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Lost to the Desert Warrior

Aug 16, 2013 | Filed under:

‘Shh, don’t make a sound.’ Layla slammed her hand over her sister’s mouth. ‘I can hear them coming. They mustn’t find us.’

She wished she’d had time to find a better hiding place. Behind the long velvet curtains in her father’s private rooms hardly seemed like an obvious place for concealment, and yet she knew in some ways this was the safest place. No one would think to look for the princesses here. They were never allowed in his bedroom. Not even today, on the day of his death.

But Layla had wanted to see for herself that the man who’d called himself her father lay cold and still in his bed and wasn’t about to leap up and commit some other sin against her or her sister. She’d stood there, hidden by the curtain, and heard him seal her fate with his dying breath. His last words hadn’t expressed regret for a life misspent. There had been no demand to see his daughters, nor even a request to pass on a loving message to make up for years of cold neglect. No apology for all the grievous wrongs. Just one last wrong—one that would seal her fate forever.

‘Hassan must marry Layla. It is the only way the people will accept him as ruler of Tazkhan.’

Hearing footsteps, Layla kept her hand pressed over her younger sister’s mouth. Her forehead brushed the curtains and she could smell the dust. The dark was disorientating and she held herself rigid, waiting for the curtains to be flung back, afraid that the slightest movement would give them away.

From behind the protection of rich, heavy velvet she heard several people enter the room.

‘We have searched the palace. They are nowhere to be found.’

‘They cannot just have vanished.’ The voice was harsh and instantly recognisable. It was Hassan, her father’s cousin, and if his last wishes were carried out, soon to be her bridegroom. Sixty years old and more power-hungry even than her father.

In a moment of horrifying clarity Layla saw her future and it was blacker than the inside of the curtain. She stared into darkness, feeling her sister’s breath warm her hand, afraid to breathe herself in case she gave them both away.

‘We will find them, Hassan.’

‘In a few hours you’ll be addressing me as Your Excellency,’ Hassan snapped. ‘And you’d better find them. Try the library. The older one is always there. As for the younger one—she has far too much to say for herself. We’re flying her to America, where she will be out of sight and out of mind. The people will soon forget her. My marriage to the eldest will take place before dawn. Fortunately she is the quiet one. She has nothing to say for herself and is unlikely to object.’

He didn’t even know her name, Layla thought numbly, let alone her view on the world. She was ‘the eldest’. ‘The quiet one’. She doubted he knew or cared what she looked like. He certainly didn’t care what she wanted. But then neither had her father. The only person who cared about her was currently shivering in her grasp.

Her young sister. Her friend. Her family.

The news that they were planning to send Yasmin to America intensified the horror of the situation. Of everything that was happening, losing her sister would be the worst.

‘Why rush into the marriage?’

Hassan’s companion echoed Layla’s thoughts.

‘Because we both know that as soon as he finds out about the old Sheikh’s death he will come.’

He will come.

Layla knew immediately who ‘he’ was. And she also knew Hassan was afraid. So afraid he couldn’t bring himself to speak the name of his enemy. The formidable reputation of the desert warrior and rightful ruler of the wild desert country of Tazkhan frightened Hassan so badly it was now forbidden to speak his name within the walled city. The irony was that by banning all mention of the true heir to the sheikdom he had increased his status to that of hero in the minds of the people.

In a small moment of personal rebellion, Layla thought the name.

Raz Al Zahki.

A prince who lived like a Bedouin among the people who loved him. A man of the desert with steely determination, strength and patience, who played a waiting game. Right now he was out there somewhere, his exact whereabouts a secret known only to those closest to him. The secrecy surrounding him increased tensions in the Citadel of Tazkhan.

Footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the bedroom.

As the door closed behind them Yasmin pulled away, gasping for air. ‘I thought you were going to suffocate me.’

‘I thought you were going to scream.’

‘I’ve never screamed in my life. I’m not that pathetic.’ But her sister looked shaken and Layla took her hand and held it firmly as she peeped around the heavy velvet curtain. ‘They’ve gone. We’re safe.’

‘Safe? Layla, that wrinkled, overweight monster is going to marry you before dawn and he’s going to send me away to America, miles from home and miles from you.’

Layla heard the break in her sister’s voice and tightened her grip on her hand. ‘No, he won’t. I’m not going to allow him to take you away.’

‘How can you stop it? I don’t care what happens, but I want us to stay together. It’s been the two of us for so long I can’t imagine any other life. I need you to stop me opening my mouth when I should close it and you need me to stop you living your life in a book.’

Her sister’s voice was soaked with despair and Layla felt crushed by the weight of responsibility.

She felt small and powerless as she stood alone against the brutal force of Hassan’s limitless ambition.

‘I promise we won’t be separated.’

