by Dani Collins
“Will you eat with us so you and I can make our peace? I don’t want us to be enemies.”
Every time he thought he was being given more than he could handle with her, he just as quickly discovered there was an opposite side to the coin, one that put a completely different face on the situation. She was generous and forgiving, and he was drawn to that strange fire in her like a lost traveler in the desert on a cold night.
He retook his seat. He was hungry and the food was here. That was what he told himself. He was only being practical.
“Do you visit Qaswar when he’s with your mother because you wouldn’t have time to see her otherwise?”
He could have agreed and left it at that. Allowing people into the private spaces of his own life was as foreign as being granted admission to hers, but the situation with his mother was one of those excruciating realities where denial only made it worse.
“She needs a full-grown reminder that Qaswar is not Eijaz. In her mind, Eijaz has been reborn. Qaswar’s presence brings her comfort, which I can’t begrudge her, but she wants to believe he is Eijaz. She verges on taking credit for him.” He feared if he wasn’t strict about how much she saw the baby, she might try to claim him completely.
“Does she suffer dementia or some other condition?” Hannah asked with hushed anguish.
He nodded. “That’s confidential. Not many know, and her grief has made it worse. The reality of Eijaz being gone is beyond what she can accept, not when a beautiful replica of him allows her a more comfortable delusion. It’s not healthy for either of them, but I don’t have the heart to force the truth on her. Her pain is real. Her mental state is irreparable. There are no solutions.”
“That’s tragic. You must be awfully worried for both of your parents. I’m so sorry.” Her hand came out to clasp his wrist.
He looked at her narrow hand, so pale and delicate, smooth and warm. He was baffled by it. Perplexed by her words and tone. Comfort? For him?
She withdrew self-consciously. “My grandmother had arthritis and some heart trouble, but her mind was always sharp. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you.”
A strange sensation ballooned in the base of his throat. He swallowed it away before it could take hold.
“We do what we have to.” This was why platitudes existed—to be used to gloss over otherwise intolerable moments.
“Would it be helpful if I visited with your mother when Qaswar goes? I had the sense she dislikes me, but I understand now.”
“I can manage,” he assured her.
“But you don’t have to,” she said gently. “I wish I was reading above a preschool level in Arabic. I can’t offer to help you with your law reviews, even though I have a reputation for being both a miracle worker and a complete pest when it comes to thorough research.”
“I have no doubt.” He smeared up the last lick of dip with a corner of flatbread.
“You’ve seen my work with ribbons. Feel free to put me to work on cutting some.”
“None of this is necessary, Hannah.”
Her good humor faded to a crestfallen hurt that she tried to disguise by looking toward his side of the courtyard.
“Are you trying to let me down gently? We promised each other honesty, Akin. If I’m not presentable enough to reflect well on the palace, please say so.”
Your hideous wife.
It galled him that anyone had ever said a harsh word against her. Stay here, he wanted to command, so he would know unequivocally that no one could touch her.
“I’m not used to accepting help. It hasn’t been an option. When we married, I thought it was purely for his sake.” He averted his eyes as she started to withdraw the baby from beneath the blanket. “My mother gave up her duties sometime ago, so it didn’t occur to me that you could, or would want to, take on any of them.”
“I would be honored to do anything you need.” She handed the baby across. When he stared blankly, she added, “Can you hold him please?”
Akin hadn’t wanted to admit this morning that he hadn’t actually held his nephew. He’d observed how the boy needed his neck supported and was handled like a sculpture made of spun sugar. Akin didn’t want to be the one who broke pieces off him.
But here the infant was filling his hands, light yet sturdy, fighting fists clenched, naked brows scrunched as he blinking crossly beneath his cap of wispy black hair.
Akin couldn’t help the twitch of empathy that quirked his mouth. “Nothing good ever lasts, does it?”
“Nothing bad does, either.” Hannah finished her wardrobe adjustment. “I’ve always needed to believe that, anyway,” she said as she snapped the blanket away and draped it over Akin’s shoulder. She then guided him to bring the boy up to rest against it. “So he doesn’t spit up on you. Rub his back until he burps.”
A nanny was hovering on the other side of the glass, ready to step in. Akin had far more important claims on his time than coaxing gas, but he kept the little body cradled to the hollow of his shoulder, one thumb making passes across the boy’s tiny back.
The scope of responsibility Akin carried on this boy’s behalf often threatened to break him, but for one moment, Akin was drawn into the bubble of safety and contentment he created for everyone else. Relief sank through him.
Hannah sighed. “I wanted to see that.” Her expression was so full of sweet enchantment that Akin nearly lost a tooth.
Holding the boy became an indulgence. A weakness. He shouldn’t be gaining anything from the baby, only giving. Akin glanced and the nanny rushed out to whisk the boy away.
Hannah’s expression turned doleful. “You don’t want to be friends with me, do you?”
“I said ‘allies,’” he reminded.
“That’s all?” She searched his expression, her own gaze confused.
