Duty, Desire and the Desert King

by Jane Porter

  “We can get away for a few days.” He reached out, ran a hand over her tousled hair. “I’ll have Manar pack you a bag, okay?”

  Rou clasped her cup and nodded, smiling. “Yes. Yes, please.”

  Two hours later they were in his helicopter, leaving the capital city of Isi for the beach resort of Cala. Another woman might have felt dazed by the speed with which Zayed accomplished things, but Rou was accustomed to multitasking and she appreciated his efficiency, although she was still rather awed by the number of people who worked for him as well as the number of toys he owned. Apparently there were jets and yachts, helicopters and luxury automobiles, penthouses, apartments, palaces.

  Sixty minutes into the flight, Zayed pointed to the deep blue water below. “The sea,” he said, and then another fifteen minutes later he pointed to a sprawling white complex. “My palace.”

  His palace. She shot him a sidelong glance, repeating his words. She’d married a man with palaces. She’d married a man who’d become king. She’d married.

  So strange. So not the way life was going to be.

  As the helicopter slowly descended onto a helipad on one of the palace wings, she got a better glimpse of the palace’s fanciful architecture. Turrets and towers, arched windows, extensive latticework, thick stone walls all painted a dazzling white.

  Date palms and coconut palms grew along the corners of the house, tall, slim trunks in stark contrast to the white walls. Just before the helicopter set down, Rou caught a glimpse of a pool inside a walled garden that overlooked the ocean, and Rou couldn’t resist reaching for Zayed’s hand as excitement bubbled up inside her. This was going to be fun.

  Fun.

  When was the last time she had fun?

  And, turning her head, she caught Zayed’s eye, and she smiled at him. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the inside of her wrist, giving her hope that yes, maybe one day, he would love her. Maybe it wasn’t such an impossible dream.

  The next four days were spent making love, sleeping in, sunning by the pool, swimming in the sea and consuming more food and drink than Rou could remember in years.

  Zayed was perfectly attentive and perfectly wonderful, telling her stories, making her laugh, and making her fall even more in love with him.

  Rou knew on Thursday morning he was scheduled to fly back to Isi for a meeting with his cabinet. The final plans were also being made for Sharif’s funeral, and Zayed wanted to sit with Jesslyn and discuss all the details in person. It’d be a long day in the capital city, but then he’d jump into the helicopter and return that night.

  Thursday morning when Zayed left the bed, Rou sat up, too. “Maybe I should go with you,” she suggested. “I could help somehow.”

  He was heading into the enormous limestone bathroom and paused naked in the door. “It’s gloomy at the palace in Isi—this place is full of sunshine. Stay. Relax. You’ll have a better time.”

  “But what if you can’t wrap up everything in a day? What if you have to stay overnight?”

  He shrugged, unconcerned. “Then I’d stay overnight and return first thing in the morning. And don’t you have work to do? I haven’t seen you check your e-mail once since we arrived. Maybe you can use the time to get caught up on your work, too.”

  He was right. Her clients were probably in a panic because she had never been so out of touch or unresponsive before, but working here in Cala wasn’t like working in San Francisco. San Francisco was often filled with fog and chilly mists, which made sitting at a desk, concentrating at a computer far easier than here on the sunny dry coast where olive and orange trees studded the lawn, and a huge aquamarine pool shimmered, beckoning whenever one looked out the window.

  “All right. I’ll work while you work. But do come back tonight if you can. It won’t be the same without you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE DIDN’T return that night.

  Or the next.

  Or call, or send word to say when he’d return.

  It hurt her feelings, but she wasn’t going to let him upset her this time. She knew he had many responsibilities and worries, knew that his entire family was under pressure and looking to him for strength and support, which made her vow not to add to the pressure.

  She’d help him by making things easier, and keeping things calm, so she focused on staying busy those first few days he was gone, knowing that the more she got done now, the more free time she’d have to spend with Zayed once he returned. And she wanted that time with him, she craved time with him, having become quite attached to him and his company already.

