by Lara Hunter
She kissed her son good night and drove into the city with Adil. At a restaurant so fine the wait staff needed four-year degrees, she had sea bass carpaccio and kadif-crusted lamb in a beautiful open-air dining room that looked out at the early evening sea. The restaurant’s lights cast golden shards on the crystalline, bottled water that matched the moon's silver. Tracey felt like she were wandering through a dream, sipping wine across from a sheikh in a place where, in any other circumstances, she would have been turned away at the door.
"Do you know how surreal this is for me?" she asked him as they lingered over dessert. "In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined getting to do something like this, be somewhere like this."
"You deserve all of this and more," he said. "In a perfect world, this should be out of reach for no one, especially not someone who has worked as hard as you."
"Most of the rich people I've met seem to think that if everyone could have these things, they wouldn't be worth having," Tracey said, recalling previous people she'd cleaned for.
"Exclusionary, gatekeeping nonsense," Adil replied with genuine bitterness. "People propping up their own self-worth by forcing others down. The result of blind self-absorption. There is nothing more sinful in my mind than for men to starve among plenty, to go homeless in a city full of empty homes, to freeze while others burn fine coats for the sake of a brand name. Wasteful cruelty is an abomination."
Tracey was surprised by the sudden passion in his voice, at once concerned and delighted that she seemed to be seeing more of the real him.
"But don't you live in a huge house and wear brand names?" she asked. "How do you reconcile that?"
Adil frowned into his wine.
"Unfortunately, in this society, at least the appearance of wealth is necessary in order to make any change," he said. "Even a homeless man can't find work without a fresh haircut and a clean suit, despite the fact that neither of those things will make him any more of an effective laborer. And the wealthier you appear to be, the greater the change you can create. Because of my wealth, I can ensure, in the little part of the world I have influence over, that the hungry are fed and the homeless are given shelter. And I can guarantee when I buy something, like the dress you are wearing, the people who made it were paid decent wages and the fabric it's made from was responsibly sourced. I have been blessed with the good fortune to have wealth, and I intend to use it to the greatest possible good I can."
Tracey was, for a moment, rendered speechless. She'd seen from his files that he was telling the truth. He really did put an enormous amount of work into using his wealth responsibly. But somehow she hadn't realized just how important it was to him.
"I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met," Tracey said, in genuine awe of him. "Is it something about growing up a sheikh, or is it just you?"
"Only me, I'm afraid," he said with a kind of sad sincerity. "But this is too heavy a subject for such a night. Tonight is for happier things. Dance with me, Miss Anderson?"
He stood, offering her a hand, and after a moment's embarrassed hesitation, she took it.
"I don't really know any dances," she confessed as he led her to the open floor in front of the restaurant’s live band, strings and woodwinds that played soothing classical nocturnes.
"They're easier than they look," he said. "Just follow my feet. As long as I'm holding you, how well you dance couldn't matter less."
His hands, one in her own and the other on her waist, guided her around the floor in graceful, sweeping circles, her skirt fanning around her on every turn. The room revolved around them, indistinct as a dream, all glitter and golden fog, and she could see nothing but his eyes, dark as the ocean, staring into her own. She felt lost at sea, deliriously adrift, his hands on hers the only thing anchoring her to the earth. If he let her go, she would surely fall upward into space and greet the stars smiling. Dizzy, she laid her head against his shoulder to steady herself, and he held her closer, as though he too were afraid to let go.
But like all dreams, eventually it had to end. Though she made it last as long as she could, dancing until her feet ached, eventually they had to leave. After returning to the beach house to collect Charlie and their things, they headed to the airport.
"Say good-bye to Hawaii," Tracey told Charlie as they paused in the lobby while Adil checked their bags. Charlie, half asleep, waved limply through the lobby windows at the palm trees in the airport parking lot.
"G'bye Hawaii," he mumbled. Then he put his head back on Tracey's shoulder with a yawn. "We can come back soon, right?"
"Maybe," Tracey said reluctantly, not wanting to give him hope for something that might never happen, as much as she hoped it would. "It depends."
"On whether you decide to date Mr. Sheikh?" Charlie asked.
"That's only part of it," Tracey said with an embarrassed chuckle.
"Does that mean Dad is never coming back?"
The question caught Tracey off guard, and she fumbled for an answer.
"I don't know, honey," she said. "That's up to him. But...he's never going to live with us again."
"Don't you love him?" Charlie leaned back to look at her with tired, squinting eyes.
"I thought I did," Tracey replied. "Maybe I really did, in the beginning, but I don't anymore."
"Do you love Mr. Sheikh then?" Charlie asked, frowning.
"I don't know," Tracey answered honestly. "Maybe. That's something I need time to figure out."
"Who do you love then?" Charlie asked impatiently.
"You," Tracey answered at once, squeezing Charlie closer. "Always and forever."
"Gross," Charlie declared, squirming to get away as she kissed his cheek.
"You're gross!" she shot back, tickling him.
