Olivia compressed her lips. She was desperate for the bathroom, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask this man for anything.
“You and my brother.”
“Oh my God.” It was a garbled sound of disbelief. “You’re like a broken record.”
“Can you imagine for a moment what it felt like to see you there with him? So comfortable? And to see him so happy and at ease with you, a woman who had gone straight from my bed to …”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand to silence him, and her eyes flashed with intensity. “Don’t say it. You cheapen everything you and I were to imply that I could replace you with your brother. That I would want to after what we … after what I thought we shared.” She swallowed convulsively. “Do you have a bathroom in this place?”
“A bathroom?”
“Yes,” she hissed. And now she was powerless to stop the tears that were on her eyes from sparkling down her cheeks, like trails of diamond dust. “A bathroom. I was up late last night. Or whenever the hell it was. I’ve lost track. And I had a long drive out to see your brother. And I spent the day with him. And then you abducted me. And I don’t remember the last time I ate, or used a bathroom, and I want to wash my face, and drink some water. So can you stop accusing me of everything you want to believe me capable of, and just leave me alone for a while? I need a minute. I need a minute to get up to speed on what’s going on.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. She walked slowly away from him and sunk into a chair. She dipped her head into her hands. “I need a minute.” She rocked back and forth, shaking her head. “I need a minute. I don’t understand.” And she lifted her head then and fixed him with a sad, confused stare. “What did I do to you? What did I ever do to you?”
Zamir was the one on a tidal surge of confusion. He was being drowned on all sides by waves, and he had no strength left to stay afloat. He stared at the broken shell of this woman. She was a shadow of her former self. And he heard her words and had no answer left. What had she done to deserve this fate?
“I loved you, Zamir. That’s all. I met you, and I loved you. And you left me. And now you’re treating me like … like …”
Like what? Why was he so angry with her? Why had he barrelled her sleeping frame over his shoulder and onto his jet? Why had he refused to speak to her properly?
Because he had thought she had moved on to Ra’if, and had been driven senseless with jealousy.
“Why have you brought me here, of all places? Where you told me your father would hate me and your people would hate me and your servants would hate me?” She sobbed and buried her head again. “I need a minute.”
Zamir was drowning now. The water was over his head. He stared at her, lost and on edge. She was so beautiful, but so frail. He ached to pull her to him, but to what end?
“When you are ready, there is a bathroom you may use. Down that corridor, and on the right.”
She stared at him, her eyes huge in her face. What was she hoping he would say? What was she hoping to see in his expression? Contrition? Pity? Apology? She stood numbly and walked past him.
He let her go without another word. Only when she had clicked the door closed did he dip his head forward and release the oath he’d been silently swearing.
The bathroom, like everything else she’d seen in the palace, was exquisite. Olivia took her time freshening up, and it was such a relief to wash her face and run her fingers through her hair. She contemplated showering, but with no fresh clothes to change into, she decided to delay that pleasure.
Until when?
She frowned grimly. Until she knew just what he meant by bringing her to Dashan, she had no bloody clue.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Being a damsel in distress was a role that sat ill on Olivia’s shoulders.
All her life, she’d fought for everything she wanted, whether it was clothes or a new job or the opportunity to travel.
But here in Dashan, she was completely dependent on the kindness of Zamir.
Just two days after stepping off his luxurious jet, and having seen him for only a handful of minutes in that time, she had come to understand that nothing happened within the walls of his palace without his express approval.
The night they’d arrived, he’d disappeared while she showered.
A beautiful dinner of rice and spiced fish was brought to her room almost immediately after she had emerged, and she’d eaten it sparingly.
The next morning, a personal shopper had come to take Olivia’s measurements and investigate her preferences when it came to styles and colourings of clothes.
Hours after the stylist had left, a hairdresser appeared, and then a beautician, employed to match a palette of makeup and create a bespoke range for Olivia’s use.
The clothes were excellent. But they were no substitute for the wearing of freedom.
Olivia was all too aware that she was essentially a prisoner, albeit one with a spectacularly gilded cage. And as seconds bonded into minutes, and minutes morphed into hours, and hours dragged into lonely days and nights, Olivia was left to wonder: why?