‘How can you promise that?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I’m thinking…’

‘Well, think fast, because in a few hours I’ll be on a plane to America and you’ll be in Hassan’s bed.’

‘Yasmin!’ Shocked, Layla gaped at her sister, who shrugged defiantly.

‘It’s true.’

‘What do you know about being in a man’s bed?’

‘Nowhere near as much as I’d like. I suppose that might be one of the advantages of being banished to America.’

Despite their circumstances, a dimple flickered at the corner of Yasmin’s mouth and Layla felt a lump in her throat. No matter how dire the circumstances, her sister always managed to find a reason to smile. She’d brought laughter to places without humour and light into the dark.

‘I can’t lose you.’ She couldn’t even bear to think of that option. ‘I won’t lose you.’

Yasmin peered cautiously across the room. ‘Is our father really dead?’

‘Yes.’ Layla tried to find some emotion inside herself but all she felt was numb. ‘Are you sad?’

‘Why would I be sad? This is only the fifth time I’ve ever seen him in person and I don’t think this one counts so that’s only four times. He made our lives hell and he’s still making it hell even though he’s dead.’ Yasmin’s unusual blue eyes darkened with fury. ‘Do you know what I wish? I wish Raz Al Zahki would ride into the city on that terrifying black stallion of his and finish off Hassan. I’d cheer. In fact I’d be so grateful I’d marry him myself and give him a hundred babies just to make sure his line is safe.’

Layla tried not to look at the figure on the bed. Even dead, she didn’t want to see him. ‘He wouldn’t want to marry you. You are the daughter of the man responsible for the death of his father and his beautiful wife. He hates us, and I cannot blame him for that.’ She hated herself too, for sharing the blood of a man with so little humanity. For sharing in his shame.

‘He should marry you. Then no one would be able to challenge him and Hassan would be finished.’

The idea was so outrageous, so typical of Yasmin, Layla’s instinct was to dismiss it instantly and preach caution as she always did. But how was caution going to help them when her marriage was only hours away?

Her mind picked at the idea gingerly. ‘Yasmin—’

‘It is said he loved his wife so deeply that when she died he made a vow never to love again.’ Yasmin spoke in an awed whisper. ‘Have you ever heard anything so romantic?’

Layla’s courage evaporated along with the idea. She couldn’t do it. ‘It’s not romantic. It’s tragic. It was a terrible thing.’

‘But to be loved that much by a man as strong and honourable as him—I want that one day.’

Yasmin stared into the distance and Layla gave her a shake.

‘Stop dreaming.’ The whole thing was alien to her. The only love she knew was her love for her sister. She’d never felt anything remotely romantic when she’d looked at a man. And nothing she’d read on the subject had led her to believe that would change in the future. She was far too practical a person, and it was the practical side that drove her now. ‘If they take you to America I’ll never see you again. I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘How can you stop it? Hassan is at his most dangerous when he’s afraid and he’s terrified of Raz Al Zahki. He won’t even allow his name to be spoken in the city. But everyone does speak it, of course. Especially the women. I’ve been listening.’

‘You’ve been to the souk again? Do you have no sense of danger?’

Yasmin ignored her and her voice was an awed whisper. ‘They say his heart is frozen into ice and only the right woman can melt it. It’s a bit like the legend of the Sword in the Stone you read me when I was little.’

‘Oh, Yasmin, grow up! A man’s heart cannot be frozen into ice unless he finds himself lost in Antarctica with insufficient equipment. A heart is responsible for pumping blood around the body. It cannot be “frozen” or “broken”.’ Exasperated, Layla wondered how two sisters could be so different. Their experience was the same, except that Layla had protected Yasmin from the worst of her father’s actions. ‘This isn’t legend, this is real. Stop romanticising everything.’

‘They think he will come.’ This time there was an undertone of excitement in her sister’s voice. ‘He has been playing a waiting game while our father and Hassan plotted. With our father dead, he has to have a plan for taking up his rightful place as Sheikh. Hassan is terrified. The council is terrified. They have extra guards on the doors at night. They’ve sent patrols into the desert, although goodness knows why because everyone knows Raz Al Zahki knows the desert better than anyone. No one is sleeping because they’re afraid he might enter the Citadel at night and murder them in their beds. Frankly, I wish he’d just get on with it. If I bumped into him in the dark I’d show him the way.’

Layla covered her sister’s lips with her fingers. ‘You need to be careful what you say.’

‘Why? What else can they do to me? They’re splitting us up! I’m going to America and you’re going to marry Hassan. How much worse can it get?’

‘I’m not marrying Hassan.’ Layla made her decision. ‘I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘How can you stop it? Hassan can only be the next ruler if he marries you. That’s a pretty powerful motivation.’

‘Then he mustn’t marry me.’

