The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит
car.
Minutes later she was being driven along a picturesque coastal road, grateful to put miles between herself and the Santina royal palace. But Ella’s stomach was in knots and she barely noticed the deep sapphire of the sea or the perfect blue of the sky. For once, the island’s scenic beauty left her cold.
All she could think about was the way she’d behaved. It was not only completely uncharacteristic, it was also shameful, because she had chosen the worst man in the world with whom to be sexually rampant. She’d been given the perfect opportunity to prove to Hassan Al Abbas that his bias against the Jackson family was unfair and unfounded. Yet instead, she had simply reinforced all those prejudices with her own behaviour. He’d accused the women in her family of behaving like cheap tramps and hadn’t she gone ahead and done just that?
Ella bit her lip as the car began to snake down the road towards the hotel. She’d let everyone down. But most of all, she’d let herself down.
And she was the one who had to live with what she’d done.
‘I DON’T care how you do it. Just do it!’ The woman’s voice was shrill and insistent. ‘It’s my wedding day and I’ve dreamt about it for too long to make any kind of compromise.’
‘I’ll work something out,’ promised Ella, replacing the phone with a heavy sigh, which wasn’t entirely due to the latest unreasonable request from one of her high-profile clients. Since the earliest days of her thriving events company, Cinderella-Rockerfella, she’d been asked for many bizarre things, and usually she took them all in her stride. But usually she wasn’t feeling a mixture of guilt and general queasiness, the way she’d been feeling nonstop since she’d returned from her sister’s royal engagement party.
Nothing she did seemed to help. She found herself wishing she could forget the sheikh who had given her so much pleasure when he’d taken her to his bed. But what she wished even more was that she could rid herself of the nagging fear which was growing by the day. The fear which this morning had manifested itself in bringing up her breakfast only minutes after she’d eaten it.
With an effort, she forced the worrying thoughts from her head and looked up at Daisy, her assistant, an efficient twenty-two-year-old whose high energy levels had recently made Ella feel as if she was about a hundred.
‘What kind of couple wants to sit on matching thrones for their wedding ceremony, Daisy?’ she asked wearily.
‘A couple with massive egos?’ suggested Daisy with a grin. ‘But I guess that isn’t so surprising. Two music stars that huge are bound to want to make a splash, especially as they’ve sold the photo rights to Celebrity! magazine. And anyway, you couldn’t be better placed to organise something like that, could you, Ella, since your own sister is actually marrying a real-life royal!’
‘Please don’t remind me,’ said Ella with a wince.
‘Why not? Most people would be revelling in the reflected glory, yet you’ve hardly said a word about the engagement party since you got back and that was weeks ago,’ grumbled Daisy. ‘I had to read about it for myself in all the papers.’
‘Well, there you go.’ Ella realised that her fingers were trembling and she put down the black felt-tip pen with which she’d been doodling. She looked down and saw that she had actually drawn a sword by the side of her notes. What the hell did that mean? ‘Daisy, will you try to organise two golden thrones for me? Ring up that theatrical props company we sometimes use and see if they can help out. I … well, I have to go out this afternoon.’ She stood too quickly and her head spun like a merry-go-round. It had been doing a lot of that lately.
Daisy glanced at her. ‘Ella, are you okay? You’ve gone a really funny colour.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ said Ella, swallowing down the increasingly familiar taste of nausea which was rising in her throat. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Blanking the concerned look of her assistant, she walked out into the busy London street where an unseasonal shower was in full pelt and she realised too late that she wasn’t wearing her raincoat. But who cared about getting caught in the rain, or ostentatious last-minute additions to showbiz weddings, when there was something so big in your head it was beginning to dominate everything you did?
She was shivering as she took a bus to her house in Tooting. It wasn’t the most fashionable post code in town but it was well served by public transport and had the added bonus of being cheap. Living there meant she didn’t have to live in a shoebox and she’d been able to plough any spare cash into her thriving little business. The business she’d worked so hard to get off the ground, because she’d wanted to be an independent woman, determined that she would never have to rely on the whims of a man for her income or livelihood.
And the thought which was echoing round and round in her head was: What’s going to happen to your precious business now, if your worst fears are confirmed?
The house felt cold when she entered and she went straight into the bathroom where the pregnancy testing kit she’d bought was still sitting unused next to the toothpaste. For a moment she just stared at it before pulling it off the shelf with hands which were shaking, knowing that she couldn’t put off the moment of truth any longer.
Her heart was pounding as she tore open the cardboard box and as she crouched over the loo, attempting to pee onto the narrow little stick, she thought how surreal this felt. This is what millions of women all over the world have done, she told herself. Were probably doing even now. But she’d bet all the money in her purse that not one of them was doing it as the result of a one-night stand with an empty-eyed sheikh who’d left her without even bothering to say goodbye.
She didn’t need to see the blue line on the stick to know that the test was positive. She’d known that in her heart all along. Forcing herself to make a cup of hot, sweet tea, she took it into the sitting room and sat drinking it as the light began to fade from the sky. One by one, the pinpoints of stars began to speckle the sky and all she could think about was the single fact which was going to change her life for ever.
She was pregnant.
Pregnant by the sheikh.
She was going to have an unplanned baby by a man who despised her and all she stood for. Ella put down her empty teacup and closed her eyes. It didn’t really get much worse than that, did it?
Yet it was strange what tricks the mind could play. For a few weeks more, Ella pretended it wasn’t happening. She let the secret grow inside her head as well as inside her belly and she was slim enough for it not to notice. It was as if, by not telling anyone else, she could almost convince herself that it wasn’t happening. But aligned with this lack of logic was the overwhelming desire to tell someone, to unburden herself to someone who might understand.
Not her mother. Definitely not her weak, romantic mother. Not her sisters either—not if she didn’t want word to get out. And definitely not her father. Ella shuddered. Her father would go mental if he found out.
Which left Ben, her brother. Brilliant Ben, who, for all his reputation as a control-freak tycoon, was fiercely protective when it came to the women in his family. He was currently living in some splendour in a beach house on the island of Santina while he worked on a charity project. Before she had time to change her mind, Ella picked up the phone and dialled his number.
‘Ben Jackson.’
‘Ben, it’s Ella.’
The rather abrupt note in his voice gave way to one of softening affection. ‘Ella,’ he murmured. ‘Who I still haven’t quite forgiven for leaving the island in such dramatic fashion after the engagement party. Why the hell didn’t you come to the lunch the next day? I was looking forward to a catch-up.’
‘Actually, the reason I didn’t come to the lunch is sort