  He was smart and funny and interesting and entertaining. When he was there with her, she couldn’t imagine anyone more attentive, but when he was gone…

  She sighed and shook her head as she walked along the private beach in front of the palace, gentle waves lapping at her feet. The water was cool and the damp, firm sand mushed between her toes. She loved it here, loved the sun and sea and tang of salt in the air, but she felt very alone, too.

  Because when Zayed was gone, he wasn’t merely absent, he was completely gone. So completely that it stirred up old memories, childhood memories of being scuttled away, shoved off, abandoned. When her father drank, he’d forget to come for her. When her mother went into a depression, she couldn’t care for her. When the courts finally gave custody of her to her grandmother in England, her mother took her life.

  Even though she was an adult now, even though she was successful and polished and accomplished, she didn’t know if people would be there for her when she needed them, didn’t trust that those she loved would be available, accessible, when she reached out to them.

  But fear and doubt only beget fear and doubt, she reminded herself, leaving the creamy crescent cove for the palace gardens. Climbing the old stone stairs toward the pool level she vowed not to give in to fear or insecurity, not this time. Zayed was working, that was all. She had work to do, too, and when she tired of working, she’d find fun things to do to help the time pass more quickly.

  For the rest of the morning Rou sat out by the pool in a swimsuit and worked in the shade of a giant umbrella on her computer, writing an essay for a women’s magazine, and preparing a speech she was to give in Chicago in two months’ time. And then, at noon, when there was no more work to do, she returned to her room, showered and changed into a turquoise-and-ivory-embroidered silk tunic, ivory capris and fun wedge sandals with turquoise stones. Dressed, she sent for the palace butler and asked if he could make arrangements with one of the palace drivers to take her into town so she could shop in the colorful, old city market bazaar.

  The butler was appalled that she’d want to go someplace so loud and crowded, never mind dirty. “It’s Saturday and it’ll be filled with shoppers and tourists. You won’t enjoy yourself. There are only little stalls selling copper and pots, died yarn and foodstuffs, nothing you’d like.”

  “But that’s exactly what I want to see. The palace isn’t Sarq, and Cala has such a fascinating history, I’d love the chance to explore.”

  “I should ask His Highness.”

  “No,” she said clearly, firmly, “you do not need to ask His Highness if I can leave the palace. I am just heading into town, and I’m certain you will send a few bodyguards with me, so there’s no reason for alarm.”

  The butler did send a complete security detail with her, which meant four bodyguards, but even their close watch couldn’t upset her as they drove the three miles into town.

  Rou watched the passing scenery with great interest, excited by the prospect of seeing the historic seaport and then exploring the famous bazaar. She’d brought along her wallet, hoping she might find something she could give to Zayed as a belated wedding gift. He’d given her jewels and a new wardrobe, but so far she’d given him nothing, not having had the opportunity to shop. Today she might find something with which to surprise him.

  The market was as crowded as the butler had said it’d be, with hundreds of robed men and veiled women jamm
ing between the narrow stalls to haggle over prices and make purchases for the coming week.

  Rou wandered for nearly two hours, stopping once midafter-noon for a cup of mint tea at a corner shop. The store owner was delighted she’d chosen his shop and sent over a plate of almond cookies along with the tea. The bodyguards circled her as she munched on the cookies and sipped the strong tea. She appreciated their zealousness but did find it hard to relax and soak up the atmosphere when all she could see were their dark jackets and the bulge of guns beneath.

  Late afternoon she concluded her shopping by buying bread and cheese, chocolate and fruit, along with some bottles of a lemony, fizzy drink. She’d ask the kitchen staff to save everything for her until Zayed returned, and then she’d surprise him with a picnic on the beach.

  Tired, but pleased with her afternoon, she returned to the palace only to discover that Zayed had called while she was gone. He wouldn’t be back for days.

