Modern Romance Collection: December 2017 Books 1 - 4. Эбби Грин

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СКАЧАТЬ had flown out of Djalia, travelling on a Djalian diplomatic passport. It had been a crazy busy week. She had settled her final bills, packed up her sparse possessions and had spent hours every day sitting with her grandfather, who sadly hadn’t once recognised her as family but had continually talked about how much her face reminded him of someone. In between times she had shopped and spent more money than she ever had for herself before, utilising the string of credit cards Azrael had given her before her departure. She had bought a summer wardrobe more suitable for Djalia’s climate as well as a wedding outfit.

      ‘I mean, the minute I read about you marrying him in the paper, I knew you must have met him while you were giving English lessons at that foreign embassy, but I can’t believe you never said anything to me... I saw you two months ago and you never once mentioned him!’ Jan complained. ‘You also never mentioned that you were planning a trip to his country.’

      ‘That opportunity came up unexpectedly,’ Molly admitted wryly.

      ‘I suppose you weren’t sure he was thinking of marriage and didn’t want to say anything in case nothing came of it. He’s a very good-looking guy,’ Jan proclaimed enviously. ‘I’m not surprised that you kept him to yourself—’

      ‘It all happened very fast,’ Molly interposed. ‘I’m not sure I can believe it’s really happening...the wedding, I mean.’

      ‘I think those three bodyguards waiting for you in my hall say it’s happening all right.’ Jan laughed. ‘Clearly, Azrael either wants to ensure that you’re safe everywhere you go or that you don’t run away! I hope you appreciate that I didn’t say a word to the journalists when I was approached. You only worked for my cleaning firm part-time but I didn’t see that was anyone’s business but yours, and when I was asked about your family background I said they had all passed away before I even met you.’

      ‘Thanks but you needn’t have worried,’ Molly replied ruefully. ‘It’s this wretched hair. Someone recognised me from the photographs that were taken at the airport and phoned up the newspaper to say that I was a cleaner on the night shift where they worked. I wasn’t prepared for the cameras the day I arrived home and I looked such a mess—’

      ‘No, you didn’t. You simply looked surprised that anyone would bother taking a picture of you!’ Jan giggled. ‘But, Molly, you’re going to be a queen...of course the press is interested in who you are and where you came from.’

      ‘Let’s hope they don’t dig up any of my stepmother’s relatives or I’ll be christened a wild devil child,’ Molly groaned, grateful for the reality that the bodyguards Azrael had insisted travel with her kept the press at a safe distance.

      ‘It’s the Cinderella story, the rags-to-riches dream that draws them,’ Jan commented, shaking her head. ‘But I’m not sure I could face living in a foreign country for the rest of my days and, by all accounts, Djalia is a pretty backward place—’

      ‘No, it’s a country on the brink of transformation,’ Molly corrected without hesitation.

      ‘The women I saw in photographs were wearing ankle-length dresses,’ Jan protested in an aghast tone of voice.

      ‘Only because the former dictator imposed a modest dress code on women. Now the female population simply need access to shops to buy modern clothes. There’s a lot of work to be done in opening up the retail trade,’ Molly told her.

      ‘You sound like a politician,’ Jan whispered in dismay.

      ‘No, it’s not that. Azrael asked one of the diplomats to make up prompt sheets for me on the sort of facts I should know about Djalia and I’ve been memorising them and now my head is buzzing with all this random information,’ Molly confided ruefully.

      ‘He gives you prompt sheets the week before your wedding? Who is this guy?’

      ‘He was only trying to help me,’ Molly parried, registering in surprise that she had become very protective of Azrael. ‘If I get asked questions, I don’t want to talk nonsense now that I’m supposed to be representing Djalia with him.’

      And it was true. Molly was feeling the pressure that she had not appreciated would go with the role she had accepted because she didn’t want to stumble and embarrass Azrael by saying or doing the wrong thing. It was the kind of responsibility she had never had before, the kind of responsibility she had belatedly realised that Azrael carried daily during the three days she had stayed at the palace before leaving for London.

      He had not returned to the bedroom she had slept in, even though it was supposedly his bedroom. Butrus had casually let drop that Azrael often worked late into the night and slept on the couch in his office and that Prince Firuz, Tahir’s father, had kept Azrael up talking until the early hours that first night. Regardless, Molly had barely seen Azrael except at mealtimes while he racked up office hours dealing with his duties. She had slept alone, which she had told herself was a good thing. Sex would muddy the waters of their relationship, making it personal when it was supposed to be a practical arrangement to get Azrael out of a tight corner. In addition he was paying her for her services and she could hardly sleep with a man in that scenario and either still respect herself or feel that their relationship could have a future.

      No, Molly believed that she was much more worldly wise than that and she was determined to protect herself from getting her heart broken. Beautiful Azrael was not going to settle for an ordinary woman, who had once cleaned and served drinks, as a wife. He had admitted that he felt trapped and resentful and when he felt the time was right and the bridal fuss was only a memory he would move on from her without a backward glance.

      Looking a little awkward, Jan passed her a Sunday newspaper supplement. ‘I wondered if you’d seen this so I kept it for you...there’s an article about Azrael and Djalia.’

      ‘No, I hadn’t seen it. I’ll read it when I get back to the hotel,’ Molly said, tucking it into her new capacious leather bag with enthusiasm.

      ‘It’s not very nice...the article, I mean,’ her friend admitted uncomfortably. ‘Please don’t be annoyed with me for giving it to you.’

      ‘Of course not.’ But Jan’s warning ensured that Molly had the magazine open even before the limousine carrying her set off back to the hotel.

      The horrid photograph of her arriving back from Djalia featured and she groaned out loud. Her hair was frizzy because she hadn’t had conditioner when she’d washed it in Djalia. She wore no make-up because she hadn’t had any with her and the jeans and sweater she had travelled out there wearing were plain and serviceable rather than elegant. Frowning at that unflattering photo, she took a moment or two to appreciate that there was a photo of another woman alongside her own...a sort of comparison set-up, she registered in consternation. And, worst of all, the photo showed Azrael in profile with the glossy brunette.

      The brunette was Princess Nasira of Quarein, the niece of Prince Firuz and the young woman whom Azrael had reportedly been expected to marry. Nasira had gorgeous almond-shaped eyes and elegant black hair in an up-do that glittered with diamond pins. Not only was she a beauty but she also had a degree in politics from the Sorbonne in Paris, spoke half a dozen languages and ran a children’s charity in Quarein. The contrast between Molly and Nasira and her many accomplishments, not to mention the Princess’s impeccable pedigree, could not have been more painful or obvious, the slant of the article suggesting that Azrael’s choice of a British bride was both controversial and surprising. Molly turned pale and chewed her lower lip, wondering why Azrael had never mentioned Nasira to her. He had asked Molly if she had anyone in her life! Why hadn’t it occurred to her to ask him the same СКАЧАТЬ