Unutterably weary, she climbed off his lap. ‘I haven’t had one good night’s sleep in two weeks, Alim. I’m tired, I feel numb and scared and in about two hours I have to face my family, the family I still don’t know how to forgive, and you’re asking me to change my life for you.’
Alim stilled. ‘Actually, it’s me constantly offering to change my life for you,’ he said harshly. ‘You don’t seem willing to give an inch. I guess that shows what I mean to you beyond desire. I guess it shows what those three words last night were worth to you. Was it anything more than a nice goodbye to you, Hana? Is what you feel just not worth the fight?’
Shame heated her cheeks. ‘We’re at the airstrip,’ she mumbled.
He climbed out of the car, and handed her out with grave courtesy, as if she were a dignitary instead of an aid nurse with bare feet and sand in her trousers. They walked up the red carpet and into the jet, a barefoot sheikh and his Raggedy Ann saviour, in silence.
Chapter Eleven
ALIM watched in grim empathy as Hana grew paler, her fingers twitching more with every movement of the jet towards Abbas al-Din.
He’d forced her into this, and now he was facing the consequences in her silent misery. As she’d told him, she wasn’t ready to face a family pitifully eager to ask forgiveness, to make amends for the five years of unbearable loneliness and pain they’d caused her.
How could they possibly make amends? Even if Hana found forgiveness for them in her heart, how could she ever trust them again?
Then he noticed his own foot was tapping against the ground. He had to wonder if Harun could ever trust him again, either. He’d let his brother down as badly as Hana’s family had done to her. He’d even, by his desertion, forced Harun to marry a woman he, Alim, hadn’t been able to face as his wife. Harun had found no happiness with Amber, and that was Alim’s fault, too.
God help them both, this surely had to be a worse homecoming than the fabled prodigal son ever endured.
When a servant brought their bags with changes of clothing and shoes, Hana thanked the woman gravely and then walked into the gold-fitted bathroom without a word to him. She emerged in a beautiful ankle-length skirt the shade of sunrise, and a creamy long-sleeved shirt embroidered with tiny beads that shimmered as she walked. Plain sandals adorned her feet. Her hair was braided back. She wore no jewel-lery or make-up. She took his breath away.
She didn’t look at him as she sat, put her seat belt back on, and her hands and feet began twitching again. He came back from his change in the gold-and-scarlet attire expected—
Of what? A prodigal brother, a runaway sheikh?
She flicked a glanced at him, and her eyes slid down to her clothes, so simple and modest.
He felt the distance growing between them without a word spoken.
I’m still Alim, he wanted to shout; look at me, touch me, I still breathe and hurt. He’d thought her the one person who could look beyond appearances, and see him.
It seemed he’d never been more wrong.
As the jet began its descent Hana struggled not to throw up. The duality of love and betrayal, longing and anger tore her heart into shreds.
A hand touched hers, stilling the tremors. ‘It’ll be okay, Hana.’
Glad of an excuse to relieve hours of bottled-up anguish, she turned on him. ‘Are you telling that to me, or yourself? Look to your own reunion with your brother and the wife that should have been yours, because you know nothing of how I’m feeling right now!’
He turned his face away. ‘How can I know what you keep locked away from me? Your heart is like a tap that keeps switching from hot to cold, burning and freezing me.’
Her head, already buzzing, felt as if a swarm of bees inhabited it, but she sat straight and proud in her seat. She had enough to think about without letting the shame in. He’d saved her life, made this reunion possible, had erased Mukhtar from her life, and—
‘I’m just trying to make the farewell easier,’ she whispered so soft he wouldn’t hear, wanting to lay her arms on the flight table, her forehead on her arms; but then he’d know how weak and needing she was, how she longed for his comfort.
And that would wrinkle his silken magnificence.
Too soon, the jet made its descent, landing, and then they walked along another red carpet into another limousine—Alim must have asked for no welcoming party, for which she was grateful—and the whisper-quiet saloon purred towards the palace.
