Rosanna recalled the man’s antagonism and Salim’s comment about him wanting his niece to become queen. No matter how Rosanna considered it, it seemed Zarah was here for that very reason.
Salim had cut Rosanna out of the process. Maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her but he felt uncomfortable having her involved now they’d been intimate.
No wonder she hadn’t been able to get an appointment!
Rosanna slumped, her shoulder to the wall.
Zarah was graceful and pretty, a local who knew Dhalkur. Who had important family connections. She’d make Salim an excellent wife. She even had gorgeous dark honey-coloured hair courtesy of her foreign mother.
Did Salim find her attractive? Desirable?
Rosanna pressed a palm to her stomach as nausea churned. Nausea and distress.
And an anguished scraping hurt, like claws drawing blood.
Jealousy.
She didn’t remember stumbling to her room. She didn’t remember sitting, staring at the courtyard till darkness closed in. The afternoon was a nightmarish haze, punctuated by the occasional sickening rush of blood when she thought she heard footsteps in the concealed passage to the sheikh’s suite. But she’d imagined it. Salim didn’t come to her.
Now she faced the truth she’d known for four days yet not quite believed. He would never come to her again.
The realisation made her hollow inside. As if she were nothing but an empty husk.
Except she wasn’t completely empty. She still had the capacity to hurt. And to yearn.
Rosanna considered what she knew about Salim. His pride and determination. He’d needed both to survive life with his sadistic older brother. He hadn’t said much about Fuad but the things he’d let slip painted a picture of constant alertness around his brother. And of parents more focused on their royal duties than creating a warm, loving family.
Not that Salim complained. He’d spoken of the valuable lessons learned via military service and royal training and it was clear he’d cared for his parents. Yet his curiosity about her family, his fascination with so much that she took for granted, hinted that his experience of love and even trust were different to hers. Just as his expectations of marriage were completely different.
Yet despite telling herself not to, she’d begun to believe Salim felt more than lust for her.
The trouble was he’d been brought up not to believe in love. He’d made it clear love didn’t factor in his world, warning her not to expect too much of him.
That last day when he’d taken her to meet Murad’s family and then to his village, Rosanna had been seduced by the heady feeling that Salim shared part of himself. That he really cared for her.
His actions since disproved that.
Rosanna stared at the now moonlit courtyard, the scent of roses rich and heavy in the night air. How many women over the centuries had sat here, pining for a man who would never return their feelings?
For surely the story Salim had told her about the sheikh who fell in love with his chosen bride, and all those generations of descendants who married for love, was no more than a fairy tale.
This wasn’t a place where happy ever afters came true.
Even if they did, Rosanna MacIain wasn’t the woman to find one. She’d thought she’d loved Phil, only to discover he wasn’t the man she’d believed him to be. Then, despite her caution, she’d fallen for Salim and been rejected.
There wouldn’t be a third time. Rosanna refused to open herself up to such hurt again. She was done with love. Or would be as soon as she could take her wounded heart away from here and lick her wounds in private.
She had a horrible feeling it might take years but shewouldget over Salim.
But first they had unfinished business. He’d signed a contract with Marian’s company. Rosanna couldn’t allow her mistake, agreeing to an affair, to affect that. She knew how much time and money had already been invested in this project and how vital its success was to Marian.
Rosanna would see the job successfully completed no matter what.
The first step was seeing Salim.
All she had to do was find a way to get past all his protective staff and then treat him like a stranger, not the man who’d broken her heart.
Her huff of laughter sounded suspiciously like a groan of pain.