  Still clutching the paper-wrapped bread and bags of fruit and cheese, Rou stared unhappily at the butler who’d just given her the news. “Did he say when he’d return?”

  “No, Your Highness. He just said ‘days.’”

  Days. Days could be a few days, or a week. Maybe even longer.

  She swallowed her disappointment, handed over her purchases and headed for her room with its view of the sea. Rou stood at the narrow arched window for long minutes, watching the waves roll toward shore and then break in white foamy crests against the sand.

  Days. He wouldn’t be back for days. What did that mean?

  After a half hour and much frustration and endless soul-searching, Rou decided she’d speak to him herself, and as her cell phone didn’t get coverage here in Cala, she’d just have to use the palace phone. Leaving her room, she went in search of the crusty old butler to ask for a house phone.

  The butler said he’d place the call for her. Rou stiffened at the rebuke in his voice. “If you’ll just point me to a phone, I can call.”

  “Do you have his number?”

  “His cell, yes.”

  “The royal family does not use wireless phones in the palace. They only use select palace numbers. Now if you’d like me to place the call—”

  “No.” Rou’s voice shook with emotion. “He’s my husband. I want to call him. I need to be able to call him without butlers and valets and staff running interference.”

  The butler’s expression hardened with reproach. “I am not interfering, Your Highness, merely trying to help.” And then he turned and walked away, narrow back ramrod straight.

  He didn’t understand. She hadn’t said he was interfering but what did she expect? English wasn’t his first language, and she realized he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with Western women, and Western women’s expectations.

  Rou took a breath, and then another, to calm herself. Nothing was simple here. She couldn’t do the smallest of tasks without needing assistance. She hated the lack of independence, hated asking for help, but at this point she wanted to talk to Zayed more than anything, and if she needed the butler’s help, she’d take his help.

  Rou set off after him, and with a brief but sincere apology, she told him she was sorry and yes, she’d please like him to help her place the call to King Fehr.

  The butler nodded and gestured for her to follow. Rou sat in a chair waiting while he dialed the palace in Isi and made a request with one of the Isi palace staff that they put him in touch with His Highness, King Zayed, as the king’s wife was wanting to speak to him.

  Several minutes passed while different palace staff relayed messages and then relayed them back to the butler in Cala. In the end, the butler hung up the phone without Rou being able to speak to Zayed.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness. The king is in meetings, but his staff has promised to leave him a message that you phoned.”

  She smiled brightly, but as she turned away, the disappointment tore through her, making a mockery of all her good intentions. She didn’t want to be difficult, didn’t want to be demanding, but she also didn’t want to feel so insignificant, and worse, so very alone.

  But she was alone.

  And she was beginning to worry that everything she feared about marriage, everything she feared about becoming dependent and losing her individuality, losing her very sense of self, was happening.

  While Zayed took care of business in Isi, she drifted around the Cala palace waiting for him to acknowledge her. Every thought these past few days had been about Zayed, for Zayed. Every breath was bated, waiting, waiting, just as she’d waited for her parents, waited for her mother to stop crying, waited for her father to stop drinking, waited for someone to come for her, someone to remember her.

  This is why she’d never wanted to marry. This is why she’d been afraid to love.

  This is why waiting left her feeling terrifyingly close to despair.

  A full week passed before the helicopter buzzed the summer palace, and Rou went to the window, knowing it was Zayed’s helicopter, knowing it meant he’d returned. After ten days’ absence he’d returned.

  She was glad, and yet scared and didn’t know what to think, or feel. She waited in her room for an hour after the helicopter’s arrival, waited for him to come see her, or at least send for her, but the minutes crawled by without a sign of him.

  Disappointed, but determined to stay positive, she forced herself to stop pacing, forced herself to pick up a book and try to distract herself until Zayed did come. He would come. He hadn’t seen her in ten days. He must miss her a little.