As they drove through the streets Hana shrank further down into the seat. No one seemed to know Alim was back; there was no fanfare, no cheering crowds, yet still she felt like a miserable fraud.
A whisper close to her ear, ‘The truck cost twice as much as this car. It was a top-of-the-line Mercedes. You didn’t seem uncomfortable in that.’
She turned to him in wonder. ‘It looked all beaten up.’
His brows lifted. ‘Drawing attention to myself wasn’t the point. Staying safe in a strong ride was the sole reason I bought it. I enjoyed taking off all the strips that showed its maker, and making it look so old. Taking a hammer to the panels and scratching the duco to—what was it? Billy-o?—was really fun.’
Her mouth twitched.
‘I suppose there are hammers and chisels, and sandpaper, somewhere at home,’ he mused. ‘I’ll have to check out the cellars, or ask the carpenter.’
She frowned, tilting her head in wordless question.
He shrugged. ‘If you’re only going to be comfortable with who I am if you only see me as a normal man when my ride looks broken down, and I’m covered in mud and bruises, I’ll have to make the arrangements.’
The coolness in the words made her flush. ‘You make me sound like a snob.’
Another half-shrug. ‘It isn’t me doing the judging, is it? It isn’t me not giving you a chance, or saying you’re not good enough.’
She gasped. ‘I never said you weren’t good enough!’
‘No, you said you weren’t. You judge yourself—but you have judged me. You tell me what I need in my life when I don’t even know what my future’s going to be yet.’
Hana blinked, opened her mouth and closed it. He’d dissected her again—but once more, he was right. Innate honesty demanded she stop arguing, so she turned and looked out again—and saw people pointing at the crest on the doors of the saloon, speculating…waving…
‘I’ve got a present for you.’
Startled, she turned to him. She said, hard and flat, ‘I don’t want it.’
A tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t judge my gift before you see it.’ He handed her a gorgeously wrapped box, tied with a golden ribbon. ‘Just open it, Hana, before you judge me or what I’ve given.’
Shamed by the reminder, she kept her eyes on the box as she untied the ribbon and opened it—and burst into startled laughter. Inside the intricately crafted sandalwood box lay a card saying ‘Hana’s Emergency Escape Kit.’ Beneath that were a few dozen energy bars, four canteens…and two little dropper bottles of lavender.
She looked up at him, still laughing. ‘Um, thank you?’
He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers. ‘I accept that some time soon you’re going to want to run, my star. But as the song says, if you leave me, can I come too?’
Huskily, knowing it was a pipe dream, she murmured, ‘I’d like that.’
‘We’re going to be okay, Sahar Thurayya.’ He kissed her again. ‘Souls entwined bring us greater strength than one alone.’
The shining happiness in his eyes lodged her breath in her throat. She touched his hand. ‘Thank you. Thank you for accepting me as I am.’
Then she saw they’d already swept through the two sets of ornate, protective gates, and were at the private rear entrance of the palace.
Suddenly she understood what he’d done for her. He’d taken her mind from her family just when she couldn’t stand thinking about them any more. He’d planned the gift before she’d even agreed to come, knowing she’d need
her mind turned from the turmoil within.
‘Thank you for distracting me,’ she murmured, her stomach filled with bats without sonar, crashing around inside her; but she turned to him and, before she could chicken out, leaned into him and kissed his mouth. ‘You’re a truly good man, Alim El-Kanar.’
His eyes, dark with emotion as she kissed him, turned bleak. ‘I wish I could believe that.’ The moment the car stopped he was out, not waiting for a servant to open it and hand him out as custom demanded. He waved the servant away, and turned to help her. ‘Your family’s waiting inside, in an antechamber to the left.’
Her legs turned to jelly and she wanted to throw up. She clung to his hand, just trying to breathe. ‘Come with me. Please,’ she whispered.
He led her up the wide marble stairs and through the gold-lined oak doors. ‘I can’t stay beyond introductions. Unfortunately, I have my own ghosts to face.’ Swiftly his mouth brushed hers. ‘We’ll survive this, Hana. We can meet for recon after.’ He showed her to the wide double doors where her family waited, and led her inside.