Yasmin looked at her with pity. ‘He is going to make you.’

‘If he can’t find me, he can’t make me.’ Not daring to give too much thought to what she was about to do, Layla sprinted to her father’s dressing room and removed a couple of robes. She thrust one at her sister. ‘Put this on. Cover your hair and as much of your face as you can. Wait here for me behind the curtain until I come and fetch you. I need to get something from the library before we leave.’

‘The library? How can you think of books right now?’

‘Because a book can be many things—a friend, an escape, a teacher—’ Layla broke off and hoped her sister didn’t notice her high colour. ‘Never mind. The important thing is that we’re going away from here. It will be like the game of Hide we played as children.’ She caught her sister’s horrified glance and wished she hadn’t used that reference. Both of them knew what that game had really meant. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Those horses you love so much—can you actually ride one if you have to?’ ‘Of course!’

Her sister’s hesitation was so brief Layla told herself she’d imagined it.

‘And I’ve read extensively on the theory of riding and the history of the Arabian horse, so between us I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. ‘We’ll take the back route to the stables and ride into the desert from there.’

‘The desert? Why are we riding into the desert?’

Layla felt her mouth move even though her brain was telling her this was a terrible idea. ‘We’re going to find Raz Al Zahki.’

The wind blew across the desert, bringing with it whispers of the Sheikh’s death.

Raz Al Zahki stood at the edge of the camp and stared into the darkness of the night. ‘Is it truth or rumour?’

‘Truth.’ Salem stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. ‘It’s been confirmed by more than one source.’

‘Then it is time.’ Raz had learned long before to keep his feelings buried, and he kept them buried now, but he felt the familiar ache of tension across his shoulders. ‘We leave for the city tonight.’

Abdul, his advisor and long-time friend stepped forward. ‘There is something else, Your Highness. As you predicted, Hassan plans to marry the eldest princess in a matter of hours. Preparations for the wedding are already underway.’

‘Before her father’s body is even cold?’ Raz gave a cynical laugh. ‘Her grief clearly overwhelms her.’

‘Hassan must be at least forty years older than her,’ Salem murmured. ‘One wonders what she gains from the match.’

‘There is no mystery there. She continues to live in a palace and enjoy benefits that should never have been hers to begin with.’ Raz stared at the horizon. ‘She is the daughter of the most ruthless man who ever ruled Tazkhan. Don’t waste your sympathy.’

‘If Hassan marries the girl it will be harder for you to challenge the succession legally.’

‘Which is why I intend to make sure the wedding does not take place.’

Abdul shot him a startled look. ‘So you intend to go ahead with your plan? Even though what you’re suggesting is—’

‘The only option available.’ Raz cut him off, hearing the hardness in his own tone. It was the same hardness that ran right through him. Once, he’d been capable of warmth, but that part of him had died along with the woman he’d loved. ‘We have considered every other option, and—’ He broke off as he heard a commotion in the darkness and then lifted a hand as his bodyguards emerged silently to flank him.

They were men who had followed him for fifteen years, since the brutal slaying of his father. Men who would die for him.

An Invitation to Sin

May 3, 2013 | Filed under:

‘Zach? Where the hell are you? You’d better not bail on me because I don’t think I can do this without you. Any moment now I’m going to give in and eat carbs and that is going to be the end of this dress. When you get this message, call me.’ The phone almost slipped from her sweaty palm and Taylor gripped it tightly. It was just a wedding. Just a bunch of people she didn’t care about and who certainly didn’t care about her. It shouldn’t be enough to put her in this much of a state. She was only here because the producer of her latest film had insisted on it.

She tried to take a deep breath but the dress wouldn’t allow her chest to expand. The designer had sewn her into it and then told her to send a text when she needed a bathroom break.

The Sicilian heat scalded her bare back and Taylor rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the situation. It was too hot to be sewn into anything and she’d kill before she allowed someone in the bathroom with her, which basically meant she couldn’t eat or drink. Not that she ate much anyway. The discipline instilled by her mother at a young age had never left her. She was used to feeling hungry but lately the cravings had got worse and she knew it made her irritable. She was likely to snap someone’s head off and if that happened she was going to make sure the head belonged to the member of the Corretti family responsible for her current discomfort.

She’d wondered if he’d had done it on purpose. This film was his baby. He’d probably briefed the designer to make sure no man could remove her dress and ruin her big comeback.

Zach was going to laugh when he saw her. She’d lived in jeans for so long and he’d never seen this side of her.

She’d stayed away from this for so long she’d forgotten how much she hated it. She hated the falseness, the agendas hidden behind air kissing and polished smiles.

Resisting the childlike temptation to bite her nails, she glanced at her slick manicure and was depressed to see her hand shaking.