"Your face is gross!" he replied through his squeals, flailing until she had to set him down. He clung to her leg, still half asleep and now wobbly from laughing.
"It's okay," he said after a minute. "About dad. It's okay that he isn't going to come back. It's okay if you want to love Mr. Sheikh instead."
"Thank you," Tracey said gently, ruffling his hair, her heart aching in her chest. That meant a lot more to her than she thought Charlie knew.
"All right, bags are taken care of," Adil said, returning. "We can go straight through to the gate."
"Matt?"
Tracey had been turning to greet Adil, and she saw him freeze as someone called out to them, his face suddenly white.
"Matt? Is that you?" the stranger asked, hurrying toward them. The man was dark skinned, presumably Indian or Middle Eastern, though he had an American accent and was dressed as unassumingly as your average dentist in tan slacks and a polo shirt. "I haven't seen you since high school!"
"You're confused," Adil said stiffly, stepping closer to Tracey. "That is not my name."
"What's with the accent?" the stranger said with a laugh. "It's Ed! Edward Abadi? We went to mosque together every Friday for years!"
"I'm sorry. I am not this person," Adil said, looking visibly upset. He put an arm around Tracey, guiding her away. "Please leave me alone."
"But, Matt—" Ed Abadi looked confused and hurt by the rejection. Adil ignored his plea, hurrying them away.
"What was that about?" Tracey asked, concerned, as they headed toward their gate. "Do you know him?"
Adil shook his head. "No. He must have been crazy or confused."
His tone made it clear that was his final opinion on the matter, but Tracey had seen the stark, fearful recognition in Adil's eyes when he'd seen the other man. Something more was going on here that she was afraid to ask about. After all this, was he hiding something from her?
The whole plane ride back, Adil was quiet, preoccupied and aloof. Tracey left him alone, afraid to push, though a deep, yawning fear within her was desperate to know the truth. She couldn't handle what had happened with Derek happening again. She'd ignored the signs of her ex-husband's addiction far too long, afraid of confrontation. She couldn't let that
happen again. But neither could she make herself say anything, not for the entire flight. Charlie slept in his seat, but Tracey stayed wide awake, watching Adil and wondering.
Andre met them at the airport back home, looking mildly annoyed. It was the most emotion Tracey had ever seen the bodyguard show, and she wondered if Adil had not told the man about their little vacation. Adil ordered him to drive Tracey and Charlie home, for which Tracey was grateful. She was too tired to see straight, her head spinning with worry and regret that the wonderful trip had ended on such a disconcerting note.
Charlie didn't wake all the way home, and he stirred only briefly when he was deposited in bed. Tracey fell into her own bed, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut after the busy, exhilarating, illuminating trip. She lay awake only briefly, contemplating the delicate golden necklace Adil had bought her that last night.
Her heart stirred with warmth and feeling at even the thought of him. Whatever else, she definitely had feelings for him. It was no longer just a crush, nor just a matter of his looks and his money. She wanted to be with him, wanted to find a way to make this work. Maybe it wasn't love yet, just the desire to be in love with him, to build a love with him.
But the encounter at the airport had left a sour note at the end of things. That, combined with his strange refusal to discuss anything about his history, his family, his childhood...it left her feeling suspicious, guilty for her suspicion, and afraid of the possible explanations. She couldn't face the disappointment of being lied to again. And she didn't dare put Charlie through that.
If Adil couldn't be honest with her, she couldn't be with him; it was as simple as that. Though the very thought made her heart splinter and crack, crumbling like a glass vase against the hardwood floor, knocked aside by a careless maid.
ELEVEN
She returned to work on Monday, still exhausted from the trip and distracted by her worries, and went through the day in a fog. She saw Adil only once that day, on his way out the door to a meeting. He smiled at her, regretting he couldn't linger longer, but secretly she was glad to put off the confrontation a little longer. Tuesday was much the same. Either their weekend off had left a great deal more to pile up than he had prepared for or he was avoiding her too. She wasn't sure which one she hoped was true.
"I'm so sorry, Tracey."
Detta was clipping on her earrings, her bags already by the door.
"I know I promised I wouldn't do this to you last minute again, but Theresa is still recovering and her man has to work. Somebody has to make sure they're getting fed!"
"It's fine, Detta," Tracey said. "I can take him to work with me again. Adil said it was fine after last time. Lorraine can't get on me for it."
"My cousin Rhea lives not far from here," Detta said, giving Tracey an address. "She works in a daycare in town; she can get you a good price. I'm not sure when I'll be back. To be honest, I might just have to move down there."
"Do what you have to do," Tracey said with a smile, though the thought of the daycare bill was another weight on her heart. "Family comes first."
"You're a good person, Tracey Anderson," Detta said, taking Tracey by the shoulders. "And you're gonna do great things. Just hang in there."
She hugged Tracey tightly, and Tracey waved good-bye as she drove away, wondering what she would do now.
