Authors: Clare Connelly
“Were they abusive? Did they hit you?” He asked through clenched teeth.
“No, no,” she shook her head violently. “They weren’t like that. Their abuse was of an emotional nature.” She passed her palm across her eyes.
He thought of her dancing, and her misplaced belief that she was not talented. “They’re the ones who told you you’d never become a professional dancer,” he murmured watchfully.
She nodded. “Amongst other things, yes.”
“For whatever reason they chose to tell you such lies, why did you believe them?”
“I told you, Tariq, you’ll never understand. To be told every day that you’re no good, that you’re too tall, too pale, too slow, untalented, eventually, that just becomes a truth.”
The only sign that he’d digested her words was a slight tightening around his lips.
“Why not move the hell away as soon as you could?”
Her eyes were round with truthfulness. “They said I owed them. Raising me was an expense they hadn’t planned for. Once I was out of school, we arranged for me to begin
paying back some of what they’d spent on my education. After board, there wasn’t enough left to move somewhere else.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and concentrated on staying calm. What he wanted to do was punch something. Not a violent man, the way his wife’s family had behaved made his blood boil with some completely
unfamiliar instinct.
“I know it sound ludicrous, but at the time, I couldn’t see that I had many choices. They’re still my family. The only family I’ve got left. I hoped, for years, that eventually they would love me.”
“But you don’t now.”
It was a comment, not a question, but she answered it nonetheless. “No. When I
heard about the contract our parents had made all those years ago... I saw my escape route. Marrying you meant I could close the door on them completely. I don’t hate them. I just don’t want to see them again.”
He nodded, but his eyes had assumed an odd coldness. “Marriage to me was the only way to escape.” He swallowed. “You really
didn’t
care about the fact I’m rich.”
“Of course not.
” She shook her head fiercely to underscore her point. “Well, not entirely. Only in so much as it makes it even more impossible for them to get to me.”
He nodded, but there was a strange twist in his gut.
Regret for believing she was a gold-digger, and something else. Something that he didn’t dare analyse. “Rebecca,” and because he couldn’t resist, he reached out and took a twist of her golden hair between his thumb and forefinger, ran his fingers down its silky length. “I always knew I would marry a woman who was chosen for me by my parents. But forcing you to stay married to me makes me just as bad as your adoptive parents.” He steeled himself to release her and step back. His face was business like.
“What are you saying?” She asked huskily.
He drew in a deep breath, and forced himself to ask the question he feared he already had an answer to. “I don’t want a wife who is imprisoned by life circumstances. You didn’t marry me freely. If you had any other option, you wouldn’t have done this, would you?”
She bit down on her lip. The words she desperately wanted to say stalled at the tip of her tongue. She wouldn’t have, not before she’d met him. But now, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. But his regret was obvious.
“If you don’t want to be married to me, Tariq, just be a man and say it,” she denied shakily. “You don’t have to pretend that you’re worried about me.”
He pulled himself up to standing. “Careful, Rebecca.”
She looked back to the sparkling water, thinking of her grandfather and those fairytales, wishing she could be a princess on a magical flying carpet right now and simply disappear.
“Answer my question. If you had another option, you would have torn up our document of betrothal, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded bleakly. “Maybe. Probably.”
Silence sapped between them, long and awkward, filled with unspoken questions and no answers.
His heart was a dead weight in his chest. “I understand. You must appreciate how abhorrent it is to me to be married to a woman who was virtually railroaded into it.” He steeled himself to be strong. “ You have done an excellent job of being my wife, but I realise now it truly was a job for you. How could we ever make our marriage work with such seeds for resentment sewn from before the beginning? No, it would never work. All I can do is release you from our relationship, with my best wishes.” He turned away from her, feeling physically nauseated by the certainty that this was the only course for them.
She wanted to grab him, and tell him to hell with that. She’d married him and she’d married for life. She’d fallen in love with her husband
, and the people of Assan, and there was nowhere else on earth she wanted to be.
“And that’s it?” She demanded fiercely, the
sight of his implacable stance angering her. “You say it’s over and we end it?”
“Don’t insult me by pretending you’re not relieved.” He responded warningly.
“I might have felt I had few other choices, but I still married you, Tariq. I knew what I was getting myself into.”
“How could you possibly have known that? I, with more experience and a decade on you, couldn’t have imagined what our marriage would be like. How can you say you knew what you were getting yourself into?”
“In what way has our marriage disappointed you?” She demanded, feeling a stabbing ache that wouldn’t quit in her heart.
He brushed his hair away from his eyes. “It is pointless to discuss now. There should
never
have been a marriage between us. You were not free to agree under your own steam. Not really. It’s barbaric.”
“You really wish we hadn’t married
?” She began to shake with the knowledge that he didn’t want her. He didn’t want her. He was just another person who didn’t love her. Whom she had been forced upon. Apparently an unwilling accomplice to her escape plan. “Fine,” she said quietly, when he didn’t speak. “I’ll go, if that’s what you want.”
He held open the fabric to the tent for her to precede him.
“What I want is to have a wife who didn’t marry me as a last resort.” He muttered, crossing the room and folding up his laptop computer and the documents scattered around it.
“I can’t change that fact,
Tariq. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here.”
His eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I will go, if you want me to. But when I married you, I took that commitment seriously. This is your decision.”
