by Leslie North
His mother had insisted on setting it up, and Skandar hadn’t had the heart to tell her that the marriage was only temporary. People had given her so many gifts—traditional hangings for the baby’s room, small paintings to decorate the walls, hanging pieces of jewelry that would become part of a mobile. She had been so taken with all those gifts—taken enough that quite a few were missing from the nursery. Pain banded around his chest. If she refused to come back, the baby might never sleep here. How could he stand it?
Skandar didn’t find any solace in their bedroom.
She’d left everything on the bed. A pile of gifts that, in the end, hadn’t meant anything. The things that bound him to Gina weren’t clothes or things but the way they’d felt in the desert—and the baby in her belly. A small potted Sweetest Flame sat on the dresser, a note propped up against it. Water twice daily, Shahd—don’t forget, or I’ll never forgive you. Love, Gina. He put the note back in its place.
There was another list on the dresser. A longer list. He picked up the paper in his hands and read Gina’s instructions about where her things were to go. Certain charities were to receive the more formal items. She’d said that once—that people who needed gifts the least got them the most. It was a humbling list. Far longer than he’d ever imagined. Gina had connected with so many people who would be sad to discover that she was gone. He put a hand to his chest. It must have hurt her to leave her projects halfway through like this. He’d give anything.
“Skandar?” Hamila knocked at the doorframe, though she’d already called his name. “What are you doing in here?” Her eyes were red, and her hair slightly rumpled. She’d been crying. “Gina asked me to sort through her things. I didn’t know you’d be here—” Her voice tightened, and he thought she might start crying again.
“Why so sad? Is it because you’re not her assistant anymore?” It came out far sharper than he’d intended, and Hamila raised her eyebrows.
“I’m sad because Gina took a piece of my heart with her when she left.” She sniffed, looking at him with a steady gaze. “Come with me.”
Guilt prickled at the back of Skandar’s neck as he followed her through the halls, but the apology stuck in his throat. Hamila, he wanted to say, I didn’t mean it. They made several turns while he thought, and to his shock, entered Zaki’s office.
“Look at his desk.” Hamila’s voice brooked no argument.
Skandar looked.
A neat pile of papers. A small holder of pens. A calendar. Light glinted off the Perspex top. “I don’t see anything unusual. What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“Look harder.”
Skandar let out a sharp breath and stalked around to the other side of the desk, hands shoved deeply into his pockets. From this vantage point, he could see beneath the clear layer on the surface of the desk. Beneath it was a photo collage.
How had he never seen this before? It was clearly something Zaki had been working on for some time. In the center were photos from their time in college, just before Zaki had come on to work as his chief aide. Many of them featured Hamila. Early on, toward the middle of the collage, lots of the photos featured a middle-aged man and woman—Zaki’s parents. In one of the photos, he was blowing out a candle on a cake, cheeks puffed out, obviously trying to conceal a grin. Then several photos with Hamila. Skandar had seen those before. They were from when Hamila and Zaki had first met one summer, when Zaki was back in the capital city, studying.
There were no more photos with his parents after that.
“His parents wanted him to do better than me,” Hamila said softly. “They wanted him to aim higher. He was going to do great things, and I was a poor girl from Yadinah who would never overcome that past even if I went to school with the two of you and became a billionaire.” She shook her head, brow furrowed. “I was in the capital to go to college and live in a dorm and I waitressed to get by, and...” She sighed. “I wasn’t up to their standards. They gave Zaki a choice—me or them. He chose me.”
“Zaki never said.” All the years they’d known each other, and Skandar had had no idea.
Hamila shrugged. “He’s not the type to dwell on things that hurt him. And it did hurt him. It hurt that he lost them because they weren’t open-hearted enough. But look.” She stepped to the side of the desk and swept her fingertips around the collage. “He left space for more photos when their hearts open.”
Skandar sat down heavily in the chair, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. A life without Gina meant an empty palace and an empty heart, no matter how many people lived and worked around him. He could already feel the friction between them when she brought the baby to visit—the old ache of wanting her there all the time. It would be so cold. He would miss her so much.
Skandar cleared his throat. “It hurts, opening your heart.”
“It does,” agreed Hamila. “Most people are afraid of the pain such a change will bring. What about you?”
He met his friend’s eyes, certainty like a chime, ringing clearly in his mind. “I made a mistake.”
A smile spread across Hamila’s face. “Yes, you did.”
“I need her.” It was equally as painful to admit it out loud. “I need her warmth and her generosity. I want to be the man she saw in me. It scares me,” Skandar admitted, the words tasting foreign in his mouth. “But I don’t have another choice. I have to be brave enough to fight for her. And brave enough to lead with my heart, not my head, and...and deal with what this brings. Like Gina does.” He stood up from Zaki’s desk. “This is going to take a group effort.” Hamila nodded crisply. “A family effort...”
Gina sat at the airport gate, waiting for her flight. It had been delayed an hour for some mechanical issue, which was a good thing—she had a call she needed to make.
And the call had taken an unexpected turn.