She didn’t dare hold a glass of champagne. She’d spill her drink on her dress. Or, worse, on someone else’s dress and she knew how that would be interpreted.

Irritated with herself for caring what people thought, she dropped the phone into her bag.

It was pathetic to be reacting like this about something so trivial. The past couple of years had taught her what mattered in life. There were people out there with real problems and hers were all of her own making and all in the past.

She’d made bad decisions. Trusted people when she shouldn’t have done, but she was a different person now. Given time, she’d prove it.

And that was what today was all about, of course.

She was supposed to prove it.

No mistakes. No spilled drinks, however innocent the reason.

It didn’t matter if someone threw oil on the path in front of her, she wasn’t allowed to slip.

This was the price she had to pay if she wanted her acting career back—and she wanted it desperately. Desperately enough to star in the publicity circus that was part of the job. This was the price she had to pay for doing what she loved.

The thought had her dragging her phone out of her bag again. ‘Hey, Zach?’ Her voice shook. ‘Just letting you know that the women here are really hot. Even you can’t fail to get laid so hurry up before you miss your chance. And if that isn’t enough to get you here then I can tell you that I can’t pee unless someone removes the stitches from my dress. You are going to laugh yourself sick when you see me. Call, will you?’

She was frightened by how much she needed him here.

Zach was the one who had encouraged her to follow her dream and return to acting, but some dreams came with nightmares attached. If she couldn’t cope with this, how was she going to be able to cope with the attention of being back on a film set? She missed acting, but she didn’t miss this.

‘Taylor!’ Santo Corretti, head of the film production company who was reputed to have slept with every single leading lady of his past five films, strode towards her across the perfectly manicured grass. ‘You’re late.’

‘I was being sewn into the dress you chose.’ She didn’t mention that she’d been outside for half an hour trying to summon the courage to walk through the gates. That was too embarrassing to admit to anyone. She was terrified he’d see through her perfectly groomed exterior to the shivering wreck beneath. ‘In my experience the paparazzi are all the keener if you make them wait and work for it.’

‘Just remember you’re here to promote my film, not yourself. I want publicity and when I say publicity I mean good publicity. I don’t want anyone raking up your past.’

There it was. Just two minutes into a conversation and already the topic was her ‘past.’

There was no escaping it. Her mistakes had been played out so publicly they were branded into her so that now it was the first thing people saw, including him.

Her stomach growled a reminder that it was empty. ‘In a wedding packed full of various members of the Corretti dynasty, I’m sure the press will have plenty of alternative headline options.’ A different version of Taylor might have found him attractive but these days she avoided trouble instead of seeking it out. And she especially avoided the type of trouble that came shaped like a man. She’d learned that lesson and she’d learned it well.

‘Are you blushing?’ His eyes raked her face. ‘Taylor Carmichael, wild child and sex kitten, able to blush when the situation demands it. I’ll take that as a sign of your acting abilities. And I approve. The public loves vulnerability. They might even be prepared to excuse your shocking past.’

‘My past is no one’s business but my own.’ But it was stuck to her, like a dirty mark she couldn’t rub out. ‘So who do you want me to charm first?’

‘Weren’t you bringing someone?’ His eyes scanned the immediate area and Taylor managed to turn clenched teeth into a smile.

‘My friend Zach, but he’s been held up.’ And she was going to kill him.

‘Just remember your job today is to mingle with the people who matter, not nurture your love life.’

‘Zach isn’t—’ She stopped in mid-sentence, wishing she’d stayed silent but already he was nodding approval.

‘Good, because your messy love life has no place on my film set.’

‘My love life isn’t messy.’ She could have told him her love life was non-existent but she didn’t.

‘There are two reasons this film is going to pull in a big audience. The first is because it’s my film—’ his smile was cool ‘—and the second is because you’re starring in it, Taylor Carmichael. People are going to pack out movie theatres to see your big comeback because you’re a train wreck and everyone loves ogling a train wreck. If I’m right about you, they’ll leave knowing you can act. Don’t screw up.’

Despite the heat, she shivered.

This was what she hated. The press intrusion and studios who believed they owned her, not just on set, but in every area of her life. As a young star it had almost broken her, but she wasn’t that naive girl any more.

There was no way she’d let that happen to her again.

There was no way she’d screw it up or let them screw her.

They could fix their damn camera lenses to her ass and they still wouldn’t be able to catch her misbehaving. She was going to be so perfect the press would die of boredom. She was going to rub that dirty mark off her image until she shone like silver in sunshine.

‘So who is the most important person here today? Give me a brief.’ Brisk and professional, she was all business despite the fact the dress was all Hollywood. ‘Who am I supposed to impress?’

‘All of them. Every guest at the wedding is waiting for the chance to talk to you. Taylor Carmichael, finally back from exile. Everyone wants to know the details. The grapevine is buzzing.’

