Sharon Kendrick - The Sheikh's Unwilling Wife

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 he had a long marriage, it seems that the Sheikh had two illegitimate offspring who were born in Europe during that time. Xavier was one and I am the other,’ he explained slowly. ‘Neither of us was acknowledged publicly, for fear of offending the Sheikh’s wife, but after her death it was his dearest wish to be reconciled with both sons, and for them to meet each other.’ Giovanni’s face was implacable. ‘And that is what has happened.’

‘You mean—you’ve met them?’

Giovanni nodded, his black eyes brilliant-seeking, restless, almost yearning. As if starting out on this bizarre quest had wakened some kind of dormant wanderlust in his blood. As a man who—apart from his one ill-fated experience with Alexa—was used to encasing his feelings in ice, it was strangely unsettling to feel this way.

‘Si,’ he said, his voice now rough with a passion he had not expected to feel for any country other than his Italian homeland. ‘I have met them. I flew to Kharastan. To a palace which is bluer than the brightest sky of high summer. To a land where falcons dominate the stark desert and hunger waits around every corner for the unwary. And there I was introduced to my…’ He toyed with the word family as a cat might play with a mouse before striking. But Giovanni did not strike. His lips curved, for the intimate title seemed inappropriate for a couple of men he barely knew—no matter what their blood-tie was. ‘I met the Sheikh and Xavier,’ he said carefully. ‘And the woman Xavier is to marry. They want me to go to their wedding.’

There was a pause while Alexa tried to digest the incredible facts he had told her. In any other circumstances she might have flung her arms around his neck and told him she was happy for him. Or she might have delved deep into his mind and asked him how he felt about suddenly discovering that he had a ready-made family?

But Alexa could not afford to do any of those things—even if their relationship had been the kind which would allow it. They had parted bitterly—with too much said which could never be unsaid. And there was too much at stake for her to risk asking him anything other than the time of his flight back to Italy.

‘It’s a very interesting story,’ she said carefully, and put her glass down on the table. ‘But I don’t understand why you’ve come all the way from Italy to tell me about it when we’re…’

‘When we’re what, Lex?’ he prompted softly. ‘Neither married, nor divorced? What is it that you say in England—neither fish nor fowl?’

‘We’re separated. Estranged.’

‘But still legally bound—so in theory we are still family. Why is that, I wonder? Why did you not file for divorce, cara?’ he questioned softly. ‘Did some clever lawyer advise you to bide your time—telling you that il tempo viene per chi sa aspettare?’