Forgiven but Not Forgotten? (18 page)

Siena remembered what he’d said that night and started to speak, not wanting to be reminded, but Andreas squeezed her hand.

‘No. It was unforgivable and cruel, what I said. You touched a nerve and I lashed out. And I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. You are not a cold-hearted tease. Any child would be lucky to have you as its mother, Siena.’

Siena felt tears prickle and blinked rapidly. His apology was profound, and she couldn’t speak, so she just nodded in acknowledgement. Andreas drew in a shaky breath and reached into the pocket of his jeans to take something out. And then he got down on one knee before her, with the whole of Paris bathed in dawn light behind him.

Her eyes grew huge as she saw that he held a small black velvet box. His hands were shaking.

He looked at her and admitted, ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this... I always associated this with the death of ambition and success. I had a horror of somehow ending up back in my home town, having nothing. I thought my father had sacrificed too much by not taking up a college scholarship, by getting my mother pregnant and then marrying her having baby after baby. Staying stuck.’

‘But your parents...’ Siena said softly, still moved by his apology, trying not to let her heart jump out of her chest as she thought about that box. ‘They created something wonderful. And if you hadn’t had that secure foundation you might never have believed you
could
escape.’

Andreas smiled wryly. ‘I know...
now.
’ His smile faded slightly. ‘When you admitted to me how you felt about meeting my family...my mother...I knew I had to stop fighting it. That I had to stop trying to box you into a place that made it easier for me to deal with you... I tried to make you admit you hated it, but that was only to bolster my own pathetic determination to avoid looking at how it made me feel. The fact is, going home with you...it made all those demons run away. I saw only love and affection. The security. And I felt for the first time as if I could be part of it and not be consumed by it.’

Siena looked from the box to Andreas. He was still on his knees. ‘Andreas...?’

He opened the box and Siena looked down to see a beautiful vintage ring nestled in silk folds. It had one large round diamond at its centre, in an Art Deco setting, and was surrounded by small sapphires on either side. It was ornate, but simple, and Siena guessed very old.

Andreas sounded husky. ‘I know you said you never wanted another piece of jewelry, but this was my grandmother’s engagement ring. My mother gave it to me for my future wife when I was eighteen and heading off to Athens to work for the first time. I resented the implication that I would have to get married. I hated it and everything it symbolised and I vowed that it would be a cold day in hell before I gave it to anyone. Consequently it’s languished at the back of many safes over the years—until this week. When I took it out and got it cleaned. Because I’d finally met the one person I could contemplate giving it to.’

Siena felt slightly numbed. Andreas held the ring up now, out of the box, and took her hand. She could feel him trembling—or maybe it was her trembling.

‘Siena DePiero...will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Because you’re in my head and my heart and my soul, and you have been for five years—ever since I first saw you. First you were a fascination, then you became an obsession, and now...I love you. The thought of you being in this world but not with me is more terrifying than anything I’ve ever known. So, please...will you marry me?’

Siena opened her mouth but all that came out was a sob. Her heart felt as if it was cracking open. Tears blurred her vision. She tried to speak through the vast ball of emotion making her chest full.

‘I...’ She couldn’t do it. She put her hand to her mouth, trying to contain what she felt.

She saw the look on Andreas’s face—stark sudden pain as it leached of colour. He thought she was saying
no.
Siena put her trembling hands around Andreas’s face and looked at him, fought to contain her emotion just for a moment.

‘Yes...Andreas Xenakis...I will marry you.’ She drew in a great shuddering breath. ‘I love you so much I don’t ever want to live without you.’

That was all she could manage before she put her arms around his neck and noisy sobs erupted. His hand was on her back, soothing until the sobs stopped and she could draw back. Siena didn’t care how she looked. Andreas was smiling at her as he’d smiled a long time ago, with no shadows of the past between them. Just love.

He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It fitted perfectly and she looked at it in shock, still slightly disbelieving. She looked into his eyes. Her breath hitched. ‘That morning...when you left on your bike...I wanted to go with you.’

Andreas smiled and ran his finger down her cheek. ‘I wanted to take you with me, even as I cursed you.’

‘I wish you had,’ Siena whispered, emotional as she thought of the wasted years.

‘Your sister,’ Andreas reminded her ruefully.

Siena smiled too, a little sadly. ‘Yes...my sister.’

Andreas moved back onto the steps beside her and held her face in his hands. ‘Serena is being looked after and she will be okay, I promise you. Here and now is for
us.
This is where we start...and go on.’