‘You’ve made sure of it.’

‘You’re my biggest asset and I know how to use my assets. Don’t give them details. No interviews until I say so.’

‘No problem.’ She’d pushed her past into a drawer and locked it and she hadn’t opened that drawer for years. The thought that others might be trying to uncover her secrets made her feel sick and his next words didn’t help dispel that feeling.

‘They’ll be persistent. After all, you’re the girl who fired her own mother.’

‘I fired my manager. The fact that she was my mother had nothing to do with it.’ But it should have done. It shouldn’t have been that easy to get rid of a mother, should it?

‘People have a morbid fascination with the way you crashed your own life.’

‘Thanks.’ The pain rose and she pushed it down again, alone with it as she was always alone.

‘So what have you been doing the past few years?’

Taylor watched as a bee hovered over a flower and then carefully landed on the fragile petals. ‘I was keeping a low profile.’

His eyes narrowed at her evasive answer. ‘Just as long as that profile isn’t going to suddenly pop up and hurt my movie.’

‘It won’t.’ She shifted her weight to ease the pain in her feet. She’d forgotten how uncomfortable stilettos were. Still, at least it took her mind off her growling stomach. ‘You can relax. If there is any scandal attached to your movie, it won’t come from me.’

‘It’s your first public appearance since you disappeared.’ His tone was hard. ‘Everyone is waiting for you to slip up, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Then I predict they’re going to have a very boring time.’

‘No drinking.’

‘Is that why you had me sewn into the dress? So I can’t use the bathroom?’

‘The dress shows your body. Your body is one of your assets.’

There had to be some benefit for being permanently starving. ‘And there was me hoping you wanted my acting skills.’ The bitterness leaked into her voice and he narrowed his eyes.

‘I do, but I’m not so naive as to think your looks don’t help. It’s all about the film, Carmichael. Don’t answer any questions about the past. You are the Mona Lisa. All they get is an enigmatic smile.’

‘I can tell you now there is no way Mona would have smiled if she were sewn into her dress. If she were forced to wear what I’m wearing she would have been the Moaning Lisa. And now we’ve established the ground rules, point me towards hell.’

‘Wait. You didn’t answer my question—’ He caught her arm. ‘What have you been doing with yourself for the past two years? You just disappeared. Were you in rehab or something?’ Rehab.

Of course they would think that. It never occurred to anyone that there could be any other explanation for her absence.

‘Sorry,’ Taylor murmured, disengaging her arm from his grip, ‘I’m absolutely not permitted to talk about my past. Your rules.’

‘You’re a beautiful woman. There won’t be any shortage of men interested, not in you but in the potential to make some money from selling a story. You screwed that up before.’

The pain was so intense he might as well have punched her. ‘I was young. Trusting. I’m not any more. And as for men—’ Taylor managed a careless shrug ‘—I can assure you there isn’t a man out there hot enough to tempt me.’

Luca Corretti downed another glass of champagne to numb the boredom of behaving well.

For the past twenty-four hours he’d driven under the speed limit for the first time in his life, declined seven party invitations and made it to bed before dawn. The fact that he hadn’t been alone at the time didn’t count. As far as the outside world was concerned, his behaviour had been impeccable. The only thing he hadn’t done in his quest for instant respectability was kissed a baby and even he wasn’t prepared to descend to those levels of hypocrisy just to impress the board of directors who’d decided his lifestyle wasn’t compatible with running another chunk of the family business. Apparently business flare counted for nothing, he thought savagely, wondering whether he could get away with swapping the champagne for whisky.

And now, to add insult to injury, he was expected to sit through his cousin’s wedding.

Was he the only person who hated weddings? All that happy-ever-after crap that everyone knew was a temporary illusion. Or maybe it was a delusion. Luca didn’t know and he didn’t intend to find out. He was going to be out of here at the first opportunity, preferably with the brunette bridesmaid he’d spotted on his way in.

‘Luca! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?’

Before he could react, Luca was enveloped in soft bosom and a choking cloud of perfume. At any other time he would have thought it wasn’t a bad way to die, but he was conscious that heads were turning and, when heads turned, disapproval was bound to follow. It irritated him that he had to care. ‘Where have I been?’ He disentangled himself. ‘Avoiding you, Penny.’

‘My name’s Portia.’

‘Seriously? No wonder I didn’t remember it.’

She giggled. ‘You are a wicked, wicked man.’

‘So people keep telling me.’ Luca put down his empty glass, trying to think of a method of stress reduction that didn’t involve sex or alcohol.

Portia lowered her eyelashes. ‘About last night—’

Aware that his one indiscretion was about to be made public, Luca removed the drink from her hand and swapped it for orange juice. ‘Last night? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Last night I went to bed with a book.’