Five people on luxurious woven settees jumped to their feet the moment the doors opened. Five people dressed in their best, either for her or to impress Alim, she didn’t know. People who’d once meant the world to her—and her heart jerked, as if telling her what she wanted to forget: they still meant so much…too much.
‘Hana,’ her mother murmured, voice cracking with emotion. Her plump, comfortable frame had lessened; her face was lined, her eyes weary and filled with tears. A hand reached out to Hana, and hovered there, as if asking a question her mouth couldn’t ask.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she greeted her mother in stilted English, bowing her head. The word fell from her lips, rusted with disuse. She kept her hands by her sides: keeping a distance for the sake of safety. The last time she’d seen her mother, she’d been wringing her hands and asking why, why hadn’t she come to her mother and said she wanted Mukhtar instead of Latif…
She couldn’t look at her father—then she couldn’t not look at him. A flicked glance—enough to see the painful guilt and eagerness to make amends—and she looked away. ‘Amal and Malik Al-Sud, this is…’ Now her uncertain gaze swung to Alim, taking in the utter opulence of the white-and-gold room as she turned. How did she introduce him?
‘Alim El-Kanar,’ Alim went on so smoothly it was as if he were on the other side of a mirror from her, able to finish her sentences. He moved forward, hand extended to her father. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. You’ve raised a daughter of amazing strength and courage.’
After the men gripped hands to the elbow, a custom of respect here, and Alim bowed to her mother, there was an awkward moment. ‘Hana,’ her mother said again, taking a step forward.
Hana closed her eyes, shook her head. She didn’t want contact. Who sees how alone you are in your strength? She’d given her time, strength and self away, but no one but Alim had held her, comforted her in years; she’d been alone.
A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and strong. Alim. ‘Were you given coffee?’ he asked, giving her time, space from the emotion.
She wanted to rest back against him, to lay her hand over his and thank him for again coming to her rescue. How well he knew her, even when she’d done her best to lock him out—and she knew then that his accusation in the jet had been a hollow drum, a distraction for her sake: her heart was laid bare for him to see.
‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’ Her father’s voice, the first words of his she’d heard since that fateful night. You will marry Mukhtar, Hana, for your sister’s sake. It’s not Fatima’s fault you couldn’t control your passions!
‘I can’t do this. I—I have to—’ Hana whirled for the door.
‘Hana, don’t go. Please. We love you. We’ve missed you so much.’
Fatima’s voice, choked up. Hana stopped as if frozen in place. Slowly, her hands curled into fists. ‘At least you all had each other.’ Flat words, locking her sister out; she had no alternative unless she wanted to cry like a baby. ‘I hope you had a lovely wedding, Fatima. Better than mine was…or so I hear mine was. I missed the party.’ She turned, looked at her father for a moment, saw the anguish. ‘Perhaps we can have a family celebration of the annulment. I’d really like to be there to celebrate one major event in my life.’
Another stretch of silence that felt like dead calm water after a long storm, and she felt their pain as clearly as her own, and she tried to strengthen herself, to harden her heart. She felt close to breaking…
‘You’re thinner.’ Her mother’s voice quivered.
Still she couldn’t turn around, or look at them. ‘Rather hard to get enough to eat at times,’ she said, light and shadow together. ‘You either toughen up or fall apart in the Sahel.’
‘You served in the Sahel,’ Fatima said, her voice faint. ‘It’s the most dangerous place on earth…’
Hana shrugged. ‘As I said, you get tough when just finding enough to eat each day is the greatest challenge facing you. It makes other problems, like being forced into marriage with a drug runner, seem…insignificant.’
‘Excuse me, please. I have to meet my brother,’ Alim said quietly, and left the massive room, closing the doors behind him.
Hana watched him go, and hated him for leaving her here with these people…her family, half strangers now, just people she’d once known.
‘You saved his life,’ her brother Khalid muttered, shaking his head. ‘My little sister saved our sheikh and brought him back to his people.’