Siena looked at him, her smile growing, joy replacing the feeling of regret. ‘Yes, my love.’

And then, after kissing her soundly, he drew her between his legs, wrapped his arms around her and together they watched the most beautiful city in the world emerge from the dawn light into a new day.

EPILOGUE

T
WO
AND
A
HALF
years later Siena stood under the shade of a tree on the corner of the square near Andreas's parents' house. It was a fiesta day: long trestle tables were laid out, heaving with food and drink, and Andreas's extended family were milling around, children running between people's legs, causing mayhem and laughter. Flowers bloomed from every possible place.

Siena could see the bright blonde head of her sister Serena, where she sat at one of the tables. Just then Andreas's mother came past and bent to kiss her head affectionately.

When Serena had been discharged from the clinic they had brought her here and she had moved in with Andreas's parents. Receiving the unconditional maternal love that Andreas's mother lavished on everyone had done more for Serena than any amount of drugs and therapy.

They'd just bought her an apartment in Athens and she was starting a job. Every day she got stronger and better, surrounded by people who loved her.

Once Serena had been strong enough Andreas had set up a meeting between them and their brother Rocco. It had been very emotional. Rocco had regretted his harshness on meeting Siena for the first time. But now they had a half-brother, a niece and a nephew, and Siena had a best friend in Gracie, his wife. The only reason they weren't here today was because Gracie's brother was getting married in London.

Siena's eyes didn't have to search far to find the centre of her universe. Her husband and her eighteen-month-old son, Spiro, their two dark heads close together.

She could see Andreas start to look around, searching for her. She recognized that possessive look of impatience so well, and it sent thrills deep into her abdomen, where she harboured the secret of a new life unfolding.

She put her hand there for a moment, relishing the moment she would tell him later, and Andreas's head turned as he found her. Siena smiled and swallowed her emotion, and walked forward into the loving embrace of her family.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Beholden to the Throne
by Carol Marinelli

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CHAPTER ONE

‘S
HEIKH
King Emir has agreed that he will speak with you.'

Amy looked up as Fatima, one of the servants, entered the nursery where Amy was feeding the young Princesses their dinner. ‘Thank you for letting me know. What time—?'

‘He is ready for you now,' Fatima interrupted, impatience evident in her voice at Amy's lack of haste, for Amy continued to feed the twins.

‘They're just having their dinner...' Amy started, but didn't bother to continue—after all, what would the King know about his daughters' routines? Emir barely saw the twins and, quite simply, it was breaking Amy's heart.

What would he know about how clingy they had become lately and how fussy they were with their food? It was one of the reasons Amy had requested a meeting with him—tomorrow they were to be handed over to the Bedouins. First they would be immersed in the desert oasis and then they would be handed over to strangers for the night. It was a tradition that dated back centuries, Fatima had told her, and it was a tradition that could not be challenged.

Well, Amy would see about that!

The little girls had lost their mother when they were just two weeks old, and since his wife's death Emir had hardly seen them. It was Amy they relied on. Amy who was with them day in and day out. Amy they trusted. She would not simply hand them over to strangers without a fight on their behalf.

‘I will look after the twins and give them dinner,' Fatima said. ‘You need to make yourself presentable for your audience with the King.' She ran disapproving eyes over Amy's pale blue robe, which was the uniform of the Royal Nanny. It had been fresh on that morning, but now it wore the telltale signs that she had been finger-painting with Clemira and Nakia this afternoon. Surely Emir should not care about the neatness of her robe? He should expect that if the nanny was doing her job properly she would be less than immaculate in appearance. But, again, what would Emir know about the goings-on in the nursery? He hadn't been in to visit his daughters for weeks.

Amy changed into a fresh robe and retied her shoulder-length blonde hair into a neat ponytail. Then she covered her hair with a length of darker blue silk, arranging the cloth around her neck and leaving the end to trail over her shoulder. She wore no make-up but, as routinely as most women might check their lipstick, Amy checked to see that the scar low on her neck was covered by the silk. She hated how, in any conversation, eyes were often drawn to it, and more than that she hated the inevitable questions that followed.

The accident and its aftermath were something she would far rather forget than discuss.

‘They are too fussy with their food,' Fatima said as Amy walked back into the nursery.

Amy suppressed a smile as Clemira pulled a face and then grabbed at the spoon Fatima was offering and threw it to the floor.

‘They just need to be cajoled,' Amy explained. ‘They haven't eaten this before.'