She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Well, you certainly turned my pages. I’ll never forget it. How could I?’ Her eyes on his mouth, she leaned towards him. ‘You were amazing. It’s never been like that for me before. You’re a genius.’

‘So I keep telling the board,’ Luca said in a flat drawl. ‘Unfortunately my opinion doesn’t seem to count. For some reason they seem to think activity in the bedroom saps my mental abilities so for the time being I have to prove I can keep my pants zipped.’

‘We could be discreet. Leave the wedding.’

‘I love weddings and I love my cousin,’ Luca said immediately. ‘I couldn’t possibly leave until he’s married…mar-ried—’ what the hell was her name? ‘—the woman of his dreams.’

‘You love weddings? Honestly?’

‘Weddings never fail to make me cry,’ Luca said truthfully. ‘The thought of two people promising to love each other for ever makes me want to break down and sob like a baby.’

‘Oh. I had no idea you were so romantic.’ Her eyes misted. ‘And I’m so pleased that all those rumours that you hate your cousins are wrong. You’re nowhere near as bad as everyone says.’

‘Bad?’ Luca adopted his hurt expression. ‘I’m a saint compared to some people.’ He hoped she didn’t ask him to name someone as bad as him because he knew he’d struggle.

‘You’re quite a softie—’ she stroked his arm with her fingertips ‘—except in the one area that counts.’ She’d moved closer to him again and Luca stood up, cursing his lack of thought in picking up a guest at the wedding.

What he’d taken to be a few moments of fun, she’d taken to be a future.

Now he had to shake her off before the Corretti board gave him another black mark.

Unfortunately Portia didn’t want to be shaken anywhere. ‘Will I see you tonight, after the wedding?’

‘The definition of a one-night stand, angelo mia, is that it lasts one night.’

‘You were keen enough last night.’ She pouted. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like me in this dress?’ The words robbed him of breath.

Do I look good, Luca? Do I look better than her? Will he love me if I wear this?

‘Luca?’

Sold to the Enemy

Jan 18, 2013 | Filed under:

‘No one will lend you money, Selene. They are all too afraid of your father.’

‘Not all.’ Selene sat down on the bed and stroked her mother’s hair—hair tended regularly by hairdressers in order to keep up the appearance of a perfect life. ‘Stop worrying. I’m going to get you away from here.’

Her mother lay still. She said ‘from here’ but they both knew that what she really meant was ‘from him’.

‘I should be the one saying that to you. I should have left years ago. When I first met your father he was so charming. Every woman in the room wanted him and he only had eyes for me. Have you any idea how that feels?’

Selene opened her mouth to say How could I, when I’ve been trapped on this island for most of my life? but realised that would only hurt her mother more. ‘I can imagine it must have been very exciting. He was rich and powerful.’ She wouldn’t make that mistake. She would never let love blind her to the true nature of the man underneath.

‘It’s stupid to talk of leaving when we both know he’ll never let us go. As far as the world is concerned we’re the perfect family. He isn’t going to let anything ruin that image.’ Her mother rolled away, turning her face to the wall.

Selene felt a rush of frustration. It was like watching someone adrift on a raft, making no effort to save themselves. ‘We’re not going to ask him. It’s our decision. Ours. Maybe it’s time we told the world this “family” is a lie.’

Her mother’s lack of response didn’t surprise her. Her father had dictated to them and controlled them for so long she’d forgotten she even had a choice.

Despite the oppressive summer heat and the fact that their fortress home had no air-conditioning, a chill spread across her skin and ran deep into her bones.

How many years did it take, she wondered, before you no longer believed your life was worth fighting for? How many years before hope turned to helplessness, before anger became acceptance and spirit was beaten to a stupor? How many years until she, too, chose to lie on her side facing the wall rather than stand up and face the day?

Beyond the closed shutters that blotted out the only window in the tiny bedroom the sun beamed its approval from a perfect blue sky onto the sparkling Mediterranean, its brightness a cruel contrast to the darkness inside the room.

To many, the Greek Islands were paradise. Perhaps some of them were. Selene didn’t know. She only knew this one, and Antaxos was no paradise. Cut off from its neighbours by a stretch of dangerous sea, rocks that threatened ships like the jaws of a monster and by the fearsome reputation of the man who owned it, this island was closer to hell than heaven.

Selene tucked the covers around her mother’s thin shoulders. ‘Leave everything to me.’

That statement injected her mother with an energy that nothing else could. ‘Don’t make him angry.’

She’d heard those words more often than she could count.

She’d spent her life tiptoeing around ‘angry’.

