Royal Temptation. Carol Marinelli

different overseas—the people are different too. There is traffic…’ The King winced as he thought of his daughter in a foreign city with fast-moving cars when she had never so much as crossed a road.

      Layla saw his grimace and her heart went out to her father. ‘I know you are worried for me, Father,’ she said. ‘I know that you have loved me from the moment that I was born…’

      Again the King closed his eyes as Layla hit a still raw nerve.

      He hadn’t loved her from the moment she was born.

      In fact the King had rejected Layla for more than a year. Sometimes Fahid wondered if that was why Layla was so rebellious and constantly challenged him, even if she couldn’t logically know about that time.

      He worried so much about her—especially knowing that soon he would be gone from his world. Surely Layla needed a stern husband like Hussain, who would keep her in line?

      He would just miss the wild Layla so…

      ‘Do you have any questions you wish to ask?’ Fahid offered.

      ‘I do.’ Layla nodded. ‘Father, I was looking up the customs in Australia—I thought I would find out who curtsies to me, who bows, and what gifts we should exchange, but instead I read that at the airport your property can be searched—even your body…’ She paused when she saw her father’s reaction. ‘Why are you laughing?’

      ‘Oh, Layla!’ The King wiped his eyes as he tried to halt his laughter. ‘That does not apply to you. Your retinue will take care of all the paperwork and luggage and our gifts are in the diplomatic pouch. You do not have to concern yourself with such things.’

      ‘Thank you, Father.’

      He rose from his seat and came over and took her in his arms. ‘I love you, Layla.’

      ‘I love you too,’ Layla said, and hugged him back, but there were tears filling her eyes as she did so. ‘I am sorry if I make you cross at times—please know that it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.’

      ‘I know that,’ Fahid said.

      What the King didn’t know, though, was that Layla was not apologising for her past.

      Instead she was saying sorry for all that was to come.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘GREAT!’

      Mikael had no choice but to pull to a stop as a policeman put up his hand and halted the morning traffic.

      Even though he had more than enough on his mind, with closing arguments starting this morning, he flicked on the news to listen to the traffic report and hopefully find out the reason for the hold-up. He knew that he should have stayed at his city apartment, or even a hotel, instead of driving to his waterfront home last night, but he had just needed to get away from the case.

      Mikael’s remote beachside home was his haven, and last night he had needed to escape from the more pungent details of the case he was consumed by and breathe in fresh air and simply switch off.

      It would be over soon, Mikael told himself.

      ‘Pizdet.’ He cursed in Russian when he found out that the reason for the delay was some visiting royal family, grinding everyone else to a halt.

      Then he heard a little about himself as the news continued.

      Mikael Romanov, SC, was surely going to lose this time…there was no way he could get his client off…

      Then the calls in from listeners started and a character assassination ensued. Not of his client but himself.

      ‘What sort of a person is Romanov?’ an enraged caller asked. ‘How can he possibly sleep at night?’

      Mikael yawned with boredom and turned the radio off.

      When his phone rang, instead of letting it go to voicemail, as he usually would, Mikael saw that it was Demyan and took the call.

      ‘Any news?’ Mikael asked, because Demyan’s wife Alina was due to give birth soon.

      ‘We have a little girl—Annika.’ Demyan said, and Mikael rolled his eyes at the sound of his tough friend sounding so emotional. ‘She’s beautiful. Her hair is curly, like Alina’s…’

      Demyan went on to describe interminable details to Mikael.

      All babies had blue eyes, Mikael thought.

      ‘Congratulations,’ Mikael said. ‘Am I to visit while Alina is still in the hospital? What is the protocol?’

      Demyan laughed. He took no offence. He knew that Mikael had no concept of family, for Mikael’s upbringing had been even harsher than Demyan’s.

      ‘You don’t have to come to the hospital,’ Demyan said, ‘but once this case is over it would be good if you could visit us before you disappear onto your yacht. I’m really looking forward to showing Annika off.’

      ‘I’ll be there,’ Mikael said. ‘It is closing arguments over the next couple of days, and then we await the verdict.’

      ‘How is the trial going?’ Demyan asked. ‘It is all over the news.’

      ‘Long,’ came Mikael’s honest answer. ‘It has been a very long couple of months.’

      It had been an isolated couple of months too.

      He always pretty much locked himself away from the world during a trial and, he admitted to Demyan, he was more than a little jaded from sitting with his client day in, day out.

      ‘He’s a fortunate man to have such a good solicitor.’

      ‘Barrister,’ Mikael corrected. ‘One day you will get it right. Anyway, enough about the trial. Go back to your beautiful wife and daughter, I am very pleased to hear the good news.’

      Rather you than me, Mikael thought as he ended the call.

      When Demyan had told him that he was marrying again Mikael had offered to draw up a watertight pre-nup this time, given how Demyan’s first wife had ripped him off for years.

      Demyan had refused.

      Fool! Mikael had not just thought it but had said it straight to Demyan’s face, but he had been told that he was far too cynical.

      Guilty!

      Absolutely Mikael was cynical—he believed nothing anyone told him and had been proved right numerous times.

      Mikael trusted and needed no one in his life, for he had never had anyone.

      There were a few vague memories of a communal flat when he was growing up, but not one person in particular he’d been able to turn to. Mikael had been his own protector—even when he had found himself on the streets.

      Especially then.

      When he was a teenager Igor, a government worker, had stepped in and given Mikael an identity, a surname, an assumed date of birth and then a home.

      Igor was the reason Mikael was driving to chambers now to prepare for court—he was the reason Mikael believed absolutely in the need for a solid defence. For without one justice could never be truly served.

      He did not want to think today of Igor; instead his eyes moved from the procession of royal cars to his dashboard, where the mileage read six hundred and forty-nine. He would be bored with his new toy by the time it read one thousand, but for now the low silver sports car was his new baby.

      Finally the procession passed and the traffic inched forward.

      Mikael arrived at chambers and spoke to Wendy, his clerk, for a few moments. His world had centred around this trial for a very long while, and all he wanted was the arguments delivered, the jury out, the verdict in