Royal Weddings Page 11

  She dragged in a breath, following his gaze. There was nothing to show for it.

  “The wreckage has been cleared. But I know exactly where it was. Twenty seven of my paces from the corner of the town.” He pressed a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face to his. “Do not think, Evelyn, that I do not miss them. That I do not think of them. That I do not mourn their loss.”

  Her enormous eyes skimmed his face, trying to understand what point he was making.

  “You said Fayaz understands you,” he said, his voice so low that she almost didn’t catch it. “I have not been encouraged to speak of my heart, but this doesn’t mean I don’t have one.” He cleared his throat. “I think of her every day.”

  Tears shimmered on her lashes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why should you be sorry, Jamila?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I never thought you … you seem so … I thought I was the only one.”

  His smile was uneven. “You aren’t.”

  Her heart was hammering against her chest. To have thought him unfeeling and still been falling in love with him was one thing. But to know the depth of his feelings? How could she not recognise her own? Her own love? For why else would she have fallen to his bed despite the way he’d bullied her there? Why else would she have ended her marriage to Nick, because of one kiss with this man?

  She spun a little, angling her body to look out over the town. “He loved this place. Why does that comfort me? To think of it being the last thing he saw?”

  An air of kinship was spreading around them; they were survivors of the same war. “They were holding hands.”

  “Who?”

  “Sabra and Dave. That’s how they were found. Hands held. Even in death, they were in love.”

  “Stop.” She closed her eyes, and now her body was wracked with sobs. “I can’t think of it.” She turned again, burying her head against his chest. “They should still be here. This is all so pointless. So stupid. How can they be gone? I close my eyes and I see them; I hear them.” Her voice was contorted by her sadness. “I look at Kalem and I see them both.”

  “As do I.” He rubbed his hands over her back slowly and for the first time Evie got a sense that the reason Malakhi had fought so hard to keep Kalem in Ishala wasn’t because he was the heir to the throne, so much as the last physical piece of his sister that he held.

  Evie’s tears fell unchecked. She had grieved so much since they had died, but held in his arms and finally letting herself feel these emotions freely was the first time she’d had a sense of healing coming over her. A sense of weary acceptance.

  “She had a dream, you know.” Her words were just a whisper in the night.

  “A dream?” He prompted, his hand still on her back.

  She nodded. “She wouldn’t speak about it. Dave said she thought that would give the dream life. But I know it unnerved her. She was scared about coming here. That something bad would happen.”

  Malakhi’s body was flooded with emotion. It suggested, perhaps, the reasons she’d made those changes to their legal situation. Nominating Evie as guardian of Kalem could be explained by a belief that something bad was poised to occur. “I didn’t know this.”

  “No. I mean, it was just a dream. She probably put it out of her head as soon as she got to the airport.”

  Malakhi doubted that. He’d seen the way Sabra had of obsessing over her signs and superstitions. “Her dreams …”

  Evie held her breath. What? What about her dreams?

  “Even as a child, they were so vivid.” He kissed the top of Evie’s head, dismissing the voice in his head that was telling him something was wrong – that he was wrong. He’d made his choice, and he was sticking to it. “She convinced herself they were prophetic.”

  “Well, in this instance, she appears to have been right.”

  He sighed. “I doubt that.”

  The night was a blanket, shrouding them in its magical darkness. It breathed in and out, sighing their sadness alongside them. “I think about the nights,” she said after a long time had passed.

  “What about them?”

  “I think about how many nights there have been since the dawning of time. How many deaths it has witnessed, how many births. How many wars and fights and lovers and lovers estranged – and it comforts me.” She drew in a kiss of that very night. “Our lives matter. We have an imperative to make them good; to make good choices. But there is a much larger background to consider: humanity renders us all reasonably insignificant.” A smile tingled on her lips. “Even someone like you, with a bit of a God-complex, is still just a man.”

  She felt his answering smile and she could picture the grin on his handsome features, but she didn’t want to lift her face from the comforting closeness of his chest. Just like the first day they’d met, she felt the beating of his heart and it spoke to her.

  “I thought your brother was the historian,” he said after a minute had passed, allowing her words to evaporate and their odd sense to weaken.

  “I almost followed him into it,” she said quietly, running her hand over the edge of the balustrade. “We both loved reflecting on the past.”

  “Why did you not?”

  “Because I loved cooking more.” She tilted her head up to his. “It must be hard for you to imagine having such choices.”

  The only choice he’d found hard was this one: marrying her to secure his heir, and not telling her the truth. “Oh?”

  “Your destiny was marked at the moment of your birth. But if it hadn’t been, what would you have done? Would you have flirted with history, as I did? Or become a scientist? Would you have written books?”

  He laughed. “Perhaps my destiny was marked for me, but thank God for that. There is nothing I should have liked more than being ruler of this great land. And imagine the cruelty of being born with that desire and no ability to attain it.” He smiled at her. “I have never wished to be anywhere other than here.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. Whisperings of love filled her soul. Beneath the stars, with the moon beaming across them, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her love was true and real.

