Yes, that’s what he needed. Actual space, and a night to reconnect with the man he was, to anchor himself to this kingdom he ruled and loved.
Resolution formed, he placed a quick call to his valet, requesting a kays be packed with overnight essentials, poured himself a small measure of scotch, feeling better simply at the prospect of getting away. From the palace, and the woman he was going to marry.
Was he going to regret this?
The thought came to him from nowhere. He pushed it aside. Regrets or not, he could hardly back out now. The fact he’d bitten off more than he could chew wasn’t Ella’s fault.
Besides, the idea of any future that didn’t have her in it was completely counterintuitive. She could very well be pregnant with his baby at that very moment. Even if she weren’t, the announcements had been made, their marriage date set. This was a reality with which they both had to grapple.
He strode out of his study, towards the alisan, a room that had been used to greet dignitaries for many years. He was late, but no matter. Nothing formal could start without him, and this was not a large event. Ten or so cabinet ministers meeting to herald the arrival of a new American diplomat.
He cast a glance at his watch, then continued his pace. At the double doors to the room, he didn’t pause, simply strode in, confident he would see the same sort of gathering he often had before.
And stopped dead in his tracks. In the middle of the room, speaking with his chief finance officer, was the woman he planned to marry.
It took every ounce of will power not to increase his speed and lift her over his shoulder, pulling her away from these men, away from anyone. What the hell was she doing here? And wearing that?
Oh, it wasn’t a particularly revealing dress – of course it wasn’t. But the colour was so perfect for her, all he could see was the sparkle of her eyes and the translucent quality of her skin, the sheen of her hair, the pink of her cheeks. And while it covered her body from head to toe, it was fitted enough to clearly show the sweetness of her curves, her delicate flesh framed to perfection.
His hand formed a fist at his side, the only outward reaction he allowed himself to the surprise arrival of Ella at this otherwise routine event. If she sensed his reaction, she didn’t react, but the rest of the room quietened, each man in attendance bowing as Elon passed.
When her companion did likewise, Ella had no choice but to acknowledge that something had changed. She lifted her eyes to his and the mutinous tilt of her chin showed that she’d been aware of him the whole time. She was challenging him to argue with her, to toss her from the room. She was challenging him in every way.
With the greatest measure of self-discipline, Elon went to his fiancé, resisting an urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her silly right here in front of everyone, simply to make a point. But what point?
“Your Highness,” she said, politely, her smile daring him to overreact.
He returned the greeting, using her title intentionally, before turning to his finance minister and addressing him instead. He felt her eyes on him, felt the scathing burn of her stare and everything seemed off balance. For the first time in his life, it seemed as though the world were unsteady beneath his feet and Elon had no idea how to right it.
He couldn’t have said what they talked about. Banal irrelevancies, and minutes later the American diplomat was announced, meaning Elon was called upon to act in a formal capacity. But what of his fiancé? No protocol had been established and he couldn’t recall how his parents had behaved at official functions. He was angry with her – furious – and he couldn’t even say why! Only the fact he felt the same emotion bouncing off her baited him into feeling it more strongly.
He put a hand low at the curve of her spine, guiding her towards him. Her back was ramrod straight, resistance in every inch of her body. How could he want her even at the same time he was furious with her? And why was he so furious with her? Frustration zipped through him; he craved the release of the desert. He needed space to think and recognise himself again.
His distraction was apparent but Ella handled the evening with aplomb. She switched from Arabic to English with ease, making insightful, intelligent conversation with the diplomat, showing an easy understanding of American politics and life. Elon listened as she spoke, detailing the year she’d spent on exchange at Brown, her studies at the Ivy League college. He was frustrated when the diplomat turned the conversation to his own time at Harvard, because Elon found himself wanting to hear more about Ella’s life, not some American’s.
It wasn’t just the visitor she was able to charm. He watched with a growing sense of impatience as she engaged with every single person present. Not just his cabinet members, but the servants who worked around the room, complimenting one on the flower arrangements and another on the cocktails that were being circulated.
He’d proposed this marriage because he needed a wife and children. It hadn’t entered his head to hope she’d be a political asset as well. The fact that she obviously could be should have been cause for celebration.
It wasn’t.
Born with the unshakable ability to command, and never having doubted his right to use that ability, Elon brought the night to an abrupt close. It was a simple matter: he thanked the diplomat for his time, told him he looked forward to working with him in the future, then moved towards the door. Most importantly, he put a hand around Ella’s, intertwining their fingers, bringing her with him even when he suspected a part of her wanted to stay. Not because she wished it, but because she wished to disobey him.
Disobey?
He almost laughed at the ridiculous phrase, except he was in no laughing mood.
As soon as they were out in the corridor, alone except for the obligatory guards, she shook free of his grip, her eyes glaring at him, anger spitting from their depths.
Compressing his lips, he put a hand in her back, guiding her away from the room.
She pulled free of him once more. He stopped walking, meeting her anger with his own. “Come with me, habibte, or so help me, I will throw you over my shoulder once more.”