‘They need to know how to behave!' Fatima said. ‘There will be eyes on them when they are out in public, and tomorrow they leave to go to the desert—there they must eat only fruit, and the desert people will not be impressed by two spoiled princesses spitting out their food.' She looked Amy up and down. ‘Remember to bow your head when you enter, and to keep it bowed until the King speaks. And you are to thank him for any suggestions that he makes.'

Thank
him!

Amy bit down on a smart retort. It would be wasted on Fatima and, after all, she might do better to save her responses for Emir. As she turned to go, Clemira, only now realising that she was being left with Fatima, called out to Amy.

‘Ummi!' her little voice wailed. ‘Ummi!'

She called again and Fatima stared in horror as Clemira used the Arabic word for mother.

‘Is this what she calls you?'

‘She doesn't mean it,' Amy said quickly, but Fatima was standing now, the twins' dinner forgotten, fury evident on her face.

‘What have you been teaching her?' Fatima accused.

‘I have
not
been teaching her to say it,' Amy said in panic. ‘I've been trying to stop her.'

She had been. Over and over she had repeated her name these past few days, but the twins had discovered a new version. Clemira must have picked it up from the stories she had heard Amy tell, and from the small gatherings they attended with other children who naturally called out to their mothers. No matter how often she was corrected, Clemira persisted with her new word.

‘It's a similar sound,' Amy explained. But just as she thought she had perhaps rectified the situation, Nakia, as always, copied her sister.

‘Ummi,' Nakia joined in with the tearful protest.

‘Amy!' Amy corrected, but she could feel the disgust emanating from Fatima.

‘If the King ever hears of this there will be trouble!' Fatima warned. ‘Serious trouble.'

‘I know!' Amy bit back on tears as she left the nursery. She tried to block out the cries that followed her down the long corridor as she made her way deep into the palace.

This meeting with the King was necessary, Amy told herself, as nerves started to catch up with her. Something had to be said.

Still, even if she
had
requested this audience, she was not relishing the prospect. Sheikh King Emir of Alzan was not exactly open to conversation—at least not since the death of Hannah. The walls were lined with paintings of previous rulers, all dark and imposing men, but since the death of Emir's wife, none was more imposing than Emir—and in a moment she must face him.

Must
face him, Amy told herself as she saw the guards standing outside his door. As difficult as this conversation might be, there were things that needed to be said and she wanted to say them before she headed into the desert with the King and his daughters—for this was a discussion that must take place well away from tender ears.

Amy halted at the heavy, intricately carved doors and waited until finally the guards nodded and the doors were opened. She saw an office that reminded her of a courtroom. Emir sat at a large desk, dressed in black robes and wearing a
kafeya
. He took centre stage and the aides and elders sat around him. Somehow she must find the courage to state her case.

‘Head down!' she was brusquely reminded by a guard.

Amy did as she was told and stepped in. She was not allowed to look at the King yet, but could feel his dark eyes drift over her as a rapid introduction was made in Arabic by his senior aide, Patel. Amy stood with her head bowed, as instructed, until finally Emir spoke.

‘You have been requesting to see me for some days now, yet I am told the twins are not unwell.'

His voice was deep and rich with accent. Amy had not heard him speak in English for so very long—his visits to the nursery were always brief, and when there he spoke just a few words in Arabic to his daughters before leaving. Standing there, hearing him speak again, Amy realised with a nervous jolt how much she had missed hearing his voice.

She remembered those precious days after the twins had been born and how approachable he'd been then. Emir had been a harried king, if there was such a thing, and like any new father to twins—especially with a sick wife. He had been grateful for any suggestion she'd made to help with the tiny babies—so much so that Amy had often forgotten that he was King and they had been on first-name terms. It was hard to imagine that he had ever been so approachable now, but she held on to that image as she lifted her head and faced him, determined to reach the father he was rather than the King.

‘Clemira and Nakia are fine,' Amy started. ‘Well, physically they are fine...' She watched as his haughty face moved to a frown. ‘I wanted to speak to you about their progress, and also about the tradition that they—'

‘Tomorrow we fly out to the desert,' Emir interrupted. ‘We will be there for twenty-four hours. I am sure there will be ample time then to discuss their progress.'

‘But I want to speak about this well away from the twins. It might upset them to hear what I have to say.'

‘They are turning one,' Emir stated. ‘It's hardly as if they can understand what we are discussing.'

‘They might be able to...'

Amy felt as if she were choking—could feel the scar beneath the silk around her neck inflame. For she knew how it felt to lie silent, knew how it felt to hear and not be able to respond. She knew exactly what it was like to have your life discussed around you and not be able to partake in the conversation. She simply would not let this happen to the twins. Even if there was only a slight chance that they might understand what was being said, Amy would not take that risk. Anyway, she was here for more than simply to discuss their progress.