  “I want to do that with you.”

  A frown tugged at the corner of his lips. “Meaning?”

  “I think we should get married. I think you’re right.”

  He was very quiet; had he changed his mind? Nervously, she continued: “I mean, we are the only family Kalem has left. Don’t you think Sabra and Dave would have wanted us to raise him together? To give him what they did? To surround him with love, and to remind him of who they were?”

  He nodded. “Yes. This is exactly what I feel.”

  And though it was hardly a marriage of love on his part, her smile was enormous. “Okay. Let’s do it then.”

  And amid the Ruins of Fash’allam, surrounded by whispers of past love, of millennia of stories and lives, they cast a notch in theirs.

  For they would marry: and soon.

  * * *

  When Evie woke, a smile on her lips, she wondered if it had all been a dream. She lifted up off the pillows slowly, her eyes adjusting to the morning’s light. Only it wasn’t that weak, watery dawning of day she’d become used to seeing. It was bright, and very, very hot. She straightened, her eyes scanning the room for Malakhi.

  His side of the bed was empty; and it was no longer warm.

  With a frown, she pushed her thick hair from her eyes and squinted at the clock.

  Ten o’clock!

  Shock had her leaping from the bed. She hadn’t slept that late since the first week of her apprenticeship, when she’d felt as though she’d been hit by a truck owing to the late hours and physical nature of the job.

  A knock sounded at the door and she turned towards it in confusion. That’s what had woken her! She’d been in such a deep sleep and suddenly there’d been a sound.

  She grabbed a pale blue robe from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her slender frame before pulling it inward
s.

  A woman stood on the other side. She wore a pale grey dress that fell to the floor, and all the way to her wrists. Somehow, despite the bland colour and over-the-top modesty, it was an attractive ensemble.

  “Miss Evelyn?” She spoke with a kind voice and a spicy accent.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello. I am to do the massage.”

  What massage? Evie’s mind chased over all of the conversations she’d had, with Amira, Malakhi and even Fayaz. No mention of a massage could be found. “The massage?”

  The woman lifted a hand to her shoulder. “Your neck. Is sore?”

  “Oh!” Evie’s smile almost made her cheeks ache. Damn his thoughtfulness. Or was it control-freakishness? “Yes. It is.” She dropped her eyes to the folded table the woman had beside her.

  “May I enter?”

  “Yes, of course.” She stepped back, holding the door for the woman to step into the room.

  “Here okay?”

  Evie nodded and watched with a growing sense of bewilderment as the masseuse set up the table before reaching into her bag for a large black towel and some little tubes of cream.

  “Please. To lie on your… here.” She pointed to her stomach.

  Evie looked down at her robe and the woman shook her head.

  “No cloth.”

  “Oh.”

  The woman lifted another towel high to provide modesty for Evie as she slid the robe off and then climbed onto the table. She wriggled down a little and sighed as the fabric of the towel draped across her back.

  “You say if it hurts, okay?”

  The woman couldn’t realise it but the question led Evie to think only of Malakhi. How considered he’d been with her comfort after that first night. Ask me again in a week. She understood now why he’d wanted her here, in his apartment. His hours were erratic, his schedule demanding. But their need burned brightly; when he returned to the apartment, they reached for one another on autopilot. As though they couldn’t function without that coming together.

  The massage was heavenly. It wasn’t gentle; the massage therapist worked with a strength that was almost impossible to believe came from such a slight person. Her elbows dug into Evie’s shoulders relieving every single click of pain. She had no concept of how much time had passed until the massage therapist stepped back and Evie’s eyes found the clock.

  It was midday, and she was almost jelly-like in her state of relaxation.

  “Thank you,” she smiled at the lady.

  “I come in two days.”

  “Oh. Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You tight here.” She ran a finger over Evie’s neck. “Two days.”

  Evie nodded, her sense of unreality growing. “Okay. Thank you so much. That was really wonderful.”

  “Yes.” The woman held the towel up and Evie stood with a hint of reluctance, lifting her robe back in place. It took only moments for her to pack the bed away and stride to the door. “I see you.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Evie rolled her head on its shoulders, amazed at the difference the massage had wrought.

  She was not alone to contemplate the sense of relaxation for long. Another short, sharp knock sounded moments later.

  With a frown, she pulled it inwards and was met by yet another woman, wearing the exact same dress.

  “Yes?” She looked downwards and saw no massage table.

  “Ciao. I’m Anita.”

  At Evie’s blank look, Anita smiled. “Your wardrobe consultant?”

  “My … what?”

  “You didn’t know I was coming?”

  “No.” Her cheeks flushed. “But you’re not the first surprise visitor.”

  Nor, in fact, was she the last. After selecting colours and styles from Anita’s iPad, lunch was brought to Evie’s room. Following that, there was a visit from a rather severe woman who lectured Evie for over an hour on the customs of the wedding and what she ought to expect. The details made her head spin! From the betrothal dinner to the processional ceremony, to the ceremony itself, which would last almost a full day, to the celebration which would follow, and finally the honeymoon – which for Evie and Malakhi would involve a tour of the country, to allow the people of Ishala to see their new Sehikha.

