Jane Porter - Midnight at the Oasis - His Majesty's Mistake

“You have to face your family sooner or later.”

“Then later seems preferable.”

“Right now, maybe. But it’s always better to confront problems head-on. I act as soon as I can. It saves heartache down the road.”

“That’s why we’re on the plane now. Better to get me home quickly than delay and risk more trouble.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, and then realized how it must sound to her. He tried to soften the blow. “My father taught me not to sweep things under the carpet or play ostrich by burying your head in the sand. People will think you’re ashamed or have something to hide.”

“But I do feel shame. I’m not proud to be a single, unwed mother. I’ve made so many appearances trying to educate young girls, wanting them to be smart and careful, and yet I’ve failed to do the very thing I preach.”

“As you said, you made a mistake.”

“A terribly stupid one.”

Makin’s insides tightened, his chest knotting with sensation, and he realized now it wasn’t Hannah he’d wanted to send away yesterday. It was this person, this woman. Emmeline. Not because he disliked her, or because she’d failed him in some way, but because she was making him care. Not about grand or important things like politics and economics, but about something very small and personal. Her.

He did care for her. He was glad he was accompanying her home, if only to lend his moral support. “What’s done is done,” he said. “You can’t go back. All you can do is go forward.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t think you should go home like this.” He indicated her hair. “Not as a brunette. Since your stylist isn’t available, I know someone who could help. She can meet us at the airport and board the plane when we refuel.”

Emmeline touched her hair. “You’re sure she’ll come?”

“She’s on my payroll.”

“She’s your stylist then?”

“No. She’s Madeline’s.”

“Madeline?”

“My … mistress.”

Emmeline frowned. “That’s right. You mentioned her last night.” She hesitated. “Does Madeline mind that her stylist will help with my hair?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable and impatient. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Madeline. There was no need to bring her up, and he certainly had no desire to discuss her with the princess. “Risa is an expert at doing hair on this jet and she’ll have you back to your natural color by the time we arrive in Brabant.”

Just a little over an hour later, they were back in the air after refueling in Nadir.

Risa, the hairstylist, had brought everything she might need in a large trunk. She had various boxes of color, foil squares, cotton strips, shampoo and conditioner, as well as a hair dryer, curling tongs, styling creams and finishing sprays.

On board, Risa immediately mixed color and applied it to Emmeline’s hair, taking little strips here and there and wrapping them in foil.

Now Emmeline sat on the bed flipping through one of the magazines Risa had brought with her while she waited for the color to finish processing, but her mind kept wandering from the magazine to Makin. Why did he have a mistress? What was the point of a mistress? Why not a girlfriend … or a wife?

A knock sounded on the door. It was Makin. He opened the door a crack. “Are you decent?”

“I’m dressed. But not sure how decent I look,” she answered, setting the magazine aside.

He opened the door wider. “You look like an alien,” he said, taking in the pieces of foil and purple cream.

Emmeline smiled wryly. “You’re not supposed to see this part.”

“Where’s Risa?”

“In the galley kitchen rinsing the bowls and brushes.” Emmeline closed the magazine and slid her legs off the bed. “Risa’s good, by the way. She knows what she’s doing.”

“She worked in Paris for ten years for a top salon before Madeline hired her away.”

“Risa told me Madeline’s blonde.” Emmeline didn’t know why she said it.

“She is,” he agreed.

Emmeline waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “Have you always had a mistress?”

Makin blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m curious. And you’ve asked me very personal things. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to know anything about you.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Good. So, why a mistress instead of a girlfriend? What’s the point of having a mistress?”

He hesitated a moment than shrugged. “Convenience.”

Her brows knit together. “For you?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s in it for her?”

“Comfort. Security.”

“Financial security, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Because it doesn’t sound as if there is emotional security.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Because you have all the control. It’s a relationship on your terms. You see her when you want, and she must be available whenever you call. Which, by the way, is horrible.”

“Madeline’s not unhappy.”

“How do you know she’s not unhappy?”

“Because she’s never said she was.”

“Maybe she’s afraid to complain—”

“Madeline’s not afraid of me.”

“But she can’t feel all that secure. She’s not in a relationship with you—”

“Time to change the subject.”

“Do you love her?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Do you plan on marrying her?”

“Again, none of your business.”

“But she’s been your mistress for three years.”

“Risa told you that, didn’t she?”

“Don’t blame her. I ask too many questions.”

“I can believe that,” he said dryly.

Emmeline flushed. “It’s just that I would hate to be someone’s mistress. I would hate to spend my life waiting for someone to call me or come see me.”

“Madeline has friends in Nadir, and a busy social life attending parties and fashion shows.”

“I’d rather be poor and have someone to love me, than to have lots of money and no love.”

“You can say that because you wear couture and get invitations to the most exclusive parties—”

“But clothes and parties aren’t real. Clothes and parties are frills … window dressing. I’d rather someone like me—want me—for me, than for what I have in a bank account.”

Makin suddenly smiled and shook his head. “You’re like a little dog with a bone. You’re not going to drop it, are you?”

She looked at him for a long moment before smiling reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I guess I did get a little carried away.”

“I admire your strong convictions.”

Her smile stretched wider. “You know, you’re not all bad, Sheikh Al-Koury. There are some good things about you.”

“Just hours ago you were saying I was a power monger.”

She blushed, not sure if she should laugh or cry. “Haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgotten that we’re not friends. And that we don’t like each other.”

His lips curved faintly. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t think anyone could control you.”

“Many have tried.”

For a moment he just looked at her, his hard features set, his gray eyes narrowed. “You can’t move to England. You’d be miserable.”

“No.”

“You would. You’d be living in a fishbowl. You couldn’t go anywhere without a half dozen paparazzi following you.”

“Not in the country.”

“Most definitely. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy. Once the media discovers you are pregnant and single, you will never be left alone. The tabloids will haunt you. Photographers will shadow you. The paparazzi aren’t going to disappear just because you want to live quietly.”

“Well, I can’t stay in Brabant, locked behind the palace gate, under my parents’ thumb. It’s not healthy.”