‘Fatima told me that the twins are to spend the night with the Bedouins...'

He nodded.

‘I don't think that is such a good idea,' Amy went on. ‘They are very clingy at the moment. They get upset if I even leave the room.'

‘Which is the whole point of the separation.' Emir was unmoved. ‘All royals must spend time each year with the desert people.'

‘But they are so young!'

‘It is the way things have long been done. It is a rule in both Alzan and Alzirz and it is not open for discussion.'

It hurt, but she had no choice but to accept that, Amy realised, for this was a land where rules and traditions were strictly followed. All she could do was make the separation as easy as possible on the twins.

‘There are other things I need to speak with you about.' Amy glanced around the room—although she was unsure how many of the guards and aides spoke English, she knew that Patel did. ‘It might be better if we speak in private?' Amy suggested.

‘Private?' Emir questioned. His irritation made it clear that there was nothing Amy could possibly say that might merit clearing the room. ‘There is no need for that. Just say what you came to.'

‘But...'

‘Just say it!'

He did not shout, but there was anger and impatience in his voice, and Emir's eyes held a challenge. Quite simply, Amy did not recognise him—or rather she did not recognise him as the man she had known a year ago. Oh, he had been a fierce king then, and a stern ruler, but he had also been a man sensitive to his sick wife's needs, a man who had put duty and protocol aside to look after his ailing wife and their new babies. But today there was no mistaking it. Amy was speaking not with the husband and father she had first met, but to the King of Alzan.

‘The children so rarely see you,' Amy attempted, in front of this most critical audience. ‘They
miss
seeing you.'

‘They have told you this, have they?' His beautiful mouth was sullied as it moved to a smirk. ‘I was not aware that they had such an advanced vocabulary.'

A small murmur of laughter came from Patel before he stepped forward. ‘The King does not need to hear this,' Patel said. Aware that this was her only chance to speak with him before they set off tomorrow, Amy pushed on.

‘Perhaps not, but the children do need their father. They need—'

‘There is nothing to discuss.' It was Emir who terminated the conversation. Barely a minute into their meeting he ended it with a flick of his hand and Amy was dismissed. The guards opened the door and Patel indicated that she should leave. But instead of following the silent order to bow her head meekly and depart, Amy stood her ground.

‘On the contrary—there's an awful lot that we need to discuss!'

She heard the shocked gasp from the aides, felt the rise in tension from everyone present in the room, for no one in this land would dare argue with the King—and certainly not a mere nanny.

‘I apologise, Your Highness.' Patel came over to where Amy stood and addressed the King in a reverential voice. That voice was only for the King—when he spoke to Amy Patel was stern, suggesting in no uncertain terms that she leave the room this very moment.

‘I need to be heard!'

‘The King has finished speaking with you,' Patel warned her.

‘Well, I haven't finished speaking with
him
!' Amy's voice rose, and as it did so, it wavered—but only slightly. Her blue eyes blinked, perhaps a little rapidly, but she met the King's black stare as she dared to confront him. Yes, she was nervous—terrified, in fact—but she had come this far and she simply could not stay quiet for a moment longer.

‘Your Highness, I really do need to speak with you about your daughters before we go to the desert. As you know, I have been requesting an audience with you for days now. On my contract it states that I will meet regularly with the parents of the twins to discuss any concerns.'

It appalled her that she even had to request an appointment with him for such a thing, and that when he finally deigned to see her he could so rapidly dismiss her. He didn't even have the courtesy to hear her out, to find out what she had to say about his children. Amy was incensed.

‘When I accepted the role of Royal Nanny it was on the understanding that I was to
assist
in the raising of the twins and that when they turned four...' Her voice trailed off as once again Emir ignored her. He had turned to Patel and was speaking in Arabic. Amy stood quietly fuming as a file—presumably
her
file—was placed in front of Emir and he took a moment to read through it.

‘You signed a four-year contract,' Emir stated. ‘You will be here till the twins leave for London to pursue their education and then we will readdress the terms, that is what was agreed.'

‘So am I expected to wait another three years before we discuss the children?' Amy forgot then that he was a king—forgot her surrounds entirely. She was so angry with him that she was at her caustic best. ‘I'm expected to wait another three years before we address any issues? If you want to talk about the contract, then fine—we will! The fact is the contract we both signed isn't being adhered to from your end!' Amy flared. ‘You can't just pick and choose which clauses you keep to.'