‘You don’t have to live like this, watching everything you say and everything you do because of him.’ Looking at her mother, Selene felt sad. Once, she’d been a beauty and it had been that blonde, Nordic beauty that had attracted the attention of the rich playboy Stavros Antaxos. Her mother had been dazzled by wealth and power and she’d melted under his charm like candle wax under a hot flame, never seeing the person beneath the smooth sophistication.

One bad choice, Selene thought. Her mother had made one bad choice and then spent years living with it, her heart and spirit crushed by a life spent with a ruthless man.

‘Let’s not talk about him. I had an e-mail this week from Hot Spa in Athens.’ She’d been nursing the news for days, not daring to share it before now. ‘Remember I told you about them? It’s a really upmarket chain. And they have spa hotels on Crete, Corfu and Santorini. I sent them samples of my candles and my soap and they love them. They used them in their treatment rooms and three of their top clients insisted on taking them home and paid a fortune for the privilege. Now they want to talk to me and put in a large order. It’s the break I’ve been hoping for.’ She was buzzing inside and longing to share the excitement so it came as a blow when her mother’s only response was to shake her head.

‘He’ll never let you do it.’

‘I don’t need his permission to live my life the way I want to live it.’

‘And how are you going to live it? You need money to set up your business and he won’t give you money that enables us to leave him.’

‘I know. Which is why I don’t intend to ask him. I have another plan.’ She’d learned not to speak without first checking to see who might be listening and instinctively she turned her head to see that the door was closed, even though this was her mother’s bedroom and she’d secured the door herself. Even though he wasn’t even on the island. ‘I’m leaving tonight and I’m telling you this because I won’t be able to contact you for a few days and I don’t want you to worry about me. As far as everyone is concerned I am at the convent for my usual week of retreat and meditation.’

‘How can you leave? Even if you could slip past his security and make it off the island you will be recognised. Someone will call him and he will be furious. You know how obsessed he is about maintaining the image of the perfect family.’

‘One of the advantages of being the shy, reclusive daughter of a man feared by everyone is that no one is expecting to see me. But just to cover all eventualities I have a disguise.’ And she didn’t intend to share the details with anyone. Not even her mother, who was now looking at her with panic in her eyes.

‘And if you do manage to make it as far as the mainland, what then? Have you thought that far?’

‘Yes, I’ve thought that far.’ And further, much further, to a future that was nothing like the past. ‘You don’t need to know any of this. All you need to do is trust me and wait for me to return and fetch you. I’d take you now only two of us travelling together are more likely to attract attention. You have to stay here and keep up the perfect family pretence for just a little longer. Once I have the money and somewhere to stay I’m coming back for you.’

Her mother gripped her arm tightly. ‘If by any chance you manage to do this, you should not come back. It’s too late for me.’

‘It drives me mad when you say things like that.’ Selene hugged her mother. ‘I will come back. And then we’re leaving together and he can find someone else to control.’

‘I wish I had money to give you.’

So did she. If her mother had maintained her independence then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess now, but her father’s first and cleverest move following his marriage had been to ensure his wife had no income of her own, thus making her dependent on him in every way. Her mother had confessed that at first she’d found it romantic to have a man who wanted to care for her. It had been later, much later, that she’d realised that he hadn’t wanted to care for her. He’d wanted to control her. And so her mother’s independence had slowly leeched away, stolen not by a swift kill but by a slow, cruel erosion of her confidence.

‘I have enough to get me to Athens. Then I’m going to get a loan to start my business.’ It was the only option open to her and she knew other people did it all the time. They borrowed money and they paid it back and she would pay it back, too. All of it.

‘He has contacts at all the banks. None of them will loan you money, Selene.’

‘I know. Which is why I’m not going to a bank.’

Her mother shook her head. ‘Name one person who would be prepared to do business with you. Show me a man with the guts to stand up to your father and I’ll show you a man who doesn’t exist.’

‘He exists.’ Her heart pumped hard against her chest and she forced herself to breathe slowly. ‘There is one man who isn’t afraid of anyone or anything. A strong man.’

‘Who?’

Selene kept her voice casual. ‘I’m going to see Stefanos Ziakas.’

The name alone drained the colour from her mother’s face. ‘Ziakas is another version of your father. He’s a ruthless, self-seeking playboy with no conscience and not one shred of gentleness in him. Don’t be fooled by that handsome face and that charismatic smile. He’s deadly.’

‘No, he isn’t. I met him once, years ago, on the yacht on one of the occasions we were forced to play “happy families” in public. He was kind to me.’ Selene was annoyed to feel herself blushing.

‘If he was kind, it was because he knew it would annoy your father. They hate each other.’

‘He didn’t know who I was when we started talking.’

‘You were the only seventeen-year-old there. It was obvious who you were.’ Her mother sounded weary. ‘Ask yourself why a sophisticated man like him would spend his time talking to you when he came with the actress Anouk Blaire.’

