year is out.”

Angele gave her mother a speaking glance, but shut up about Zahir's lack of interest in the physical side of their relationship.

She didn't stop thinking about it though. Every day he treated her like an ice princess instead of his princess brought back the pain of the years he'd ignored her for other pursuits. He'd promised her that he would not take a lover, but in the darkest hours of the night, Angele lay in her lonely bed and wondered.

 

Zahir helped Angele from the limousine, his bodyguards holding foreign reporters back. Their own people maintained a respectful distance, though their interest was just as avid.

It was not the first time he had brought his soon-to-be bride to one of the top restaurants in their capital for a romantic dinner. He was used to being stared at and
talked about when he went into public. He was their future king. Naturally they would find him of interest.

And Angele handled the interest with aplomb, making him proud and not a little surprised by her perfected public persona.

Regardless, he usually preferred to keep his public profile to well-managed levels, but a ten-year-in-the-making courtship required extra efforts.

Not that they seemed to be making any impact on the woman who carried his child and would soon carry his name as well. She had retreated behind a smiling facade that irritated him beyond reason, because it was so different from the Angele he was accustomed to.

For as long as he could remember, Angele had looked at him with a big dose of hero worship and not a small dose of want. He'd done his best to ignore the want because for too many years, she'd been all too young. Still, it had been there. And he had grown used to it. Had in fact, no idea how much he enjoyed that state of affairs until it was gone.

She was never anything less than pleasant, but she was also never anything more than pleasant. She might refute the title of princess because she could not claim it by birth and could not yet claim it by marriage, but she had the attitude down. Her aura of serenity could rival his mother's at dinner of State.

The problem was, that unlike his mother, Angele did not drop the serene little smiles and even tones when she was in the private company of family.

The vulnerable, sweet princess he had always known was now hidden behind the politically polished princess who had made her apologies to their people
despite his willingness to take full responsibility for their
estrangement
.

Right now, although they were supposed to be spending time cementing their bond, her attention was firmly on those around them rather than him. Angele nodded and smiled to the Zohranians while managing to ignore the paparazzi yelling questions and taking their picture. And he had no reason to believe it would be any different once they were inside the restaurant, where she would no doubt maintain this infuriating distance.

Suddenly she dropped to her knees. He leaped forward, his body hovering over hers protectively while he looked around for some threat, even as he put his hand out to help her back to her feet. Which she ignored. It was only then that he realized a small child had managed to get away from his parents and through the small throng of reporters.

In her designer original gown, her face and hair perfectly coiffed, Angele opened her arms to the clearly frightened child. The little boy threw himself at what he obviously saw as safety.

She scooped him up, whispering something to the child that made him respond with a nod. All the while cameras flashed and Zahir had no problem imagining the front cover story of the social pages tomorrow.

Standing, Angele turned to him. “It appears we've made a friend.”

Zahir smiled at the child giving him a shy sideways glance. “Hello, little man. Where are your parents?”

“Wanted to see the princess,” the boy said instead of answering.

“I see. She is very special, is she not?”

The little boy nodded and Angele gave the child the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in days. “What is your name?”

Zahir didn't catch the muffled answer over a commotion going on to his right. The young girl his bodyguards allowed to come forward looking two parts terrified and one part awed, resembled the boy too much to be anything other than an older sister.

She confirmed Zahir's guess with her first words. “My brother didn't mean anything. I'm supposed to be watching him in the car while our parents run an errand, but we wanted to see the new princess.”

“Please don't be upset.” Angele gave another one of her genuine smiles to the girl. “He hasn't caused any trouble.”

The girl did not look appreciably mollified. “My parents are going to be very angry.”

“Perhaps they will not be so upset if they join us for dinner,” Angele said.

The young girl stared as if she could not believe what Angele had said. The maître d', who had joined them outside, was looking at Angele with much the same expression on his usually unflappable face.

It was a politically brilliant move that would do much to shore up his princess' popularity with his people. And considering the lack of success of Zahir's attempts to romantically woo his bride-to-be, he didn't mind the extra company tonight.

Angele gave him a pleading look that had nothing in common with her new persona of serenity ice princess, and there was no chance he would kibosh the invitation. He turned to his bodyguard with instructions to find the
parents and have them join the royal couple and their children in the restaurant for dinner.

He would have done far more for the genuine and warm gratitude now glowing in Angele's espresso-brown gaze.

 

Angele stood outside the secret passageway door to Zahir's rooms. Her hands were clammy and the nausea that had for the most part abated, was back in response to her jumping nerves.

This evening, she and Zahir had connected in a way they had not since she'd first seen the hurtful photos. She hoped they could connect in other ways tonight as well.

Before she could allow herself to change her mind, she lifted her hand and knocked on the panel. Then, without waiting for an answer, she pulled on the lever. It wasn't locked from the other side and the door swung inward.

A quick glance revealed that Zahir wasn't in the bedroom, so she crossed to the sitting room. His expression inquiring, he was standing up from a desk with an open laptop on its surface when she came in.

He'd discarded his robes of State and his suit jacket, as well as his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, giving her a glimpse of the dark hair that covered his chest and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.

It was an intimate look, few would be privileged to see.

His eyes widened fractionally as they focused on her. “
Princess
, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to thank you for allowing that family to have dinner with us.” Angele had other plans as well, but she had enough diplomacy not to mention them right off the start.

“It was surprisingly enjoyable.” He bent down and pressed a button on the laptop, sending it into hibernate.

So, he wasn't going to try to rush her out of there. Good. “Surprisingly?” she asked.

“I do not usually enjoy dining with strangers.”

“You do it often enough in your official capacity.”

“Exactly.”

“Yet, you didn't hesitate to extend the invitation for them to join us when I asked.” And that made her feel warm and gooey inside.

Was that pathetic? Did it matter? It was her life, after all. Not someone else's. She needed to live it for her happiness, or what she could grasp of it.

Which was why she was here, instead of chewing on all sorts of unpleasant possibilities for the future in her lonely bed.

He reached out and touched the corner of her softly curved lips, an unreadable expression on his face. “I will always try to give you what you desire, when I can.”

“I appreciate that.” Did she need his love when she had his commitment?

She'd certainly felt cherished over the past weeks, even if his actions had not been driven by more tender feelings.

“We will be content together.” He winced as if unhappy with his own choice of words.

“Contentment is not bad.”

“No, there are far worse fates.”

That there were better possible fates hung between them, unsaid, but not unappreciated. By them both, she felt. And she was not sure that meant what it once did.

Hope sparked a tiny light deep in her heart.

Taking her courage in her hands, she stepped firmly into his personal space. “You said you would always give me what I want.”

“If it is within my power.”

She nodded, pretty confident that what she wanted was definitely within his power. Reaching out, she laid her hands on his biceps and then curled her fingers around the hard muscles there. She smoothed her thumbs along his arms and he made no move to stop her. The knowledge she was allowed to do this shuddered through her.

He was hers, as she was his.