Morning came very slowly. Each time she closed her eyes, she was assailed by images of Marco. His touch, his taste—the languid kisses that promised passion. She was intoxicated. Addicted. And he was her drug of choice. 

Just like a drug addict, she found that she hated him for the hold he had on her. Especially when she learned more about him. While she could not deny that there were moments he seemed almost human, there were times when she was afraid that he was nothing but what his reputation suggested. Ruthless. 

She had heard him return to the suite close to dawn. Was it business that kept him away all night long?  Business between sloshing glasses of champagne and whirls on the dance floor seemed unlikely to continue to the early hours of the morning. 

Although she had merely overheard the proposals for the Comorian oil deal, she knew enough to know that it would just be another plunder of a third world country. The journalist in her knew enough to know that people like Remy Rouse were like vultures, waiting for their opportunity to make a profit at the expense of the downtrodden or desperate. 

Such a find off the coast of Comoros, one of the more sought after resources in the modern world – oil, would ensure a better life for the people of the third-world country—if they were to benefit from it. 

But she feared that it would not be so. And even more distressing was that Marco was part of it. Her husband was part of something she had sworn to expose as a journalist – exploitation and corruption. But the woman in her still wanted him. She craved not just his touch but his company. You foolish, foolish woman, she scolded herself.

Then there was Bianca Scott. The snide remarks, the loaded looks effectively conveyed the message loud and clear: Bianca did not care for her. Leila may have always tried to see the good in others in the past, but this was one person she found difficult to find any good. Perhaps she was not trying hard enough. Did Bianca keep him company last night?

The sun peeked in through a tiny gap in the heavy brocade curtains. It was finally morning. And she did not get a wink of sleep. Relieved when she heard Mira’s light tap on her door, she gave up and called her in.

Mira’s tiny frame entered through the slit in the door. Leila was already sitting up in bed. Mira took one look at the bed, still neat on one side and clucked her tongue. “Another night without your husband? This is meant to be your honeymoon, your Highness.” 

“I really don’t need a lecture right now, Mira.” Leila pulled the duvet off and rose from the bed. 

“Tssk! No lecture. But it is up to you to make this work, you should know that, your Highness.”

Mira ought not to have bothered with the title since she certainly had no respect for it. How dare she meddle, and lay blame for Marco’s absence from the honeymoon bed at her feet? 

Leila glared at Mira. “Look Mira it has been a long night. I’m not going to go into this with you now.” 

“Marriage is hard work, constant work.” Mira’s large eyes regarded her. 

Leila sighed. It was obvious that Mira was like a dog with a bone and she was not going to let it go. 

The woman was a mini version of Bismah! Leila fell back on the bed.

“Tell me Mira, how do you know so much about marriage, anyhow? You haven’t been married before have you?” Mira seemed very young, perhaps only a year or two older than her and there were no rings on any of her fingers.

“Well, no. But close.” Mira walked over to the cleverly disguised closet and slid the baroque doors open. Her back to Leila, she continued, “When I was eighteen, I fell in love. He was a student of medicine. So he had to leave for Calcutta to complete his studies. The long distance thing was very difficult. We had many problems. Fighting all the time. There wasn’t much I could do.” Mira sighed as she ran her fingers along the row of padded hangers. 

Pulling out one she held it up for Leila to approve. It was a cerise dress, a little too flouncy with a bunch of frills along the hem. Leila closed her eyes briefly. No, that would never do.

Mira shrugged and put the dress back in the closet and moved hangers as she searched for another outfit. “Anyway, a year later, he arrived with his new wife-to-be. They met in Calcutta. The minx was a doctor too.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” 

“Yes it was sad, such a handsome man and a doctor too.” Mira’s tone dipped as she pulled out another expensive dress that Leila could not remember purchasing. It was a solid green long-sleeved peplin dress. Leila hated the style and immediately shook her head. 

“A few months later, I fell in love again.”

 Leila was confused but managed to hold her tongue as Mira turned to the closet once again.  “He was a government man. Worked for the agricultural department as an inspector. And…” Mira suddenly dropped her head shyly. “He was a very good lover. Mmmhm…nice hands. Big, long— kisses.” Her hands dropped to her sides as a smile filled her face.

Leila blinked not knowing exactly what to say to that titbit of information. 

“Then he was killed.”

Leila jerked back in shock.

“What happened?”

Mira quickly slid hangers across and drew out a jade floral silk shift dress. Simple with cut out sleeves and a square neck, it was chic and sophisticated.

“Bull trampled him to death.” Mira sharply drew in breath between her teeth as she placed the dress on the clothes horse. “It was what they call a freak accident. He was on a smallholding inspecting a funding request— with the drought many farms have gone out of business.” 

Mira did not have to remind Leila of the devastation she witnessed in Oudh. Many were virtually starving due to the drought and all because the Heart of Oudh was removed from the kingdom, as the legend foretold.

“The bull attacked, probably starved, and that was that. He was gone.” Mira sank on the bed beside Leila.

“That’s awful.” Leila reached out and placed a hand on Mira’s shoulder. 

“It was.” She stared ahead, lost in thought. Leila respected the silence as she stroked Mira’s shoulder.

“But just a few months ago I met Jovan.” 

Leila was again speechless.

“He’s not a fantastic lover, too quick on the draw, as they say.” Mira’s mouth pulled to one side in a smile. “And he doesn’t have good prospects,” she continued with a shrug.

Leila tried her best to suppress a laugh.  

“But I suppose we might get married when I return to Oudh.”

“That’s—that’s good? Isn’t it?”

“He’s a good man. There’s something to be said for that I suppose.”

“Oh Mira! There’s everything to be said about that.”

“Mmhmm, but your Marco, now he looks like a delicious dish so the Americans say. Those dark eyes and… “

Leila immediately picked herself off the bed. “No, Mira. Marco is not up for discussion.” She crossed over to the door of the stately bathroom. “Besides you know nothing of my marriage. It isn’t at all what you think,” Leila said closing the door. 

“Half an hour to breakfast, Princess.” Mira called after her a moment later.