She pressed her phone to her ear and listened to Philippe, the project leader, sketch out plans for a trip to Paris. His voice kept fading in and out because her heart was beating so fast.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “Could you repeat that one more time?”
Philippe laughed, the sound warm and forgiving. “You’ve done so well with the extended project that we’d like you to come to Paris and present your work. And then after the presentation, we’d be pleased to have you stay on in a role at HQ.”
“That’s—thank you. I’m so honored.”
“Take your time to think about it,” said Phillipe. “Let us know as soon as you’ve made a decision. I’m anxious to hear what it is, Gina. This project has shown you to be a rising star.”
She hung up the phone and stared out the gate’s giant windows, watching the hum of activity as the crew loaded suitcases and food onto the plane. Golf carts and luggage wagons and catering trucks rushed this way and that. It was a perfect visual for the scrambled mess of her brain. Gina’s notebook sat open on her lap, and she tried to focus on the words there.
Paris.
Headquarters.
That would mean more responsibility and more projects. It would mean the next rung in her career.
But all she could think about was Skandar.
Skandar that night on the dunes. Skandar laughing in bed, the desert tent quivering around them. Skandar on horseback, riding across an open space. Skandar in the palace, wearing traditional robes and surrounded by his staff. Gina snapped the notebook closed. Presenting in Paris would also mean sharing her work with everyone else. If she was promoted, then someone else would take over her project.
She didn’t want that.
It was hers—too personal. Too close to her heart. How could she ever just hand it off to someone else who didn’t understand the way the flowers bloomed at night out in certain tiny pockets of the desert? How could that person get to know the members of the tribes all the way from Paris, separated from them by miles and miles? They wouldn’t know how to read her data. They wouldn’t know the context—not the way she did.
The answer, obviousl
y, was to call Philippe back and tell him that she accepted. After her month with Skandar, it was everything she deserved and then some.
But she didn’t want to do it. More than anything, she wanted to be back out in the desert sun, the morning fresh and new and full of possibility.
So she sat there alone, watching the men on the tarmac prepare the plane, doing nothing at all.
20
Gina’s flight had been delayed twice more by the time the airport staff approached her, apologetic and smiling. They’ll cancel my flight completely, she thought. It wouldn’t be so bad. Her body ached from sitting in the chair at the gate, and she could use a rest in a hotel room. It wasn’t a good day for making decisions—travel days never were.
“We’ve had a message from the palace,” one of them said—a woman, her hair a neat twist behind her head. “There is some…legal matter they need you to attend to.” She looked apologetic and a little tired.
She blinked, only then realizing how late it had gotten. It was pitch dark outside, and the airport was nearly empty. Down the terminal from her, the single store was closed, a gate pulled down over the entrance. Gina couldn’t stay here even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. “A legal matter?”
“At the palace.” The woman folded her hands in front of her. “A signature is required, from what I gather. There’s a car waiting out front for you. Would you like help with your suitcase?”
Gina stood, her joints creaking, and stretched her arms above her head. “They couldn’t just send the document, whatever it is?”
“I’m afraid not.” The woman already had her rolling suitcase in hand. “I’ll be happy to show you the way.”
All right. So it was late. She could sign a paper and come back to the airport in the morning.
Outside, a familiar black SUV waited for her. She recognized the driver, too. He greeted her with a wide grin, and it was with more than a little relief that Gina climbed into the back.
“Let’s go.” Weariness sank into her bones.
“Right away,” agreed the driver, and he drove them out into the dark of the capital city. Another day here was for the best. She would get to see all the things she’d miss so much when she was in Paris. Because she would end up in Paris, wouldn’t she? It wasn’t like Gina to turn down a job, especially not one that would put her on track for a very comfortable career.
He took a strange route, and Gina watched through the window as he went, barely curious. Changes in routes were normal. Drivers tried their best to avoid having the royal family in traffic. Gina was about to ask if there was some accident in the city when the driver guided the SUV to the curb in front of Salim’s Café. Amjad’s family’s café.
It was still open, even at this late hour. Light spilled from the front windows in a jarring contrast to the businesses around it, all of them closed up tight for the evening. She jolted upright, searching out the driver’s eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, Sheikha.”
Gina stepped out into the cool of the night, the glow from the front windows seeming to warm her skin. As she drew closer, she saw all of them—all of Amjad’s family, by the looks of it—gathered around a table in the front. They were dressed up, wearing traditional robes and big smiles. And was that Shahd? What was this midnight meeting, with so many people?
Shahd sat at the table with Amjad, the two of them holding hands, both beaming. The two of them were so lost in each other’s eyes that they didn’t seem to notice the rest of the party moving around behind them. Yes—a party. That’s what it was. People were holding up glasses of champagne and toasting each other.
Gina pushed open the door and went in. It was hot in the café, and crowded. She had to understand what she was seeing, and she went directly to the table, her pulse fluttering with anticipation. “Do you two need a chaperone?”
It was the only thing she could think of to ask, and Gina noticed other people edging to the front of the crowd. They had twenty chaperones at least. So many of them looked familiar—obviously there was the royal family, but there were others, too. People who had been invited to the event so they could feel honored. This was the real deal, whatever it was.