It was the moment to address the kiss. The moment to admit he would like a more conventional marriage that included the sharing of his bed, but sex meant children, and “friends” was far safer.
“You may have Christmas,” he decided abruptly. He wasn’t a monster. “And I will give thought to the formal duties you might take on for the palace. If observing tradition is your thing, perhaps you’d like to supervise the ceremony that will mark my father’s formal retirement, where I will be appointed Regent in his place.”
“Really?” Her smile burst like sunshine. “I would love that! I organize the dickens out of a cap-and-gown ceremony. You won’t be disappointed. As for other duties, I would be happy with anything to do with literacy or education, particularly for girls. Women’s health or childhood immunization or—”
He held up a hand. “There’s a saying about idle hands that applies double to you, doesn’t it? If I don’t keep you busy, you’ll plan a wet T-shirt contest before I can stop you.”
“I’m holding one during the Christmas party. I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”
He closed his eyes, refusing to laugh. “Talk like that does not make your case as a suitable representative of the palace.”
“But it’s on my happiness list.”
“Winning a wet T-shirt contest?” He was so tempted to pick her up and throw her in the pool.
“No, but I should add it, shouldn’t I?” Wicked laughter was dancing behind the lenses of her glasses. “No, saying funny things is on my list. If I think it, I have to say it and not worry how people will react. Most people like funny people, though, so the odds are good it’ll be a win-win.”
“The day your bra size is announced in the headlines is the day I seal the doors on this apartment myself.”
“See? I like you when you joke. It makes you seem almost human.”
“I’m not joking.” He rose.
“Where are you going?” The way she tilted her chin up made him want to cup it and kiss those lips again.
“I have been idle long en
ough.”
“But that was only the appetizer.”
Exactly. And like holding the baby, bantering with her was beginning to feel like an amuse-bouche before a grander meal. Like there was more to come. Courses to be savored that would be infinitely satisfying. “My people will be in touch to discuss the ceremony.”
He walked around the pool to reach his own wing, mostly so he could spend those extra few seconds with the feel of her gaze on his back.
Hannah was lost in a cowboy catching a barrel-racer under some mistletoe when a tingling awareness had her absently glancing up.
Akin had appeared from seemingly thin air and stood watching her.
A jolt of electric surprise shot through her. She had been thinking nonstop about him and his unexpected kiss. How he’d cupped her cheeks as though sipping from a china bowl yet managed to shatter every thought in her head.
She’d been so shocked that she had hurriedly stammered right past it, using Qaswar as a shield, talking about anything but their kiss, but the memory hadn’t left her. It rushed to the forefront of her mind now and caused an acute blush to sweep over her. She lowered her gaze.
The image of him stuck in her brain, though. He wore black trousers and a light gray tunic that closed with three snaps at his shoulder and half a dozen down the side. It was long-sleeved and plain, but it clung to the contours of his shoulders and upper chest, accentuating his physique.
“Where is your maid?” Akin moved to glance at Qaswar sleeping in his cradle.
“I gave everyone a few hours off.”
His cheek ticked. “Because it’s Christmas?” He eyeballed the pile beneath the tree that had been reduced to three small boxes. The trays on the sideboard held mostly crumbs.
“The guards are still at the door. They have even more adherence to duty than you do. Help yourself.”
He did, demolishing a square of shortbread in one bite, then used one hand to stack the remaining gingersnaps and dealt them into his mouth, one by one.
She plucked the envelope from where it sat in the branches of the tiny tree and rose, suddenly deeply self-conscious about the gift she’d prepared. It had seemed like a nice gesture at the time, but that had been before their strange blowup and makeup the other day.
Was their kiss part of the former or the latter? She still didn’t know.
She cleared her throat and said, “Merry Christmas” as she offered the envelope.
He turned over his free hand. She hadn’t realized he was holding anything, but it was a small box with a silver wrapping.
“You don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“In the interest of diplomacy, I reciprocate gift-giving when it seems appropriate.”
“Ah. This must be a lapel pin of your flag, then?” She shyly accepted it.
“Crib notes on your Constitution?” he guessed as he took the envelope.
He had to know how disarming he was when he showed her those glimpses of humor beneath the intimidating mask. He probably did it specifically to disarm. The way he watched her might have been designed to make her aware of herself as a woman. She became hyperconscious of every small thing about herself, from how she stood to the fit of her bra to the faint tremble of nerves in her fingers as she began to peel the gift open.
She watched surreptitiously as he broke the seal on the envelope with a practiced flick of his finger and withdrew the pages. It would take him a moment to realize what it was, so she quickly finished unwrapping hers. It was a beautiful pair of earrings that matched her pendant.
“How did you know that getting my ears pierced was on my list?”
“I didn’t realize they weren’t.” His gaze flicked to her earlobe and swirling eddies of tension invaded her belly. From a look. At her ears. How would she react if he ever genuinely ogled her?
“Well,” she babbled self-consciously. “This gives me the motivation to get past my squeamishness. Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re welcome,” he said absently, face hardening as he returned his attention to the outline before him. “You’re giving me a biography?”
