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“Maybe. When hell freezes over.”
A sound from downstairs caught Julia’s attention and she leaned over the banister. The elderly tenant who lived beneath her had a habit of hearing the minute Julia arrived home, and she almost always had a small favor to ask of her. This afternoon was no different. Julia rolled her eyes at her friend and put her keys into Georgie’s hands. “Here. You go in; I’ll just go see to whatever it is Miss Trunchbull wants today.”
Georgie laughed, because the description of the statuesque and rotund senior citizen was perfect.
In the end, it was simply a matter of helping her send an email. Julia waited until she’d heard it go into the mystical ether and headed back upstairs.
The door was wide open, but Georgie was just standing on the threshold. Slowly, she turned around, and her face was almost split in two with the most ridiculous smile Julia had ever seen.
“What in the world has got into you?” Julia asked, curious.
“Just… look.” Georgina stepped aside to allow her best friend access to the apartment.
Or what used to be her apartment.
Now it looked like the escape plan for every long stemmed red rose that feared a death in captivity. “What the heck?” She pushed into the apartment, overwhelmed by the sweet fragranc
e the roses lent the atmosphere. She spun around, but every single surface was covered in vases and pots of roses. She walked from the lounge room to the kitchen, then the dining room, and finally to her bedroom. Her Laura Ashley quilt cover was barely visible beneath the thick blanket of red roses.
There was only one man capable of such a lavish gesture. With her heart racing, she ran back into the lounge, calling out, “Zayn?”
“I found this.” Georgie was fingering a shiny grey envelope. The writing on the front was bold and cursive, and she recognized it instantly.
Unsteadily, she took the envelope, casting her friend a look of disbelief as she lifted the triangle tab and slid the thick cardstock rectangle out.
“Trust. Respect. Compromise. I can do all three; let me prove it to you. Come to my house at seven o’clock.”
Her lips lifted in a small smile as she traced her finger tip over the writing. Even on paper, he was bossy. It was just so like him. But she’d come to realize that his habit for issuing directives wasn’t the worst trait a man could have. In fact, she actually liked his baldly honest approach to life.
Georgie read the card over Julia’s shoulder and then hugged her friend. “Thank God you are getting back together. I was seriously considering killing you if this depressing fog continued any longer.”
“We are not necessarily getting back together,” Julia said firmly. “You know me. You know I couldn’t be married to someone who rides roughshod over my decisions.”
“I think,” Georgie said teasingly, gesturing to the room, “he’s trying to tell you that he wants to change.”
Julia couldn’t help it. She smiled properly now, as butterflies spread through her body and her heart began to thud heavily against her ribcage.
In the elegant streets of Kensington, where many ambassadorial residences were concealed behind security fences and tinted windows, was the official residence of the Namani Royal Family. Julia had been here several times when they’d dated before, and gaining entry was not difficult. Besides, Zayn must have advised his security team that she was expected.
Good heavens, she reminded herself as she slid inside the heavily fortified front door, she was Namani royalty herself. She had every right to come and go as she pleased. But her nerves had less to do with the grandiose residence, and more to do with the knowledge she was about to see Zayn.
“Marina,” Julia said, unexpectedly buoyed to be met by the servant she recognized from the bazaar in Naman. “How lovely to see you again.”
Marina was a study in polite professionalism, but she thought the Sheikha was a very special woman, and she didn’t hesitate to return the smile. “Likewise, Your Highness. Sheikh Al-melara has asked for you to join him in the garden.”
“The garden?” Julia confirmed thoughtfully.
Marina nodded, indicating the doors towards the back of the residence. Julia moved in that direction, trying, and failing, to still her hyper-speed heart-rate. Her body felt abuzz with apprehension, and pleasurable anticipation, too. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she’d come to realise that she couldn’t go on as she had been.
She pushed the door outwards, and stifled a grin at the sight of Zayn, dressed casually in a pair of denim jeans and a shirt, pacing back and forth along the formal rose garden. At his feet, there was a colourful rug. It took Julia a moment to realise that it was the carpet she’d ordered from the bazaar before meeting Maysan. A basket sat beside the carpet, and a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Slowly, Julia lifted her gaze to the man who had captured her heart utterly and completely.
“Julia,” his words were just a breath on the breeze. His face was pale, his eyes dark and intent.
It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t explain it, but suddenly her feet were running, down the stairs and across the paved ground. She fairly flew the last few metres, straight into his arms. He wrapped her against him, holding her aloft and tight to his chest.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks and he buried his head in her hair, breathing in the sweet fragrance and feeling certain that he would do whatever she wanted if only she would return to him.
“You came,” he said, minutes later, when he’d finally lowered her back to the ground. But he wasn’t letting her go. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist. It wasn’t a question of choice. His body had been drowning without her body. He craved contact with her. He needed it.
