She tugged her veil off, determined to keep the spurt of melancholy at bay as she and Kasia entered her chamber in the women’s quarters.
The dusty road trip back from a small workers’ encampment near the oil fields had been long and tiring—which was probably why she was dwelling on stuff that did not need to be dwelt on.
Zane and she weren’t an item—they never had been. It had been a two-night fling.
‘You look tired,’ Kasia said as she poured water into the basin. ‘We should cancel tomorrow’s trip to Kavallah?’ the girl added, now as good as fluent in English.
‘I’m fine,’ Cat replied, leaning over the basin to splash the cooling water on her face. The truth was she was exhausted, had been for several days, but that could only be because of the many sleepless nights she’d endured in the last few weeks.
She really needed to stop obsessing about Zane. And their mini fling.
‘Ravi says the Sheikh has left today on a diplomatic mission to Zahar,’ Kasia said as she filled another bowl with water and washed her own face.
Cat fought to quash the misery lodged in her chest, and the predicta
ble colour climbing up her neck at the mention of Zane.
He was going about his business and she needed to do the same.
Eventually her appetite for him would fade—this was just a physical blip brought on by working too hard and not sleeping enough.
‘When will you speak with him again, about the project?’ Kasia asked as she lit the oil well beneath the Persian samovar Cat kept in her chambers—so they could have tea with the debriefing they always did after one of their field trips.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, feeling stupidly dejected at the news Zane had gone off on another foreign trip without asking to see her.
‘How long has it been that you and the Sheikh are together in his bed?’ Kasia asked.
The hectic colour burned Cat’s scalp. She splashed more water on her face, trying and failing to cool the heat. The direct question was a surprise. Kasia and Ravi were the only people who knew she had spent the night with Zane in the palace all those weeks ago. She had been instructed never to mention it. And to Cat’s surprise, she never had. Until now.
‘Kasia,’ Cat said, trying to speak calmly while the blush was running riot. ‘You mustn’t talk about that. I told you, it was a mistake.’
She had to believe that.
‘I think maybe we must speak of it,’ Kasia said, giving her a strange look.
A serving boy entered with a tray of the pastries they usually indulged in with their tea. The sweet confections made in layers of flaky patisserie and dripping with syrup were delicious, and Cat had become a bit addicted—but over the last couple of days she’d gone off them. And after today’s long hot drive back, the rich treat definitely didn’t appeal.
Filling a porcelain cup for Cat with the aromatic tea, Kasia handed it to her, then ladled a pastry onto a plate as the boy bowed and left.
‘We definitely don’t need to talk about it ever,’ Cat said, determined to steer the conversation back onto safer ground. She waved off the plate Kasia passed her way. ‘I think I’ll give the baklava a miss,’ she said as the aroma of lavender syrup and pistachio wafted into her nostrils.
Her stomach turned over.
Kasia lowered the plate, but her face had brightened.
‘It has been a month,’ Kasia said. ‘Since that night,’ she continued. ‘And now you cannot eat your baklava.’
‘What?’ Cat stared. It hadn’t been a whole month, had it? She’d never counted the days, the prospect of a pregnancy so small. And her breasts had felt heavy, swollen recently, her stomach bloated, which had made her sure she was about to start her period.
Kasia nodded. Her smile radiant now. ‘The Sheikh must marry you if you carry his heir,’ she said, her voice giddy with excitement. ‘And then you can stay in Narabia always as our Queen.’
Shock gripped Cat’s insides—but with it came the emotion that had assailed her the night she’d drifted to sleep in the Kholadi camp, before Zane had arrived... The last time she had contemplated the possibility of pregnancy.
Before she could assess what the emotion was, exactly, her stomach heaved into her throat, bringing with it a wave of bile.
She dropped her tea, slammed a hand over her mouth. The sound of the porcelain chiming on the copper tray rang in her ears as she raced into the bathroom.
The contents of her stomach emptied into the toilet bowl in wretched spasms. Sweat misted her face, her limbs shaking as the retching continued until it felt as if everything she’d eaten that day had come out.