Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

should go back to sleep. The doctor said you must rest.’ Zahir rose to his feet. For a moment Anna thought he was going to leave but instead he moved round to the end of the bed where he stood watching her like a dark angel. A couple of seconds of silence ticked by before he spoke again. ‘Your neck.’ His voice was gruff, as if he had been the one with the hands around his throat. ‘Does it hurt?’

      ‘No.’ His obvious anguish made Anna want to lessen his burden. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. But what about you? The marks on your chest, Zahir, they looked bad.’

      ‘They are nothing.’ He immediately closed her down. They were obviously to be covered up by more than the loose white shirt that now clad his chest.

      ‘I’m sorry that I made the situation worse by swooning like a Victorian heroine.’ She pulled an apologetic face. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I think it must have been the shock.’

      ‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ His hands gripped the end of the bed. ‘It is I who should be sorry.’

      ‘What happened, Zahir?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Why did Rashid go berserk like that?’

      Zahir looked away into the darkness of the room. ‘Apparently he failed to take his medication when he was in Dorrada.’

      ‘And that…that fury was the result?’ She bit down on her lip. ‘But why did he target me, Zahir? Rip up my clothes, try to attack me? What does he have against me?’

      ‘He had no idea what he was doing. He attacked me too, his own brother.’

      ‘But only because you were trying to stop him from trashing my room.’ She hadn’t been sure until that moment, but now she saw that she was right.

      ‘It seems he regards you as some sort of threat.’ Zahir still couldn’t meet her eye. ‘In his deranged state, he’s somehow confusing you with the person who killed our parents.’

      ‘Oh, how awful.’ Anna’s heart lurched with compassion and maybe a tinge of fear. ‘Poor Rashid. Maybe if I tried to speak to him—when he’s calmed down, I mean.’

      ‘No.’ Now his black gaze bored into her.

      ‘Well, is he having any other treatment, apart from medication? Counselling, for example? I’m sure there will be a doctor in Europe who could help him. I could make enquiries?’ She looked earnestly across at his shadowed form.

      ‘That won’t be necessary. Rashid is my problem and I will deal with him.’

      ‘Actually, I think he is my problem too, in view of what you’ve just told me… In view of what happened tonight.’ Hurt at the way Zahir curtly dismissed her offer of help hardened her voice.

      ‘That will never happen again.’

      ‘How can you be so sure when we’re both living under the same roof?’

      ‘Because you won’t be for much longer.’

      ‘What do you mean? Are you going to send him away?’

      ‘No, Annalina.’

      The seed of a terrible truth started to germinate. She stared at him in frozen horror.

      ‘You’re not saying…?’ She swallowed past her closing throat. ‘You are not intending to send me away?’

      ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that bringing you here was a mistake.’

      ‘A mistake?’ The dead look in Zahir’s eyes sent panic to her heart. ‘What do you mean, a mistake?’

      ‘I’ve decided that you should return to Dorrada.’

      ‘But how can I go back to Dorrada when you are here in Nabatean?’ She spoke quickly, trying to drown out the scream in her head. ‘I am your wife. I should be by your side.’

      ‘That was a mistake too.’ A terrible chill cloaked the room. ‘The marriage will be annulled.’

      ‘No!’ She heard the word echo around them.

      ‘I have made up my mind, Annalina.’

      This wasn’t possible…it couldn’t be happening. Pulling back the covers, Anna scrambled across the bed until she landed in front of Zahir with a small thump. He took a step back but the desperation in her eyes halted his retreat. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t be ending their marriage, casting her aside just like that. Could he? But one look at the determined set of his jaw, the terrible blackness of his eyes, told her that he could. And he was.

      Anna clasped her hands on either side of her head as if to stop it exploding. Had she failed again so spectacularly that Zahir was prepared to end their marriage without even giving it a chance? And to do it now—when she had only just accepted how deeply she had fallen in love with him—felt like the cruellest, most heart-breaking twist of all. Seconds passed before one small question found its way through the choking fog.

      ‘But what about last night?’ She despised herself for the pitiful bleat in her voice as she searched his face for a flicker of compassion. ‘Did that not mean anything to you?’

      His jaw clenched in response, the shadowed planes of his handsome face hardening still further in the dim light. A twitching muscle in his cheek was the only sign of insubordination.

      ‘Legally it will make the marriage more difficult to annul, that’s true.’ He raised his hand to his jaw, pressing his thumb against the rebellious muscle. ‘But I’m sure it can be arranged for a price.’

      Was she hearing right? Had the single most wonderful experience of her life meant nothing to Zahir? Or, worse still, had she got it so wrong, somehow been such a failure without realising it, that he would pay any price to be rid of her?

      ‘I don’t understand.’ She tried again, her voice cracking as she reached forward, placing the palm on her hand on his chest, as if trying to find the heart in him, make it change Zahir’s mind for her. Make him love her. But instead all she found was unyielding bone and taut muscle concealed beneath the cotton shirt. ‘Why are you doing this?’

      ‘I’ve told you. Our marriage should never have taken place. It was an error of judgement on my part. I accept full responsibility for that and am now taking steps to rectify the situation.’

      ‘And what about me?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Do I have no say in the matter?’

      ‘No, Annalina. You do not.’

      Anna turned away in a daze of unshed tears. So this was it, then. Once more she was at the mercy of a man’s decisions. Once more she was being rejected, pushed away for being inadequate. Not by her father this time, with his frozen heart, or Henrik, with his selfish needs. But Zahir. Her Zahir. Her only love.

      The pain ripping through her was so fierce that she thought she might fold from the strength of it. But seconds passed and she found she was still standing, still breathing. She forced herself to think.

      Clearly Zahir wasn’t going to change his mind. The whole mountain of his body was drawn taut with resolve, grim determination holding him stock-still in the gloom of the room. She could beg. The idea certainly crossed her mind, desperation all too ready to push aside any dignity, pride or self-respect. But ultimately she knew it would be pointless. Zahir would not be moved, emotionally or practically. She could see that the decision had already taken root in the bedrock of his resolve. So that left only one course of action. She would leave. And she would leave right now.

      Turning away, she ran into the middle of the room, but then stopped short, suddenly realising she had no clothes to wear. Her entire wardrobe had been ripped to shreds, along with her heart and soul. She looked down at the nightdress she was wearing. Lana had found it for her. She remembered her tenderly removing Zahir’s shirt, remembered seeing the blood smeared across it from where he had held her to his chest, before Lana had slipped this plain cotton gown over her shaking body and helped her into