demands are you talking about?’
His face darkened, his hawk-like features tautening into a forbidding mask. ‘I’m talking about love,’ he said harshly. ‘I don’t ever want your love, Hannah. Do you understand?’
He said the word as if he had just sworn. As if it were a curse. And Hannah couldn’t decide whether to commend him for his honesty or chastise him for his arrogance. Did he just assume that every woman would end up falling in love with him, no matter how badly he treated them? ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that, Kulal,’ she said. ‘But if we can’t make it work...’ she met the gleam of his eyes and said what needed to be said ‘...then I want your word that you will grant me my freedom and let me return to England.’
Kulal felt a wave of pity as she looked at him, but he didn’t comment. Did she really think he would ever allow her to take his child out of the country? That he would meekly grant her the divorce she would no doubt demand? Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, he clenched his fists. He had never imagined he could feel this way about something which didn’t even exist, but when he thought about his unborn baby, something fierce licked at the solid ice which had always surrounded his heart. Fatherhood had been thrust upon him without warning and his response to it had taken him by surprise. Because he wanted this child, he realised. Wanted it with a fervour he had never known before.
And this woman would not stand in his way.
‘We don’t have to think about that right now,’ he said silkily. ‘Let’s just get through the wedding, shall we?’
THE IMAGE WHICH stared back at her was strange and Hannah had never seen anything quite like it before. A woman clad entirely in a golden gown, the soft gleam emphasising the four-month curve of her fecund belly. The metallic shimmer looked more like armour than satin and her floaty veil of golden thread was held in place by a coronet of bright diamonds, which were fashioned to look like flowers.
This is me, thought Hannah—except it doesn’t look like me.
This was the last time she would stand in front of a mirror as a single woman. A last glimpse of the old Hannah, before she was taken into the vast throne room where Kulal and the rest of the wedding party were waiting for her so the ceremony could begin. And what a wedding party. A nervous shiver ran down her spine because the size of the congregation was daunting—more than that, all the guests seemed to be billionaires or royalty.
Hannah reminded herself that she’d worked for these kinds of people ever since she’d been a rookie sixteen-year-old starting at the Granchester, and they were only flesh and blood—just like her. Even so, she didn’t usually socialise with political leaders and sultans or academics and sports stars. The only person she’d met before was Salvatore Di Luca, who had arrived at the palace the previous evening and greeted her with a warmth which felt manufactured. She wondered if he remembered her as the last-minute guest Kulal had taken to his fancy party and whether he secretly disapproved of their unlikely union.
At least Zac Constantinides and his wife, Emma, had been unable to attend, and Hannah had felt nothing but relief when they’d cited a prior engagement in Zac’s native Greece. Imagine how embarrassing that would have been—saying her vows in front of the ex-boss who’d been forced to fire her. It was just unfortunate that his cousin Xan was present and that he and Tamsyn seemed to have had some kind of run-in during the rehearsal last night.
She pleated her lips together as she made a final unnecessary adjustment to her veil, terrified Tamsyn was going to cause some kind of scene today. Because her little sister was on the rampage and making no attempt to hide her displeasure. Had Tamsyn guessed she was being railroaded into this marriage, despite her repeated assurances to the contrary? And was she determined to fight Hannah’s corner for her, as her big sister had done for her so many times in the past?
But in the end, the choice Hannah had been forced to make had been a no-brainer.
Marriage which would confer legitimacy on her unborn child.
Or life as a struggling singleton, with the ever-present fear that Kulal might use his power and his influence to snatch her offspring away from her.
The soft voice of one of the servants interrupted Hannah’s reverie with a gentle question. ‘You are ready, mistress?’
Hannah nodded as she picked up the heavy spray of white hyacinth interwoven with juniper berries—both national flowers of Zahristan. Briefly, she lifted the blooms to her nostrils, closing her eyes as she inhaled the heady scent—and then the ornate double doors were opened and she walked into the crowded throne room.
Hannah was aware of all eyes turning in her direction, but her self-consciousness dissolved the moment Kulal stepped towards her. Was it the fact that his eyes gleamed with what looked like approval, or was it the touch of his warm flesh as he brushed his hand over her cold fingers? Because in that moment, everyone else in the high-ceilinged chamber seemed to fade away as she focused her gaze on the man who would soon be her husband.
Beneath her wedding dress, she felt the tight squeeze of her heart—for this was Kulal as she’d never seen him before, wearing the richly embellished robes he’d told her were traditional for a marrying sheikh. He looked so tall and formidable, his raven hair covered by a shimmering headdress and his hawk-like features set and tense. Against the olive gleam of his skin, his eyes were like black diamonds, but as she studied him more closely, Hannah wondered if she had imagined the pain which had briefly shadowed their depths.
Was this ceremony bringing back memories she suspected he kept locked away? He’d told her that all Zahristan kings married within the walls of this ornate room, which meant that his parents must have made their vows here. Was he thinking of them now? Wishing they’d been here to witness the occasion? She’d asked him about his family last night, but his answers had been spare and unwilling, imparting only the most basic of facts. His parents were both dead, and he hadn’t seen his twin brother for many years. She’d started to ask why, but he had shut down her queries, telling her that the rehearsal was about to begin.
As she stepped towards the velvet-covered kneeling stool, Hannah was aware of how little she knew about her future husband, but perhaps it was better this way. If she knew the answers, mightn’t she get freaked out by the enormity of what she was about to do?
‘You are ready?’ he said softly.
She nodded, wondering how many more people were going to ask her that. Were they giving her a final opportunity to change her mind? To take her chances and go at it alone? But the time for that had passed. There was no point looking back and thinking about all the ‘might have beens’. Didn’t matter what had brought them to this moment—what mattered was how they dealt with it. She should be grateful that her child would never have to go hungry, as she had done. Or have to lie in bed at night, fearing eviction because the rent hadn’t been paid. Glad, too, that they would bear the name of their father.
Hannah had always made the best of whatever situation she’d been in, so why not continue doing that now? Kulal had warned her not to love him, but there were plenty of workable alternatives to love. Couldn’t she learn to respect and to care for him, so that they could be decent parents to their child and something approaching friends to each other? Looking up into the glitter of the Sheikh’s eyes, she nodded.
‘I’m ready,’ she said and smiled.
Kulal tensed as the look she slanted him made his heart kick. Today she seemed receptive, whereas last night at the rehearsal, she had seemed anxious. Glancing around and asking him questions he’d felt unable to deal with, when he was trying to organise one of the most spectacular weddings this desert region had seen in a decade. He could have opted for a more intimate service—some pared-down celebration which could be followed by a lavish party. But something inside him had baulked at that. He didn’t want something hushed up. Something which would carry echoes of the secrets