Postcards From Paris. Sarah Mayberry
for luxuries here.’
‘I do not. The basics are all I need. I find anything else is just an unwanted distraction.’
As was she, no doubt. Anna tamped down the depressing thought. ‘So why build a palace like this, then? What’s the point?’
‘Medira Palace is for the people, a symbol of the power and wealth of Nabatean, something that they can look upon with pride. I may not choose to indulge in its luxuries, but it’s not about me. The palace will be here for many generations after I have gone. And, besides, it’s not just my home. My brother lives here too, as of course will you.’
‘Yes.’ Anna swallowed.
‘You have no need to worry.’ Zahir gave a harsh laugh. ‘I don’t expect you to share these chambers. You may have the pick of the rooms of the palace, as many and as grand as you wish.’
‘And what about you? Will you be giving up these chambers and coming to live in splendour with me?’
‘I will not.’ Zahir’s reply was as bleak as it was damning. What did that mean—that they would inhabit different parts of the palace? That they would live totally separate lives, be man and wife in name only? A knock on the door meant that Anna had to keep this deeply depressing thought to herself for the time being, as a servant bearing a tray of coffee saved Zahir from further questioning. Bending down, she settled herself as best she could on the low seating area, tucking her legs under her before reaching to accept her cup of coffee from the silent servant. It was impossible to get comfortable in her high-heeled shoes so, with her coffee cup balanced in one hand, she took them off with the other, pairing them neatly on the floor beside her. For some reason they suddenly looked ridiculously out of place, like twin sirens in the stark masculinity of this room.
Raising her eyes, Anna saw that Zahir was staring at them too, as if thinking the same thing. She was relieved when he roughly pulled off his own soft leather shoes and sat down beside her.
‘So your brother.’ She decided to opt for what she hoped was a slightly safer topic of conversation, but as she felt Zahir stiffen beside her she began to wonder. ‘You say he lives here in the palace and yet I haven’t seen any sign of him.’
‘There is no reason for you to have seen him, as he occupies the east wing. Given the circumstances, I doubt that either of you are going to deliberately seek each other out.’
‘Well, no.’ Annalina pouted slightly. ‘Having said that, I don’t believe he wished to marry me any more than I did him.’
She waited, pride almost wishing that Zahir would contradict her, tell her that of course Rashid had wanted to marry her, ‘what man wouldn’t?’.
Instead there was only a telling silence as Zahir drank the contents of his coffee cup in one gulp then reached for the brass pot to refill it.
‘There is some truth in that.’ Avoiding her gaze, he eventually spoke.
Being right had never felt less rewarding. Drawing in a breath, Anna decided to ask the question that had been niggling her ever since she had first set eyes on Rashid Zahani. ‘Can I ask...about Rashid... Is there some sort of medical problem?’
That spun Zahir’s head in her direction, the dark eyes flashing dangerously beneath the thick, untidy eyebrows. So close now, Anna could see the amber flecks that radiated from the black pupils, glowing as if they were just about to burst into flames.
‘So what are you saying? That anyone who doesn’t want to marry you must have some sort of mental deficiency?’ Scorn singed the edges of his words.
‘No, I just...’
‘Because if so you have a very high, not to say misguided, opinion of yourself.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Colour rushed to flush Anna’s cheeks, heating her core as indignation and embarrassment took hold. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘Well, that’s what it sounded like.’ He looked away and she was left staring at his harsh profile, at the muscle that twitched ominously beneath the stubble of his cheek. There was silence as she battled to control the mixed emotions rioting inside her, as she waited for her skin to cool down.
‘My brother has some personal issues to overcome.’ Finally Zahir spoke again, leaning forward to replace his cup on the table. ‘He suffers from anxiety due to a trauma he suffered and this can affect his mood. He just needs time, that’s all. When the right person is found, he will marry and produce a family. Of that I am certain.’
‘Of course.’ Anna was not going to make the mistake of questioning that statement, even if secretly she had her doubts. There was something about Rashid that she found very unnerving. On the plane journey here she had looked up to see him staring at her in a very peculiar way, almost as if he was looking right through her. ‘But does Rashid not get to choose his own wife? You make it sound as if he has no say in the matter.’
‘Like me, you mean?’ The eyes swung back, lingering this time, tracing a trail over her sensitised skin, across her cheekbones and down her nose, until they rested on her lips. Anna felt their burn as vividly as if she had been touched by a flame.
‘And me too.’ She just about managed to croak out the words of defiance, even though her heart had gone off like a grenade inside her.
‘Indeed.’ Something approaching empathy softened his voice. ‘We are all victims of circumstance to a greater or lesser extent.’
Greater—definitely greater in her case. To marry this man, tie herself for ever to this wild, untamed, warrior, had meant taking the biggest leap of faith in her life. But Anna didn’t regret it. In the same way as some inner sense had told her that she could never have married Rashid Zahani, it now filled her with nervous excitement at the thought of marrying his brother. Excitement, exhilaration and terror all rolled into one breathtaking surge of adrenaline. But there was worry too—worry that maybe once Zahir knew all the facts he might no longer want to marry her. She was beginning to realise just how devastating that would be. Because she wanted Zahir. In every sense of the word. Drawing in a shaky breath, she decided she was going to have to just plunge in.
‘About our marriage, Zahir.’ She watched the play of his muscles across his back as he leant forward to refill his coffee cup again. ‘There are things we need to discuss.’
‘I’ve told you. I will leave all the arrangements to you. I have neither the time nor the interest to get involved.’
‘I’m not talking about the arrangements.’
‘What, then?’ He settled back against the cushions, his eyes holding hers with a piercing intensity that made her feel like a specimen butterfly being pinned to a board.
She shifted nervously to make sure she still could. ‘We need to talk about what sort of marriage it will be.’
‘The usual, I imagine.’
‘And what exactly does that mean?’ Irritation and helplessness spiked her voice. ‘There is nothing usual about this marriage, Zahir. From the fact that I have been swapped from one brother to another, to your disclosure just now that we won’t be sharing the same rooms. None of it fits the term usual.’
Zahir gave that infuriating shrug, as if none of it was of any consequence to him.
‘Will you expect us to have full marital relations, for example?’ She blurted out the question before she had time to phrase it properly, using language that sounded far more clinical than she felt. But maybe that was a good thing.
‘Of course.’ His straightforward answer, delivered in that raw, commanding voice and coupled with the burn of amber in those hooded eyes, had the peculiar effect of melting something inside of Anna, fusing her internal organs until she was aware of nothing but a deep pulse somewhere low down in her abdomen. It was a feeling so extraordinary, so remarkable, that she found she wanted to hold on to it, capture it, before it slipped away for ever.
Zahir