  She certainly missed him. And she hadn’t been really lonely until the last few days, when it hit her how isolated she’d become. Her cell phone didn’t work and her e-mail was sporadic. She was beginning to miss her life, and the work she did, and the activity that had kept her from thinking too much about things she couldn’t change.

  And the hours kept ticking by without Zayed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut when hot, salty tears stung her eyes. You can’t cry, she told herself. He’s just busy. He doesn’t realize how excited you are, or how much you want to see him. If he knew, he’d be here. If he knew, he’d come.

  But her words of comfort failed to comfort. They had a painfully familiar ring to them. And it was with a lurch she realized she’d told herself the same thing as a girl when she’d waited for her father to come see her on his appointed days. She’d wait in her mother’s hallway in a little chair, her doll in her arms, her coat buttoned up. She’d wait and wait and tell herself her handsome, dashing father was on his way. He hadn’t forgotten her. He was just busy….

  Rou covered her face with her hands and began to cry, silent, agonizing tears that were torn from the deepest, darkest corner of her heart.

  She, who’d never wanted to marry, had married a man just like her absent, self-absorbed, beautiful father.

  Late that afternoon, Rou’s housemaid brought her a note on a silver tray. Rou waited for the maid to leave before she opened the small, heavy envelope.

  You will join me for dinner at nine. Zayed

  Her upper lip curled as she read the note through, twice. She read the note again, making sure it was indeed his handwriting, and his choice of words.

  It wasn’t an invitation, it was a command. She would join him.

  This is what she’d waited for. This is the man she’d missed so terribly these past ten days.

  Rou tore the note card in half and threw it away.

  She would join her husband, but she wouldn’t wait until nine tonight. She’d join him now. This wasn’t the homecoming she’d wanted. It wasn’t the marriage she’d hoped for. The fragile dream inside her had already died. All that remained was the burning need to salvage her self-respect.

  Rou changed into white slacks, an emerald-green sweater with tassels and embroidery and leather flats. She brushed her hair until it shone and then pulled it back into a sleek, low ponytail. Dressed, she added just a hint of makeup, enough for polish, enough for courage, and then
she marched toward Zayed’s office in the palace, the one area she never went, but it was her destination now.

  Rounding the corner of the stairs, Rou ignored the security detail outside Zayed’s office. They didn’t want her to enter. She wasn’t supposed to enter without his permission. They all knew when he’d granted permission, and this wasn’t one of the occasions, but this afternoon she didn’t care. She’d had it. She was done waiting for a turn, waiting to be seen, waiting to be heard.

  Barging into his office, she ignored the startled glances of Zayed’s staff as she marched toward his desk. She ignored Zayed’s expression—surprise giving way to disapproval. She didn’t care if he disapproved. Didn’t care if the entire palace knew he disapproved, too. She wasn’t of his culture, wasn’t accustomed to being treated as second-class or subservient.

  “I have meetings in Zurich in two days,” she said crisply, “and I’m already packed. I don’t need to use your jet as I have a ticket reserved on Sarq Air, but I do need my passport back. I believe you have it for safekeeping.”

  For a moment no one spoke or moved and then every staff member quickly and silently disappeared, leaving Rou and Zayed alone.

  The meeting part was true, she thought, heart pounding like mad, but the having packed part wasn’t. She’d said she was packed to make her plans sound fixed, firm, but they weren’t set yet; they hinged on Zayed. Everything now revolved around him.

  It wasn’t a new realization but it still made her sick. She’d fallen in love and lost herself. She’d become her mom.

  “You’re leaving,” he said after the last staff member had walked out.

  She drank him in, thinking he was even more handsome if such a thing were possible, his hair a little longer, his jaw a little harder, his eyes a little colder. Just looking at him made her heart hurt and her resolve weaken. But no, she couldn’t do this, couldn’t become this helpless dependent woman, a woman who couldn’t function without a man.