She shrugged, and didn’t answer. In this place, talking about Alim seemed too hard.
‘You are being touted as a national heroine,’ her mother said, shaky, emotional. Again her hand lifted, reached out to her.
Hana stepped back, aching, angry. ‘That’ll only last until the media finds out about Mukhtar. Then I’ll be a national disgrace, won’t I? Will you disown me then, too?’
‘Hana, please.’ Her father spoke, his voice pleading. ‘I know what I’ve done to you. When Mukhtar was arrested, and we knew you spoke the truth, I looked for you—’
‘Oh, only then?’ she asked lightly. ‘You didn’t try to find me before, force me back to my lawful master to spare you all any more family embarrassment? How long did it take you to work out that I didn’t lie to you, that I couldn’t possibly have slept with my fiancé’s brother?’
Her oldest sister Tanihah said quietly, ‘Hana, it’s over now, we know the woman you are. Now you’re back with us, where you belong. Can’t we move past this?’
‘I belong nowhere.’ Hana shook her head. Just don’t cry, don’t cry… ‘There’s nowhere to move to. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to live as I have the past five years.’ Always running, terrified of being forced into Mukhtar’s bed—‘The damage is done, Tanihah.’ Saying her sister’s name—they’d once been so close—broke her. ‘I have to go.’
She ran to the door, yanked it open, and fled through into the main entrance, heading with unerring instinct for the nearest escape.
A burly guard blocked the way. ‘Miss al-Sud, my lord Sheikh has asked that you await him in his private chamber when your meeting was over.’
The look on the man’s face—calm, implacable—told her there was no way out. Alim had anticipated her escape, and made certain she couldn’t outrun her ghosts. She lifted her chin, nodded and followed the man to another room, knowing her family watched her through the open doors. She felt their hunger, their pain—the guilt eating at them.
Yet if it weren’t for what had happened, she’d never have met Alim…
With all her heart she yearned to go back in that room, to tell them it was all right, she forgave them, would be part of the family circle again. But the circle had fractured five years before, and, even if she could make peace, the cracks in the join would always show.
The damage is done.
‘Welcome home, Alim,’ Amber said in her quiet way. Alim felt the repressed emotion beneath. ‘It’s go
od to have you back.’
Is it? He smiled and played the game with his beautiful, cold sister-in-law. Truth was vulgar. Sweep all the dirt under the carpet and believe it never happened. ‘Thank you, Amber.’
This room had been Fadi’s reception room where he met foreign dignitaries. Alim had thought it would be too hard to be here, to see the reminders, but Hana’s painful reunion had somehow changed things for him. He felt warm, comforted by the memories…and if he still hadn’t forgiven himself for his part in Fadi’s death, and maybe never would, he knew it was time to come back to stay—and Fadi wouldn’t want it any other way. Fadi would always have wanted him to do his duty, and care for their people as they’d shared the care for their little brother…
He saw Harun watching his wife, cautious, reserved—his pride hiding the hunger only his big brother would know. Harun noticed Alim watching him, and said—they’d done the emotional thirty seconds when Sh’ellah released him—‘I’ve moved out of your room. It’s ready for you, as is your office, as soon as you want to resume your duties.’
Alim felt the savagery repressed inside his brother, a seething cauldron of resentment beneath. ‘Let’s not pretend. Don’t talk as if I’ve been sick for a few weeks. I was gone for years, and left all the grief and duty to you. Harun…’
His brother shrugged with eloquent understatement. ‘It wasn’t so bad.’
Wasn’t it? He saw the distance between husband and wife, lying there like all the arid wasteland of the Sahel. ‘I wanted to say, the choice is yours now. You’ve done a magnificent job of running the country, of picking up the pieces after Fadi’s death and my disappearance. If you want to remain the sheikh—’
‘No.’
The snarl took him by surprise—because it came from both Harun and Amber. He took the easier option, looking at Amber. Sure that her reasons would be easier to hear than Harun’s.
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