“Think about this,” he says quietly. “If I wanted our marriage to fail, wouldn’t I leave things as they are? With the possibility of gossip pulling apart what we’re outwardly showing? I promised to bring your father here and I intend to uphold my word.”
“If I sleep here,” I add, not willing to let go of my temper.
“What is it? What are you afraid will happen if we share a bed? Do you think you might start to hate me less somehow, if we lie side by side overnight?”
My gut squeezes painfully at those words, words I’d thrown at him in the middle of the night when guilt and need had made me crazy and I’d wanted to push hard against any betrayal of my father, any softening towards Zahir.
“I don’t know.” I spin away from him, my shoulders dropping. Where is my anger now?
“I shouldn’t have carried you here while you slept.” His words are a concession I definitely didn’t expect. I spin around, staring at him in disbelief. His face though is as hard as ever, giving nothing away. “That was wrong of me.”
“Are you apologising?”
His eyes bore into mine and I hold my breath, waiting. Finally, he nods. “Yes. I want you to sleep here but I should have spoken to you about it again, rather than making the decision unilaterally.”
“So I can go back to my room tonight?”
A muscle throbs at the base of his jaw. “Is that what you want?”
My stomach lurches. Crap. I didn’t expect that question. The truth is, I’m not sure. I need my own space. Zahir is too much. Way, way too much. When I’m with him I feel as though the gravitational pull of him sucks me in so that I lose all ability to think and act in my own interests. If we share an apartment, how will I cope? And yet, at the same time, the idea of being here with him is intoxicating and if I stop fighting him for long enough to imagine what cohabitation looks like, I could admit to myself that my heart wants nothing more than to be here with him, in his bed, waking up next to him every morning for as long as we’re married. The ground tilts unevenly beneath me.
“I want my father to come home,” I say unevenly, glad that, in the end, the decision doesn’t really come down to my dichotomy of wants and needs. “If you believe moving into your quarters expedites that, then so be it.”
He doesn’t react.
“But you’re right. You shouldn’t have carried me here. I’m not just a ‘thing’ you can move about as you see fit, Zahir. I’m a flesh and blood woman with my own thoughts and beliefs and it’s not your place to ride roughshod over me. Got it?”
His eyes narrow at my reprimand and I wait, bracing myself for his response, hoping – wondering – if his temper and passion will be ignited once more. Instead, he simply nods. “It won’t happen again.”
And with that, he’s gone.
I don’t know why I argued with him, anyway. Nothing changes despite the fact I’m in his room. He returns late that night, and I’m already asleep. I only know he’s joined me in bed because I fling my arm out sometime around three and connect with the solid wall of his chest. I quickly withdraw my hand to my side of the bed, but I don’t fall back asleep. I can’t. Knowing he’s beside me has awakened my body, needs spiralling out of control. I stare at the wall for the rest of the night, so hear him wake just after five. There is a rustle of clothing as he dresses, and then the silent padding of his feet over the marbled floor until he reaches the door. I keep my eyes shut until I hear it click closed. This forms the pattern for the next few days, so the fact I’m in his room makes very little difference to my day-to-day existence. I tell myself I’m relieved.
Zahir
“I wanted to come to you directly.”
I fix Aliya with a stare, something inside of my hammering against my ribs, because for Aliya to come to my office without an appointment means something must have happened with Amy.
I tap my pen against the edge of the desk, assuming as mask of patience when I feel far from it.
“What is it?”
She hesitates, her eyes darting to a guard who’s accompanied her inside the door.
Frowning, I dismiss him with an easy wave. Relief crosses her face, and when we’re alone she clicks the door shut, locking it for good measure. Surprise has one brow lifting, and still I wait, looking impassive when I feel far from it.
“Did the Emira send you?”
“No.”
Frustration is like a wave in my belly. “Then what can I do for you?”
“I have been moving Her Highness’s clothes from her suite of rooms to yours, as you know.”
I nod curtly.
“I found something in one of her robes.”