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Zayn moved in her direction, his stride long and effortless, and Julia had to look away. She hated the way her treacherous body responded to him, even now, after what he had done. As he drew level with her, he looked down at her face, with an emotion that almost seemed compassionate. "Come, Julia." He said finally, stepping back to allow her entry into the spacious vehicle. "I have waited long enough."
Her heart began to race in her chest. She slid into the car beside him, reminding herself fiercely that she did not intend to react. "How far is the palace?" She asked, keeping her face resolutely tilted in the direction of the window as the car sped out of the airport.
"We are not going to the palace."
She didn't show her surprise. "Where are we going?"
"My home."
Despite herself, she turned then to face him, curiosity winning out over stubborn pride. "I thought you lived at the palace."
"I have a residence in a wing of the palace, and I occasionally use it. But I also have a home in the city, and I prefer to spend my time there."
"You never mentioned it."
"I only bought it two years ago."
She turned away from him again. It was a painful reminder of how much time had passed since they'd known one another. And yet now, they were married. "Why there, instead of the palace?"
"It is more private," he said simply.
She kept her face averted, but his meaning was obvious. He had made his intentions clear from the day he'd proposed. If she had wanted to avoid this, she could have. She could have told him to shove his offer of purchase by marriage, and told her dad he would simply need to move in with her until he got back on his feet. But she hadn't.
And though she loved her father with all her soul, her racing heart forced her to acknowledge something else. Something very, very troubling. She might hate her husband, and loathe his high-handed techniques, but her whole body was energized with a deep desire for him. It was a reaction that he, and only he, had been able to inspire in Julia. She had actually started to wonder if she was some kind of sexless creature. She'd had offers, through her university years, but not a single man had elicited so much as a flutter in her stone-cold heart. Even Andrew, bless him, who had left her in little doubt that he would like their close friendship to develop into something more.
No, it was Zayn alone her body craved. She had wanted him four years ago. She would have slept with him the first night she'd met him. She'd always been a little wild and impulsive like that. It had been Zayn who'd suggested that they wait. At the time, she had thought it was an incredibly romantic gesture, especially from someone like him. Now, she was older, and wiser, and far more cynical, and she saw more clearly. It was the kind of suggestion only a man filling his bed with other women would want to make. And Zayn had been parading woman after woman through his life, before, during and after their brief relationship. So why the hell would her body still shudder with longing for him?
Every movement he made set off an equal reaction in her body; like ripples on the surface of a pond, she could not remain impervious for much longer. Theirs would be a real marriage, he had said. And she was actually excited just thinking about it. One kiss from Zayn had the ability to turn her into a puddle of desire. She could hardly fathom what it would be like to make love to him.
There was no fear of what was to come. Only impatient, soul-deep need.
Julia had always been honest. It was a quality that Zayn had told her again and again he adored. And she was honest with herself now. Four years ago, she had fallen, hard, in love with him, and her body had not forgotten. His marriage offer had actually appealed to her, on some level. She thought less of herself for it, but so it was.
His tactics she would never forgive. He had risked her father's health and pride simply to force her into this marriage. Why he would want her was beyond her comprehension. He could have had her four years ago; he hadn't wanted her then. No matter what he said, he had chosen to go back to his bachelor ways mere months after promising her the world. So he'd changed his mind, somewhere along the way.
But why the elaborate plan? It didn't make any sense. He was drop-dead gorgeous and charming as sin. He was her only love. Why had he not just come back and apologised? Begged her to give him another chance? Would she have said yes?
Julia frowned, staring thoughtfully from her window. There were no blackberry thickets here. The buildings were in the Turkish style, all close together and rendered in earthy tones. They looked to reach about three or four stories high, perhaps, and most of them had little window boxes with geraniums flowing out of them. Far in the distance, there were clothing lines strung from window to window, and colorful garments flapped in the very faint summer breeze. She sighed restlessly. Her emotions were a mess, and she simply couldn’t unravel them.
Anger was there, of course. Resentment, sadness, frustration. But also, a bud of excitement at the adventure ahead of her. As a girl, her father had always chided her for her irrepressible optimism. "Juju, you could make a snail smile," he'd teased her one sunny morning, when she had been expostulating that global hunger could be solved if the wealthier people simply gave most of what they had to the poor.
"It is not much further," Zayn interrupted her thoughts, mistaking her sigh for one of boredom. "I appreciate you'd probably rather be wearing a skimpy outfit and heading to a top nightclub."
Julia arched a brow at the man who was now her husband. Actually, she loved what she was wearing. The simple linen pants were surprisingly fashionable, and the slim fitting shirt flattered her shape well. Zayn had presented her with a whole wardrobe of clothes as a wedding present. Reading between the lines, he had wanted to ensure she arrived in Naman with a selection of outfits suitable for a princess of a Middle Eastern country - even a people as enlightened as the Namani expected unstinting modesty from their royalty. She was by no means spoiled, he'd been wrong about that. But she loved fashion, and always had. And so she had allowed the wardrobe to be packed for her. She'd supplemented it with a few of her favorite items, of course, including the denim shorts he'd found so outrageous a little over a week earlier. She did have a morsel of pride left and she intended to save it.
"That's not my scene, anymore," she said quietly, meeting his eyes without fear.
"And yet you were on your way to a music festival a week ago," he pointed out, with his usual ability of honing in on pertinent facts.
"So what? A music festival to blow off steam does not a socialite about town make."
His smile showed how little convinced he was by her argument.
"Besides," she went on the defensive, snapping tartly, "You're the one more likely to be found in a nightclub."
"True," he agreed, baring his even, white teeth in a smile. God, he really was unfairly handsome, she thought distractedly, momentarily caught off guard by the way his cheekbones appeared even more defined when he smiled.
Julia huffed and angled her face so that she was staring out of her own window once more. The car was moving out of the city, going by the way the tightly compacted buildings had given way to impressive looking homes set in the middle of large properties. Finally, they slowed, and turned off the road, and passed through a heavily secured entrance.