"I get to go to the palace again?" Charlie said excitedly as Tracey packed up his things. "Can I play with Mr. Sheikh?"
"It's Sheikh Adil, not Mr. Sheikh," Tracey said patiently, urging him toward the car. "And no. He's very busy. So this time you're going to follow the rules and stay in your room like you were supposed to last time. Got it?"
"Got it," Charlie mumbled unhappily. "Are you sure? Playing alone is boring..."
Tracey sighed. "I know, hun. It's just for today, so please try to be good."
"Fine..."
Tracey drove to work, feeling like she would have to keep a close eye on him today.
She set him up in his room on the third floor and threw herself into her work. Maybe she could banish all her troublesome thoughts with scrubbing and dusting. If she just focused hard enough on what she was working on, everything else might go away. She could scour her thoughts like grout on bathroom tiles.
Every hour, she went back to the third floor to check on Charlie, paranoid that he would run off and get into trouble again. The Sheikh wasn't in today and was supposed to be out until late that afternoon, so at least she wouldn't have to worry about running into him, which was at once a relief and a disappointment. Her heart yearned to see him even for a second, but at the same time she was terrified of the inevitable collapse that would come when she demanded to know what he was hiding from her.
Around one, she dragged herself back up the stairs to the third floor, already strained and exhausted, having overexerted herself all day. Rubbing her tired, grainy eyes, she opened the door to Charlie's room, peeking in, expecting him to be on the floor with his toys. The room was, of course, empty. Tracey groaned.
"Charlie," she called. "Come on! You know the rules. You're going to be in big trouble this time, mister!"
She checked the room for him when he didn't answer her shouting. Then he started searching the rest of the third floor. Her heart stopped in her chest when she saw the door to Sheikh Adil's bedroom standing open. Those doors were always closed. The cleaning service wasn't allowed in. There was only one reason they would be open now.
"Charlie!" Tracey hissed from outside the door. "Charlie, if you're in there, you had better come out right now! If you touched anything, I swear to God—"
She forced herself to open the door wider, leaning in warily.
The bedroom was large, lit dimly by only the light leaking around the edges of the heavy curtains. A huge four-poster bed, king size at least, was in the center of the room, and there were acres of space around it. In a windowed eastern alcove was a small table where the Sheikh took his breakfast. In another cozy corner were comfortable armchairs and an ornate bookshelf overflowing with hardback novels. Doors on either wall led to a balcony and the master bathroom.
But what Tracey was looking for was against the far wall. There was a computer set up on a small desk. Adil's personal computer. It wasn't surprising that he had one. What made Tracey inhale a sharp, distressed breath was the sight of Charlie in the chair, merrily playing Internet Flash games on it.
"Charlie!" she snapped. He turned quickly, his eyes wide as he realized how much trouble he was in. Tracey hurried across the room to him, and he scrambled out of the chair, as though he could still pretend he hadn't done anything.
"I told you to stay in your room!" Tracey scolded him. "You're not allowed to be in here! Even I'm not allowed to be in here!"
"I just wanted to find Mr. Sheikh!" Charlie said. "I wanted to see his planes again, and I thought—"
"No! No excuses!” Tracey said. “You knew better and you did it anyway. You and I are going to have a serious talk about this. Go on, back to your room, and stay there! I need to clean this up."
Charlie, looking like a kicked dog, scurried away. He'd left Cheetos all over the desk, along with a scattering of toys. Tracey hurried to scoop the food detritus into a trash can and collect the toys. Then she turned to the computer, closing the dozen or so windows Charlie had opened. Maybe she could just pretend this hadn't happened. As she closed the last Internet browser, she paused, seeing documents open. She started to ignore them before a name caught her eye. Matt.
Remembering the encounter at the airport, she scanned the document curiously. It looked to be old legal paperwork, signed Matt Hajjar. Hajjar she recognized; that was Adil's last name. But Matt...
She didn't want to know, not like this. She turned away from the monitor, reaching down to pick up a framed photograph Charlie had knocked off the desk. As she turned it over, she paused. It was an old family photo, a man with his wife and son. A son she recognized almost at once. She touched that familiar face in confusion. Adil could onl
y have been Charlie's age in the photo, but there he was, in Western clothes, at an American theme park, standing with parents who were dressed the same. Had it been just the photo, she might have dismissed it. Perhaps his family had come to America for a vacation. There was nothing wrong with them not wearing traditional clothing all the time, after all. But in conjunction with everything else...
"What are you doing in here?"
Tracey looked up, nearly dropping the photo in surprise. Adil stood in the bedroom doorway in his formal robe, his expression somewhere between hurt and anger.
"I'm sorry," Tracey said at once, hurrying to set down the photo and pick up Charlie's toys. "I just—I didn't mean to—"
"Let me guess." Adil crossed the room toward her, his expression darkening. "Charlie."
Tracey rushed to explain. "My sitter flew out to Georgia again this morning. I didn't have anywhere else to take him. I told him to stay in the room—"