The Sheikh's Unwilling Wife. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘But you didn’t? Get a detective, I mean?’ she questioned, until she saw his face and realised that she’d said too much. Underestimated his razor-sharp intelligence. He must surely have noticed her wide-eyed fear and be questioning its source. So better start back-tracking before it was too late.

      ‘Whatever is the matter, Alexa? Anyone would think you had something to hide from me.’

      ‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic!’ she said brightly, though inside she hated herself for the unspoken lie which fell from her lips. ‘I’m just fascinated to find out what has brought you here.’

      ‘Are you?’He traced his forefinger along his bottom lip thoughtfully. Of course she was going to be jumpy—what woman wouldn’t be, in her situation? Was she looking at him now and realising what a stupid mistake she had made? But she was the one who had to live with the consequences of her own stupidity—and that was not the reason he was here.

      ‘Yes, in truth it is a fascinating story,’ he agreed, but for once in his life the words did not come easily—there was no template for this kind of situation. He ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass and realised that although they were separated he was still treating her like a wife. For simply by marrying they had forged a deep bond he had experienced with no other woman—no matter what had happened between them subsequently. Why else would he be about to confide in her an incredible story he had told no other? ‘You remember my mother?’ he asked suddenly.

      It was not the opening Alexa had been expecting, and it took her off guard. ‘Yes, of course I remember her,’ she answered slowly. ‘She’s a pretty unforgettable character.’ Natala—his glamorous, gorgeous mother, with her penchant for diamonds and those slinky black satin dresses which were as tight as a second skin. Until Alexa had met Natala she hadn’t realised that mothers could look like film stars.

      ‘How is she?’ she questioned, not quite sure of the etiquette in asking after a woman who had once been overheard pronouncing her as—‘ordinary. And she has no money, Gio!’

      His lashes came down, concealing all but a dark gleam of light in his eyes. ‘She died last year,’ he said bluntly.

      Alexa gasped, everything else forgotten—because his mother had been relatively young. ‘Oh, Giovanni—I’m so sorry,’ she said instinctively, and only just stopped herself from leaning forward to touch him.

      Giovanni’s eyes narrowed and she saw in them the brief chink of pain. But then it was gone—clicked out—like the shutter of a camera.

      ‘Did you come here just to tell me that?’ she questioned uncertainly.

      His black eyes hardened. ‘No. Of course not.’

      There was a pause as he seemed to search for the right words. It was so uncharacteristic of Giovanni to hesitate that Alexa felt herself stiffening with apprehension.

      ‘What, then?’ she said nervously, because precious minutes were ticking away—and it wasn’t just that she wanted to be back on time for Paolo and not to alienate the childminder by taking advantage. She also wanted to be away from the still-powerful sexual pull her husband exerted—away from the foolishness in her heart which made her want to put her arms around him and draw him close in a gesture of comfort.

      He tapped his long olive fingers against the polished surface of the table. ‘After she died I was going through her papers and I made a discovery.’

      ‘What…kind of discovery?’

      Sifting and sorting through the files of information in his mind, Giovanni began for the first time to place them in some kind of coherent order. ‘The unwelcome kind—that informs you that you have been labouring under an illusion for most of your life,’ he said, and his voice sounded suddenly harsh.

      ‘What illusion?’

      His voice hardened. ‘As you are aware, I grew up believing that my father was a Spanish aristocrat—one who refused to publicly acknowledge me, even though he was prepared to pay generously for my upkeep and my mother’s jewels. My mother told me that her silence about his identity to the rest of the world would guarantee her a lifetime’s riches. And it did.’ The stony expression in his eyes matched the sentiment at the heart of his words. ‘She also led me to believe that he had died—and I had no reason to distrust her.’

      ‘You mean she was lying?’

      Giovanni threw her a look of mockery. ‘Why? Would you feel an affinity with her if you knew that to be the case?’ he questioned acidly.

      ‘I’m not interested in raking up old scores, Giovanni,’ she answered quietly. ‘What are you trying to say?’

      ‘That my father is not Spanish at all—and he is not dead. Though he is very old, nearing the end of his life, and—’

      ‘And?’ she prompted, on a whisper.

      ‘I am the son of a sheikh,’ he said at last, aware even to his own ears—how bizarre his words must sound. He could see his own reaction mirrored in her widened eyes.

      ‘What?’

      ‘My father is a sheikh.’ But through the haze of unreality bubbled a feeling of intense…satisfaction. It was as if he had found the missing bit of himself—which, in a way, was exactly what had happened. ‘More specifically, he is Sheikh Zahir of Kharastan,’ he added. And then, as if to lessen the emotional impact of his words, he raised his jet brows in question, as if he were a university professor quizzing a student. ‘You have heard of it, perhaps?’

      For a moment Alexa forgot their history, forgot her own dark secret and her fear of the man she had married—because his startling piece of information wiped all other thoughts completely from her mind. She didn’t even stop to question it—Giovanni wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why on earth would he? He had the riches and the power that most men hungered for—he wouldn’t invent royal blood unless it were true. And wouldn’t that just make him a million times more attractive to the opposite sex? she thought, with a sudden pang of wistfulness.

      ‘Of course I’ve heard of it,’ she breathed. ‘The papers have been talking of nothing else for weeks. There’s a big royal wedding taking place there soon, isn’t there?’

      She tried to remember a bit more, but she had mainly looked at photos of the handsome groom and his beautiful fiancée while she’d been sitting in the hairdressers. What with working full-time, looking after her son and running a home some things had to give—and reading the foreign news section of the papers was unfortunately one of them. Alexa frowned. ‘But I thought it was the Sheikh’s son who is getting married. And isn’t he half-French?’

      Giovanni gave a grim smile, for in a way she had made this easier for him. ‘Yes. He is. The Frenchman’s name is Xavier,’ he said. ‘And he is—as you say—the Sheikh’s son. He is also my half-brother.’

      ‘You mean there’s more than one son? I…don’t understand, Giovanni.’

      Hadn’t he thought exactly the same thing himself, when the incredible facts had first been presented to him by the Sheikh’s aide—the man they called Malik? For in one swoop Giovanni had gone from being a man with no family to finding himself a father and a half-brother.

      ‘Although СКАЧАТЬ