He closed his eyes. “You must go, Rebecca. A wife acquired under duress is a barbaric notion that I grew up despising. You must see I
wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt.”
Bitterness swelled inside of her. “As you wish,” she agreed finally, unable to look at him.
* * *
They drove back to the palace and arrive mid-afternoon, much to the surprise of their teams of domestics. Rebecca was sitting on the end of her bed, contemplating unpacking, when
Tariq appeared.
“
I will go to Fattid,” he said without preamble. “I’ll be several days, and in that time, you can decide where you would like to go next. The jet will be at your disposal. We have homes all over the world. It is literally your oyster. Go where you will be happy, Rebecca. You are too young to be burdened by so much grief.”
She looked up at him, her heart heavy with accusation
, and unreturned love. All of the grief she felt in that moment could be squarely landed at his feet.
“Of course, we have been trying to conceive a child. I expect you will tell me if you are pregnant.”
She felt her skin warm at his words. She nodded slowly, her eyes glinted with determination. “Of course I would.”
“Good.” He nodded, somewhat awkwardly.
“Fine,” her voice cracked a little but she wouldn’t let him see how upset she was, otherwise.
“So this is goodbye?” She stood, looking him in the eyes. Willing him to change his mind.
“And good luck,” he exhaled. Then, with the sound of words that were dredged unwillingly from his most central core, “I want to kiss you.”
“Then kiss me,” she invited quickly.
And feel how much I love you.
He pressed his lips against hers, gently, tenderly,
and she realised it was a kiss of goodbye, a kiss he intended to be the last between them. His arms wrapped around her waist, squeezing her tight and she muffled a sob in her throat.
“One day,” he whispered against her mouth, “yo
u will make some man the happiest in the world.”
She closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. She wanted him to be that man, but she was done forcing people to endure her presence against their will.
“I’ll send you an invitation to the wedding,” she said with a stab at humour.
He dropped his hands to his side and
took a step back without acknowledging her comment. He simply walked away from her. Forever. Their marriage, after only two months, was at an end.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Leaving was simultaneously the easiest and the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life.
With the knowledge that
Tariq had removed himself from the palace, and their marriage, Assan looked immediately different. The way the sun shone had been altered forever by his withdrawal. How daunting the palace had seemed to her a few months ago, and now, it was home. The first home Rebecca had known since her parents’ death.
Farewelling the children was a wrench she would have paid money to avoid. The sight of their dear little faces, grubby but tear stained, would stay with her forever.
Her staff were equally despairing, Monique particularly. “It is only London,” Rebecca said with a smile she didn’t feel. “You will visit!”
Monique shook her head. “What would I do in London?”
“Study Journalism! Get a job at a newspaper. You can do anything you want, Monique. Don’t let your status dictate your life.”
“Easy for you to say, Your Highness.”
Rebecca bit down on her lip, feeling ashamed of the white lie she had told. It had been easier to invent a reason to fly to London temporarily rather than announce such an early end to her hasty marriage. What would Winona and Greg say when they found out? She knew their insults would fly thick and fast.
“Truly, Monique, come and visit me. I will speak to
Tariq about it if you’d like,” she promised, knowing it was the last thing in the world she would want to do. But for Monique, who had been so helpful to her, she would.
“That won’t be necessary, Rebecca. Now, come, your flight is scheduled to leave within the hour.”
Rebecca nodded, eyeing the stacked suitcases in the corner. Apparently, royalty didn’t travel light. The clothes that had been packed were a poor choice for the life she would be leading. Without her marriage, she would be returning to her old job. Though not, she swore vehemently, her old life. The days of kowtowing to her parents were in the past.
The flight to
Fattid was a quick affair in a sleek black helicopter, and, once at the airport, she was taken by limousine to the Emir’s private jet.
“Wow,” she breathed as she stepped inside. The jet, from the outside, looked like any other aeroplane. Inside, though, the standard rows of seats had been removed and it resembled a luxurious apartment. There was a large sitting area at the front of the plane, a dining table with twelve chairs, and then several bedrooms with
ensuite
bathrooms.
“Wow,” she said again, flashing Monique a disbelieving look.
Monique had nodded knowingly. “Yes, it’s rather lavish.”
“It’s almost obscene,” she breathed out slowly, laughing when she clocked the crystal chandeliers that ran the length of the plane.
Three security guards took up seats toward the front of the plane. Even in their separated state, she supposed she would retain their presence for a little longer.
“It has been a pleasure working for you, Rebecca.”
“And a pleasure knowing you, Monique. Please contact me if you are in London. I would be very happy to see you while I’m there.”
She felt something hesitant in Monique, as though there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t find words for. Rebecca smiled at her encouragingly, but Monique gave a small shake of her head, as if to clear the thought and then said, with a slight shake in her voice, “
Good bye, your highness.”
Spontaneously, Rebecca leaned forward and placed a kiss on her attendant’s cheek. Emotions made her tremble, and her throat felt clogged. She slid her designer handbag onto a lounge chair and walked with Monique towards the front of the plane
to say a final farewell. As they reached the aircraft door, two of the security men were speaking.
Rebecca, with her steadily improving Arabic, could just make out the gist of their conversation. “I wish my mistress and wife were as close as these two. Would make my life a lot easier.”
The other man’s smile was knowing, as he eyed the two women, one dark as cinnamon and the other all vanilla. “Yes, I’m surprised the Queen doesn’t mind sharing her husband with a servant.”