Lynne Graham - Working With Cinderella

Not that Emir would admit it.

Not that she wanted to go.

She could not stand to be around him—could not bear to see the man she loved so cold and distant, not just with her but with the babies who craved his love.

‘Can you hold one ?’ She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice as she hugged a tearful Clemira.

‘I’ve tried that. Clemira was jealous,’ he explained as Fatima sloped off with Nakia to get her a drink.

‘If you can hold one then it needs to be Clemira. Keep Clemira happy and then usually Nakia is fine.’ She saw him frown and she could not check her temper because he didn’t know something so basic about his own daughters. ‘Just hold Clemira,’ she said, handing the little girl to him. ‘God, it’s like I’m speaking in a foreign language.’

‘It is one to me!’ Emir hissed, and she knew they were not talking about words.

Amy walked off, back to the palace, so she could listen to more tears from the window and do nothing, back to a role that was being eroded by the minute. She looked at the dolls’ house and felt like kicking it, felt like ripping down the palace walls, but she stifled a laugh rather than turn into psycho-nanny. She polished the tables in the nursery and changed the sheets, tried to pretend she was working.

‘It worked.’

She turned around at the sound of him, stood and stared. He held the twins, both asleep, their heads resting on his shoulders. She waited for Fatima to appear, except she didn’t.

‘Fatima is getting a headache tablet.’ Emir gave a wry smile. ‘I said I would bring them up.’

How sad that this was so rare, Amy reminded herself. How sad that something so normal merited an explanation—and, no, she told herself, she did not want him.

He went to put Clemira down and she moved to help him.

‘I don’t know how …’ It was almost an apology.

‘No.’ She took one child from his arms. ‘I can’t put them down together now either,’ she said. ‘They’re far too big for that.’ She lowered Clemira to the mattress as Emir did the same with Nakia. ‘It was easier when they were little.’ She was jabbering now. ‘But I’ve had to lower the mattress now they’re standing.’ She could feel him watching her mouth; she feared to look at him—just wanted Fatima to come.

‘Amy …’

‘They’re enjoying the dolls’ house.’

She kept her head down because she knew what would happen if she lifted it. She knew because it had almost happened the day before, and the day before that—moments when it had been impossible to deny, when it had almost killed not to touch, when it would have been easier to give in. But if she kissed him now this was what they would be reduced to—furtive snogs when Fatima wasn’t around, a quick shag when no one was watching, perhaps? And she was better than that, Amy told herself.

But the tears were coming. She reminded herself that, even if she was crying she was strong.

It was Amy who walked out. Amy who left him watching his children as she headed to her room,

‘You need to come home.’

Rather than cry she rang home, desperate for normality, for advice. Though Amy’s mum didn’t know all that had gone on, even if she did, Amy realised, her advice would be the same.

‘Amy, you’re not going to change things there. I told you that when you accepted the job.’

‘But Queen Hannah …’

‘Is dead.’

The harsh words hit home.

‘Even Queen Hannah knew that the country would have little time for her daughters. That was why she wanted them to be educated in England.’

‘I can’t leave them.’

‘You have no choice,’ her mum said. ‘Can you really stand another three years of this?’

No, Amy could not. She knew that as she hung up the phone. The last ten days had been hell. With the anniversary of Queen Hannah’s death approaching the palace was subdued, but more than that, worse was to come, for there would be a wedding in a few weeks and how could she be here for that?

She couldn’t.

Rather than being upset, Amy had actually been relieved that Fatima had been selected to travel with the King. She had decided that the time she would spend alone must be used wisely, but really her decision was made.

Her mother was right: she had no choice but to go home.

She had to, she told herself as she made it through another night.

By morning, she was already wavering.

She walked into the nursery where two beaming girls stood in their cots and blew kisses. They wriggled and blew bubbles as she bathed them, spat out their food and hated their new dresses, pulled out the little hair ribbons faster than Fatima could tie them.

Amy knew every new tooth in their heads, every smile was a gift for her, and she could not stand to walk away.

Except she had to.

Amy packed cases for the little girls, putting in their swimming costumes, because she knew there were several pools at the Alzirz palace.

‘They won’t be needing those,’ Fatima said. ‘I shall not be swimming with them.’

And their father certainly wouldn’t, Amy thought, biting down on her lip as she struggled to maintain her composure.

She helped Fatima bring them down to wait for the King and board the helicopter.

‘Be good!’ Amy smiled at the girls when she wanted to kiss them and hold them. She was terribly aware that this might be the last time she would see them, that perhaps it would be kinder to all of them for her simply to leave while they were away.

As Emir strode across the palace he barely glanced at his daughters, and certainly he did not look in Amy’s direction. He was dressed in military uniform as this was to be a formal event and she loathed the fact that this man still moved her. His long leather boots rang out as he walked briskly across the marble floor, only halting when Patel called out to him.

‘La.’ He shook his head, his reply instant, and carried on walking, but Patel called to him again and there was a brief, rather urgent discussion. Then Emir headed into his study, with Patel following closely behind.

‘I’ll say goodbye now!’ Amy spoke to the girls, for they were getting increasingly fretful and so too was she. She must remember that they were not her babies, that they would be fine with Fatima, that they were not hers to love. But it killed her to turn around and walk up the grand staircase. It was almost impossible not to look around and respond to their tears, but she did her level best—freezing on the spot when she heard Patel’s voice.

‘The King wishes to speak with you.’

‘Me?’ Slowly Amy turned around.

‘Now,’ Patel informed her. ‘He is busy—do not keep him waiting.’

It felt like the longest walk of her life. Amy could feel eyes on her as she walked back down the stairs, trying to quieten her mind, trying not to pre-empt what Emir wanted though her heart surely knew. She had never been summoned to speak to him before, and could only conclude that his thoughts were the same as hers—while he was gone, perhaps it was better that she leave.

It was terribly awkward to face him. Not since their night together had it been just them, for Fatima was always around, her silent criticism following Amy’s every move. There was no discomfort in Emir, she noted. He looked as uninterested and as imposing as he had the last time that she had stood there, and his voice was flat.

‘ You are to accompany the children to the naming ceremony of the new Prince of Alzirz.’

‘Me?’ Amy swallowed. This was so not what she had been expecting. ‘But I thought it was considered more suitable for Fatima to travel with them? She is more well-versed—’

‘This is not a discussion,’ Emir interrupted. ‘You are to go now and to pack quickly. The helicopter is waiting and I have no intention of arriving late.’