He nodded, his expression grim. “Yes.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, azeezi.”
She stood jerkily, her mind trying – and failing – to understand what he’d just said. “That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?”
She walked towards the Christmas tree, staring long and hard at the eclectic assortment of decorations. She thought of how they’d first met – him running with several men in tow.
He’d dismissed them as men who worked for him, and she’d believed him.
But were they really bodyguards? She hadn’t seen any further evidence of that… his apartment was far beyond the scope of normal luxury, but then, extreme wealth wasn’t in and of itself proof of royalty. His cars? The same could be said for that. Money didn’t equal power. Not in this sense. The man at the restaurant had been obviously deferential. She thought of Britain’s royal family and shook her head.
“This has to be some kind of joke. There’s no media. No paparazzi following your every move…”
“Believe me, this has not always been the case,” he said quietly.
“It’s just not possible. I would have heard of you,” she said quietly, the words thick with her disbelief. But hadn’t she? The second he’d said her name, some flicker of familiarity had resonated sharply inside of her.
His smile was wistful. “It was a novelty to spend time with someone who didn’t know my position. Who made me laugh and laughed with me because of our shared humour, rather than out of a desire to impress me, or ingratiate oneself for access to the world I am able to provide.”
She lifted a hand to her face and spun away from him. She focussed on the window that afforded a view of the pub next door. Despite the cold night, the pavement was full of revellers. The smoking laws meant they needed to huddle beneath the bar heaters. She could hear their festive merriment.
Their laughs were like stones pelting her flesh. Unwelcome and jarringly intrusive.
“You kept this from me on purpose?” She spun, her back to the cold pane of glass. Ra’if was still standing right where he had been, his body very still. Only a very fine hint of tension seemed to pull at his eyes.
“We agreed our relationship was not to be serious,” he said quietly, studying her for a reaction. “I felt you didn’t need to know.”
“You felt I didn’t need to know?” She nodded but disbelief was pilfering her. “You thought I didn’t need to know that you’re a damned Prince? King?” A frown pulled at her brows, confusion making her shake her head. “What exactly are you?”
He spoke quietly, calmly, and with the command that had been born to him. “A Sheikh.”
“Sheikh.” She closed her eyes as the word fogged through her.
His words were earnest, conveying a desperation that she understood. “I wanted to enjoy what we had, without this complication.”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“It felt necessary.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, because it’s not particularly easy to conceal the truth of who I am. I have bodyguards, azeezi, and duties. People tend to recognise me, as that man in the restaurant tonight did.” He stared at her long and hard. “But apart from that, I wanted you to know me.”
“I do know you. At least, I thought I did.”
“No, you misunderstand.” He drew his brows together, concentrating on what he was trying to say. “It has become imperative for me to be honest with you.”
“Why?” She whispered. The air in her lounge room seemed to be swirling around them, forming a vortex from which there would be no escape.
“Because I am falling in love with you.”
The words thudded against her.
They were rapture and torment. They were a beacon and she held the answer. But she couldn’t wield it. She bit down on her lip, her eyes searching his. “We … said …” She shook her head, anger at his deception and betrayal usurping any other reaction to the declaration. “This is just a light-hearted, short-term …”