  “His Highness would like the nuptials to take place as soon as it can be arranged. While this is not particularly easy, I believe the logistics can be in hand by Friday.”

  “Fr-Friday? You mean … what do you mean?”

  “Friday.”

  “But it’s … it’s Tuesday today. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you mean we’ll get married Friday?”

  The woman smiled with affectionate indulgence. “No.”

  Evie breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good.”

  “The betrothal dinner is to be Friday night. Processional ceremony Saturday – this is where you officially meet the parliament and His Highness’s most trusted advisors, though most will be at the event Friday night, too. There is then to be the full ceremony on Sunday.”

  “I can’t believe … it’s so soon.”

  “Yes.”

  Finally, as the sun was setting over the city in the distance, Evie was alone. She pushed out to the small balcony and breathed in the desert air gratefully. Out of nowhere, she pictured the balcony of her little, rickety timber home in the hills of Brisbane. She imagined the humidity of that climate, and the tropical plants that speared against the side of her house despite her best efforts to tame the garden.

  At some point she would have to deal with the logistics of that. To return and pack up.

  A frown pulled at her lips. And to pack up David and Sabra’s home, she thought with a shake of her head. The sheer burden of that responsibility filled her with groaning defeat.

  She didn’t hear him enter the suite. Only when his hands came around her waist did she spin, surprise on her pretty face.

  “Hello.”

  “How are you?” There was an air of worry in his manner; something she couldn’t comprehend.

  “I’m fine. Definitely feeling a little bit spoiled.”

  He studied her a moment longer, making sure he could see the truth reflected in the set of her features, and then nodded. “Good.”

  “I’ve been busy today,” she murmured, stretching her neck again.

  “Yes. There’s much to do before the weekend.”

  “The weekend is just so soon!”

  “Is this a problem?”

  “No! I guess I just thought …”

  “What is it?” He seemed to hold his breath and Evie had the distinct impression she was being difficult.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Her smile was overbright. “It sounds like everything’s organised, anyway.”

  “Yes. Almost everything.” He reached down and linked his fingers with hers.

  “Oh? What is there left?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled his hand out quickly. “This.”

  “What is it?” His palm remained closed. Beneath her eyes, he unfurled his fingers, revealing an engagement ring unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  “My goodness.” Her fingers reached for it but at the moment of contact she hesitated. “May I?”

  He took her hand and slid the ring gently onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

  “It’s absolutely breathtaking.” Literally, Evie felt as though the breath was burning in her lungs. “It’s really lovely.” The diamond itself was enormous – to the point where Evie wasn’t sure it was at all practical. She had no concept of carats but it was easily as large as her thumbnail, and deep, too. It was surrounded by smaller diamonds and the ring itself was white or platinum gold. But there was a copper-coloured vein that seemed to run through the gold.

  “The gold and copper are from the Ruins of Fash’allam.” He cleared his throat. “They traded in gems and rocks. I had it set like this.”

  She swallowed back the pain of her surpr
ise. His thoughtfulness was undoing every intention she’d held of remaining a little bit aloft and aloof.

  “If it is not pleasing to you, I will have it changed, of course.”

  “It’s very pleasing to me,” she promised. “I could never imagine a more beautiful ring. Thank you for giving this to me.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Thank you for agreeing to marry me. It is hard to imagine any goodness coming from this, but I think we are making it.”

  “So do I.”

  And in that moment, because she had only half the facts, she truly believed that to be the case.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Given the conservative nature of Ishala, Evie was surprised by the gown Anita arrived clutching on Friday afternoon. It wasn’t revealing, exactly, but the cut of it hugged Evie like a second-skin, leaving very little to the imagination. The colour was a pale cream, but it was nothing like a bridal gown. It was cut high at the neck, and at least a hundred pearls served as buttons, clipping the gown together from the nape of her hair to the swelling of her bottom. The sleeves were firm on her arms all the way to her wrists, where delicate lace clipped over her thumb and forefinger, acting as a very delicate sort of glove.

  To the knees, it was firm, but then it flared – only by the smallest degrees, to make walking possible – though not exactly comfortable. The same could be said of the shoes, which were constructed from the supplest leather Evie had ever touched. They slid onto her feet as though they’d been made for her, and the heel was high, but widened enough at the bottom to make them passably comfortable.

  “Isn’t it a little early to be getting dressed?” She asked Anita at four o’clock, as the last buttons were clipped into place.

  “Non.”

  Evie could only laugh. “But this party doesn’t start until nine o’clock.”

  “But you still have the hair, and the make up, and then some photographs.”

  “Photographs?” Her eyes flew to Anita’s in the mirror.

  “You were not told? Yes. Vogue Ishala is to do a piece on you.”

  “Vogue?” Evie’s face blanched. “Oh, Anita. That’s not right. I’m not … even remotely glamorous.”