‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘And you... Bram.’ Had she heard that right? She’d thought it an Irish name.
He smiled, his mouth hitching higher at one side because of a long scar cleaving his cheek. ‘This way, please.’
Tori peered up at Ashraf. He was her only anchor in this foreign place. She battled the impulse to clutch him. That impulse was far too strong.
Ashraf opened his mouth to speak again but she forestalled him. ‘It will be good to get Oliver settled.’ Their son was awake now, waving one tiny hand. Soon he’d be demanding a feed.
The predictability of his needs helped ground her. Nothing was more important than Oliver. So, within minutes of arriving in Za’daq, she and her son were on their way to the capital while Ashraf attended to his important business.
Bram, in the front beside the driver, turned with that lopsided smile. ‘There’s our destination. The royal palace.’
Tori’s nerves jangled as she stared. Ofcoursea king would live in a palace. She’d had so much on her mind she hadn’t considered that.
The palace sprawled magnificently across a hill above the city. Its acres of white stone gleamed in the sun, making it visible well beyond the city fringe.
From a distance its size and pristine colour caught the eye, and then its fairy-tale towers and gilded domes. Eventually, as the limousine climbed a road lined with public parks, Tori felt her breath catch at the palace’s sheer beauty. There was carved marble, patterns of lustrous tiles worked in deep blues, greens and golds. Even the intricate ironwork of the tall fence pleased the eye.
Yet Tori’s skin turned clammy.Thiswas Ashraf’s home? The place he wanted her and Oliver to live? This was a palace for a potentate, proclaiming wealth and power. Despite its beauty, it sent a shudder through her.
It didn’t matter that they were only visiting, or that he hadn’t mentioned marriage again. She suspected Ashraf wasn’t a man who’d easily give up when he had his mind fixed on an idea. If they were to agree on some way of sharing Oliver this place would become a significant part of her son’s life and therefore hers.
As the daughter of a senior politician she’d attended functions at luxury hotels and private venues, but never anywhere like this.
She looked down at the slate-blue trousers and jacket she’d thought so perfect for travelling and felt completely out of her depth. But howdidone dress for a palace straight out of a fairy tale?
A bubble of panicked laughter rose as she tried to imagine herself bedecked in glittering gems or ermine or whatever it was that royals wore in places like this.
If Ashraf were here beside her it would be easier.
Even thinking that felt like a betrayal. Tori had always stood up for herself and it was especially important that she do so now. Ashraf and his managing ways had swept her back to a country where she’d never wanted to venture again.
Once more icy fingers played up her spine. Had she made the biggest mistake ever, coming here? She’d agreed to come when she’d been tired and stressed, thrown by seeing Ashraf again when she’d believed him dead.
She’d experienced a destabilising uprush of emotions on seeing him so caring of Oliver, so charismatic that her heart had fluttered in a ridiculous butterfly beat high in her throat. That toned, muscle-packed body, those incredible eyes that seemed to see more of her private self than anyone ever had. Even the thin scar along his ribs that told the story of their near-death experience made her feel close to him. As if they shared something profound.
Tori huffed a silent laugh. They did share something significant. Oliver.
Of course she’d done right in coming here. This was a first step in coming to an agreement about how their son would be raised.
Tori’s gaze slewed back to the dazzling white edifice taking up the whole hilltop, her hands clenching. She needed some space after days and nights in Ashraf’s company. Yet...she missed him.
Tori’s eyes widened.
How long since Ashraf had prowled the length of the Perth boardroom and her heart had taken off like a rocket? A mere couple of days since he’d blasted her life to smithereens.
The limousine swung past the palace’s monumental main gates and followed a road around the perimeter, eventually pulling in to a more utilitarian entrance.
A uniformed servant opened her door. By the time she’d picked up Oliver and stepped out Bram was urging her inside.
Out of the air-conditioned car, with Oliver warm in her arms, she felt flushed and crumpled. But pride made her stand straight as she was introduced to the palace chamberlain, a tall man in snowy robes.
Gathering her wits, she did what she’d failed to do on meeting Bram, exchanging greetings in Arabic. She knew just enough to understand his wish that she would be comfortable during her stay and to thank him in the same language.
Was that surprise in his eyes? She didn’t have time to find out, for Bram was ushering her into a cool, beautifully tiled hall.
‘Your apartment is here, at the rear of the palace.’