Page 51 of Royally Promoted

Malik.

God. She couldn’t believe what she’d told him. Was there anything to be said for acting on impulse?

And yet, telling him how she felt about him had been cleansing. She hadn’t meant to; she had always planned to leave with her head held high and her love firmly under wraps.

But then...there, at the ball and in the moment...it had all been too much.

Love had burst the barriers. Seeing him in the life he was going to be leading, away from her for ever, hadn’t been the salutary lesson she’d been hoping for. It hadn’t set her on the straight and narrow. It had just been a cruel reminder of what she was about to lose—the only man she could ever see herself loving.

She’d maintained her stiff upper lip all the way back to the palace. The driver who had brought her to the ball had been waiting to return her to Malik’s palace and the last thing she’d needed was to sob her way noisily all the way back.

But, as soon as she’d got back to her suite of rooms, the tears had come, a river of them, great, heaving sobs followed by horrible nausea, thanks to too much champagne.

Still, she’d woken the following morning and, despite the thick head, she had packed fast, taken a couple of tablets and phoned to change her flight. The thought of bumping into Malik had panicked her—no need, as it had turned out.

She’d been prepared to tiptoe her way down, but the place had been quiet and, out of curiosity, she’d tiptoed to his rooms to find that he wasn’t there. He hadn’t come back at all, and that had cut her to the quick, because where had he spent the night?

At his parents’? Or with someone else? With the brunette? Surely not? That would surely have been frowned upon, but then was she really up and running about how modern or not the women in Sarastan were? Who knew what they got up to, tradition or no tradition? They could hit the local pole dancing clubs when the sun set, for all she knew.

Which thought made her smile for a minute or two.

She would give all those summery, optimistic dresses to charity so that there were no visible reminders of her time out there, and then she would head to the office to clear her stuff. Sunday would be a brilliant day to do that because there would be no curious eyes, no questions. She’d be able to disappear without any fuss.

In the morning, she would do a food shop and then head in to the office—it would be safer in the evening. Hedge-fund managers in charge of billions often had an annoying habits of working at the weekend but no one worked on a Sunday evening. That was beyond the pale.

And yet...

It had been oh, so easy to be calm and collected from the safety of her box in Swiss Cottage. Broken hearts were so much easier to nurse when there were no reminders around.

Just heading in on the Tube was a reminder of the familiar route she would be leaving behind. Her feet slowed as they approached the impressive, towering building that housed Malik’s elite task force. The sun had set and it was very quiet. Groups and couples were drifting along, heading for who knew what restaurant, bar or evening dinner party somewhere?

It was chilly. Even through her jeans and the old jumper she had flung on she could still feel the cold nipping at her.

Deep breath.

She was already taking out the two bin bags she had brought with her as she pushed through the revolving door into the foyer where Sam, the guy at front desk at the weekend, smiled and tried to engage her in conversation.

‘Just clearing a few things,’ she said chirpily, but her smile was glazed and her eyes were a little unfocused.

He looked puzzled.

Probably thinks I’m nuts, Lucy thought as the lift pinged on its way up. Too bad; in half an hour, she’d be on her way out and that would be the end of that.

She stared down at the ground of the silent, deserted office as she made her way to Malik’s office suite, which was past the central area with its minimalist furnishings and its state-of-the-art computers, all now switched off.

She banged lights on as she went. She took a deep breath as she stood outside Malik’s office and then opened the door and stepped in to a darkened room—her outer office, where over the years she had accumulated, frankly, the sort of bric-a-brac that her sisters would fondly have laughed at. There were framed photos, plants, an array of pens in cases, because who could resist a decent, colourful pencil case? There were some little ceramic objets d’art which were great for fiddling around with when she was bored and taking a quick break.

She banged on the light and there was her desk, as clear as she had left it weeks ago...bar the massive wrapped box on top.

It was in silver wrapping with a big red bow.

She stared, frozen to the spot.

What the heck was this and what the heck was going on?

Inside his office, where he had been sitting for the past two and a half hours, Malik vaulted upright the minute Lucy switched on the outside light.

He’d never felt more nervous.

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