“We have one, thanks,” Amjad joked with a wink. “But we wanted you here, with our families, for this grand occasion.”
Understanding hit her with a crash. “An engagement?”
Karima smiled nearby, covering her laugh with a hand.
Shahd scoffed. “We’re not you, Gina. We didn’t make such an impulsive decision. No, we’re officially courting.”
Oh, she could cry for joy. Courting in the capital city meant acceptance of a couple dating with a view to marriage.
“This way is better,” Shahd went on. “I get a new outfit for each date and get to spend time with Amjad.”
“But Skandar—” Gina said.
“Is here.” His voice from behind her was both startling and completely right. She turned to face him, drinking him in, his dark eyes full of heat and light. Skandar reached for her hand. “I would like to ask you to do me the honor of being my date on such an important occasion. I assumed it would be an engagement party, but my sister informed me otherwise.”
Gina had no words. Had he really done all this? Could it possibly have been Skandar who gave his sister permission to live her life the way she chose and gathered everyone to show support?
“I need you, Gina.” Skandar’s voice filled the sudden hush in the room, and Gina felt every pair of eyes on them. “You have shown me that it’s better to lead with the heart. I want to be the man you described at the convocation, but I can’t get there without you. It’s too cold.” He looked so serious. “I can’t live without you.” With his free hand, Skandar reached for something in his pocket. He came up with a small, framed drawing of the Sweetest Flame. It was carefully drawn, labeled, and annotated, and her heart thrilled to it. He cleared his throat. “I had this made for you, to represent everything you’ve done. It’s also a representation of the new life we’ve made, and the way it will bloom forever, without restraints or conditions.”
“Do—do you mean that? Do you really believe that love has no conditions?”
“Yes.” Skandar’s voice was thick with emotion. “Sometimes the heart is king, and I want you back with all of mine. Without you, there’s only emptiness there.”
“I accept,” she said, and a titter of laughter went through the room. “I don’t accept the emptiness, I mean—I want you, too.” A few stray tears traced paths over her cheeks. “I’d be proud to be your consort.”
Skandar set the drawing on the table and took both of her hands in his. His hands were steady, unlike Gina’s, which were trembling. Of all the things she’d expected when the driver dropped her off, she had not thought this would happen. “Will you mind giving up your work?”
Gina snorted. “I have no intention of giving up something that fulfills me. That said—my heart hasn’t been in data compilation for a while.”
He smiled at her, pulling her close.
“I’m more passionate about my research,” Gina continued. “I want to keep working on the preservation of endangered flora and expanding knowledge of conservation techniques. You can’t stop me from working on that.” She touched the front of his chest, moving her hands up until she could touch his face. “Well—there’s one thing I’m more passionate about than all of that.”
“What is it?”
“You.”
Skandar kissed her, slowly at first and then with so much heat that it was almost instantly inappropriate for the café. But the other people gathered there did nothing but cheer.
21
“Are you ready?” Gina said to Skandar, who was separated from her by a thick velvet curtain and a pair of sunglasses. Hamila and Karima bustled around her, putting the finishing touches on her look. It had been three days, but it felt like three weeks—or maybe three months. Nonstop planning. Nonstop time with Skandar. All except these l
ast few hours. “After this, there’s no going back.”
On the other side of the curtain, he laughed. “There was no going back a long time ago.”
Servants filtered in and out, all of them wearing sunglasses. “I don’t know if I agree with this tradition,” Gina said. “I think the people should always see their leaders clearly.”
It was coronation day, and Skandar had insisted on following all the old ways. A chief part of the ceremony was that the queen and king would prepare themselves separately from the people, and separately from each other. Their servants were supposed to be blindfolded, but Gina had argued against it. Symbolic sunglasses, she’d decided, and Skandar hadn’t been able to resist her.
“I wish I could see you clearly.”
“Your mother is here.”
Karima was hiding a laugh behind one hand as she straightened Gina’s necklace with the other. “I am here, Skandar. Watch your language.”
There was muffled laughter from the other side of the curtain.
“How much time do we have?” Gina had asked the question too many times, she knew, but she wanted to see him. Now.
“There,” said Hamila. “Time to step forward.”
The curtain that separated them was in a version of a dressing room, and as Gina stepped forward, the rest of the people attending her stepped back. She and Skandar met in the open area behind a partition, which separated them from the throne room.
She gasped at the sight of him.
All formal robes, all black hair and muscles, all Skandar. “You look incredible.” He wasn’t supposed to touch her, but Skandar closed the gap between them with one long stride, whipping the sunglasses from her face. “Skandar, what—”
Then his hands were on her face and his mouth was on hers, his kiss hot and possessive. “I couldn’t bear not to see your face properly,” he said against the side of her neck, trailing kisses down toward the neckline of her robe. Gina’s body pulled toward him, wanting, wanting, and she gave herself over to the kiss. All the stress of the day melted away. The long hours sitting for makeup. The dressing ceremony. The endless final details. What did it matter, compared to the way Skandar felt?