‘He told me she was boring. He said she only cared about how she looked and who wrote about her and that being with him enhanced her career. He said I was much more interesting. We talked all night.’ About everything. She’d told him things she’d never told anyone before. Not about her family, of course—she was too well trained to let that particular truth slip—but she’d talked about her dreams and her hopes for the future and been grateful when he hadn’t laughed. He’d listened with those sexy eyes fixed on her and when she’d asked him if he thought she might be able to run a business one day he’d spoken words she’d never forgotten.

You can do anything if you want it enough.

Well, she wanted it.

Her mother sighed. ‘The schoolgirl and the billionaire. And because of this one conversation you think he’ll help you?’

Come back in five years, Selene Antaxos, then maybe we’ll talk.

She’d wanted to do a whole lot more than talk and she suspected he’d known that, just as she suspected he’d guessed the truth about the fabricated life she led. She’d felt more of a connection with him than she had with any other human being. For the first time in her life someone had listened to her and his words had stayed with her, day and night. When life had grown hard it had been a comfort to remember that she had someone to go to if things were desperate.

And things were desperate.

‘He’ll help me.’

‘That man is more likely to hurt you than help you. You have no experience of men like him. I would not put you with a man like Ziakas. I would find you someone kind and gentle who deserves you.’

‘I don’t want him to be kind or gentle. I need him to be ruthless or this isn’t going to work. If he doesn’t have the guts to stand up to my father then there is no hope for my plan. I want to run my own business and Ziakas knows more about how to do that than anyone. He did it all himself. He lost his parents when he was young. No one helped him. No one gave him a helping hand. And look at him now. He was a billionaire by the time he was thirty and he did that by himself.’

She found his story inspirational. If he could do it, why couldn’t she?

Her mother struggled upright, finding energy from anxiety. ‘Do you honestly think you’ll just be able to walk up to a man like Stefan Ziakas and ask him for money? He is protected from the outside world by layers of security, just like your father. Getting an appointment with someone like him would be almost impossible, especially at short notice. Even if you could somehow find a way to leave the island undetected while your father is away, Ziakas won’t see you.’

‘He’ll see me. And I have found a way to leave the island.’ Determined not to reveal too much, and even more determined not to let her mother batter her confidence, Selene stood up. ‘I will be back tomorrow, which gives us plenty of time to get far away before my father returns from—from his trip.’ ‘Trip’ was the word they both used to describe her father’s frequent absences from the island. It disgusted Selene that he didn’t even bother to keep his infidelities a secret. Disgusted her more that her mother accepted them as part of the marriage deal.

She couldn’t allow herself to think about what she’d do if her mother refused to leave, as she’d refused so many times before. All she knew was that she didn’t want to spend anther day on Antaxos. She’d lived here all her life, trapped within its rocky shores, thirsty for a life other than the one she’d been given. She didn’t want to spend another day in this ‘family’ pretending that everything was perfect.

The events of the last week had shown her that she had to do it sooner rather than later.

Bending down, she kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘Dream about what you’re going to do on the first day of your new life. You’re going to laugh without worrying that the sound is going to draw his attention. You’re going to paint again and people will buy those paintings, just as they used to.’

‘I haven’t painted for years. I don’t feel the urge any more.’

‘That’s because he didn’t like you doing anything that took you away from him.’ The anger was like an energy source, giving her a determination that felt close to power. ‘You’re going to get your life back.’

‘And if your father returns from Crete early and finds you gone? Have you thought of that?’

It was like stepping off a cliff or missing a step on the stairs. Her heart bumped uncomfortably and she wanted to clutch something for support. ‘He won’t return early. Why would he?’

Bored out of his mind, Stefan lounged with his feet on his desk.

Far beneath the glass cocoon that housed his corporate headquarters, Athens was slowly waking up. Athens, a city in trouble, licking its wounds as the world watched in wary fascination. People encouraged him to move his base to a different city. New York. London. Anywhere other than the troubled Greek capital.

Stefan ignored them.

He had no intention of abandoning the place that had allowed him to become who he was. He knew what it was like to have everything and then lose it. He knew how it felt to go from prosperity to poverty. He understood fear and uncertainty. And he knew all about the effort required to drag yourself back from the edge. It made winning all the more satisfying and he’d won in a big way. He had money and power.

People would have been surprised to learn the money didn’t interest him. But power? Power was different. He’d learned at an early age that power was everything. Power opened doors that were closed. Power turned no to yes and stop to go. He’d learned that power was an aphrodisiac and, when it needed to be, it was a weapon.

It was a weapon he wasn’t afraid to use.

His phone rang for the tenth time in as many minutes but he chose to ignore it.

A tap on the door disturbed his thoughts. Maria, his PA, stood in the doorway.