It had seemed like such a nice idea. Now she felt like a rock god’s most enamored and possibly annoying superfan.
“I mentioned that I’ve been reading up on your history,” she reminded him. “Your mother has one, your father has four and your brother has nine—but only two of them are authorized. The palace refused to bring in the ones that weren’t.” Heaven help them all if Qaswar developed his father’s streak of self-indulgence. “Everything on you is piecemeal articles in a dozen languages all over the place, even though...”
She didn’t want to criticize her son’s father or grandfather, but from what she’d read, Baaqi’s current state of tentative peace and growing prosperity was more Akin’s accomplishment than the King’s. Akin hadn’t got a quarter of the credit he deserved.
“Well, it seemed as though it was a missing piece of a puzzle. The palace librarian said it was a matter of someone leading the charge and putting up funds. I have a ridiculously generous allowance, so I contacted the history department at your university. A professor agreed to select a group of students to make it happen. Are you pleased? Irked?”
He let his hand drop to his side. “I’m not looking for accolades, Hannah.”
“That’s not what it is! I want to know about your actions and accomplishments. Think of it as a record for Qaswar and his own children. You can’t have a near twenty-year gap in Baaqi’s history that just says, ‘His uncle held the fort for a while.’”
His mouth twitched with dismay, but he conceded her point with a half nod. “I suppose if it’s a factual account, you may continue. Do not paint me as any sort of hero. I’ve been doing my duty to my king and country. That’s all.”
“Of course.” She opened her mouth to say more but closed it again.
His brows went up. “If you think it, you have to say it.”
She bit her lips. “I only thought there was a joke there about your heroics in saving him from being the son of an academic librarian, but it didn’t arrive fully formed.”
“Don’t disparage yourself.” It wasn’t a quip. He used the commanding tone that held such authority it seemed to land in the middle of her chest and expand, knocking apart all the old framework and leaving room for new views.
She folded her arms defensively as she realized she was still denigrating herself when she had promised herself she would stop. It was even more disturbing that he had noticed and refused to hear it.
“You see?” he said, voice pitched quieter but becoming more impactful. “I protect him against everyone, even from insults to his mother when she forgets that she deserves respect.”
She could have cried. Really. She blinked hot eyes and admitted, “Sometimes it’s easier to make a joke than feel all the feels.” She fought to keep a smile pinned onto her mouth, but it slid sideways.
“Sometimes it’s easier not to feel anything at all,” he said with a gravity that kept sinking deeper and deeper into her.
His gaze hovered on her mouth and she thought he might be thinking about kissing her again, but his attention flicked away. His eyes lingered on the baby before moving to the door.
“I’ve asked the chef to roast a chicken for dinner if you’d like to stay and eat with me?” she offered.
“The helicopter is waiting.”
Her heart pretty much dropped off a cliff. “I didn’t realize you were leaving. Will you be gone long?”
“Two weeks.”
An eternity.
“Will you go with Qaswar to visit my mother?” he asked.
That took her aback, but she nodded. “If you want me to, of course.”
“Thank you.” He started to turn away, looked at the paper in his hand and came back. His hand cupped her cheek.
She lifted a hand to
his chest as his mouth came close. He paused. “There are more things we should talk about. I don’t have time right now.”
“Does it have to do with the fact we’re people who kiss now?”
“It does.” He waited another beat, as though giving her a chance to argue that development.
She only looked at his smooth lips and watched his head dip, willing her heart not to race so hard it ran itself into the ground. Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the way he took her mouth captive. Her fingers unconsciously closed in the fabric of his tunic while her lips flowered in offering.
His arms went around her, and she melted into him. He was so tall and strong, holding her nearly off her toes as he gathered her into his chest and crushed her tight, his hunger making her feel infinitely desirable as he consumed her.
Far too soon, he set her back and steadied her. She was utterly befuddled, panting and blinking eyelids that felt too heavy to keep open.
He nodded as if that was the reaction he’d been looking for and left without another word.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KNOWING THE QUEEN suffered cognitively allowed Hannah to let the older woman’s vague hostility roll off her back. If Queen Gaitha didn’t want to speak English or acknowledge her at all, that was fine. There was nothing wrong with the older woman’s maternal instincts. She might call Qaswar by his father’s name, but she held him with incredible tenderness and murmured lovingly to him the entire time.
Nura’s mother, Tadita, was Her Majesty’s personal attendant. She hovered attentively, agreeing with the Queen if she happened to say something. Her tone was always soothing, as though she was actively working to keep the older woman’s mood calm. The Queen grew despondent when it was time to give up Qaswar to the nannies but otherwise seemed in good spirits. She always brightened when they arrived again the next day.
All went well until about the fifth day. The Queen had just given up the baby to Tadita, who gently placed him in the buggy. Hannah always brought the baby into Queen Gaitha’s private parlor herself, leaving the nanny and bodyguards outside the room.