She didn't know how long she played, but when she finally collapsed, her fingers ached and her entire body felt as if it had been drained of everything. She knew that the pain would be back. She knew that when it returned, it would be terrible. Right now, however, she was too exhausted to do anything but lie down, and sleep.
***
Makeen thought that he would be all right until she started to play. The first notes began tearing his heart out, and the ones after that made him feel as if he were being racked over coals.
It didn't matter what they had done to each other, or what she really wanted from him. In that moment, listening to her music, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was in pain. She was releasing it in the only way that she knew how, and it was all he could do not to go to her.
Suddenly Makeen wanted nothing more than to have her in his arms. He wanted to soothe that pain away, and in doing so, soothe the pain that was rending him to shreds as well. He wanted to pull her away from everything, take them to a place where there was no such thing as honor or loyalty, where they could simply be together.
He had been the Sheikh for a good portion of his life, however, and he knew that there was no place like that on earth.
Instead he went to the cabinet in his study, pulling out a bottle of amber colored liquid. He splashed a generous amount into a glass, and he drank it in one swallow. It burned going down, but it was better, far better, than what he was feeling just now.
He stood in the darkness, listening to the music of Olivia's pain, and he wondered when in his life he would ever overcome this.
Chapter Ten
A week later, Olivia waited in front of the Zahar courthouse. She wasn't sure why she had dressed up, only that she had felt it was necessary.
“Smile, it's a happy occasion,” her mother said, but Olivia couldn't do more than make a half-hearted grimace.
“Don't be so sour because you lost a honey pot,” Mayellen growled. “They have an expiration date. They all do.”
She wished that she had the energy to shout at her mother. She wished she could find it in herself to scream and cry and find a way to make her mother understand exactly what had happened to her, but what was the point? It wouldn't change anything. She wouldn't find a way to make Makeen look at her as if she were truly his love again. She wouldn't be in his arms again.
There was a commotion at the top of the stairs, and then a number of people started streaming out. She stood on tiptoes, scanning the crowd until she saw a familiar lanky figure coming through the throng of people.
“There he is!”
Her mother bulled in front of her, taking David in her arms, loudly thanking God and all his angels for his safe return. Even as David comforted their mother, his eyes met Olivia's, and there was a sadness and understanding there that made tears prickle at her eyes.
She blinked fiercely to clear them away. She hadn't cried since she left the mountains, and she sure as hell wasn't planning to start now.
Gently, David disentangled himself from their mother, reaching for Olivia. For a moment, she felt a fiery pang of anger, something that took her breath away with its intensity. She had never felt that towards her brother before. They had always been allies, always had each other's backs. This time, however, it felt as if he had taken something from her that she could never get back.
Finally though, she allowed herself to be folded gently into his embrace, and then some tears did come. While her mother was chivvying her for being overemotional, David laid a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
“Bad times, huh sis?”
“You don't even know,” she said with a sigh. “Come on. Let's get home. There's nothing else for us here.”
***
Within a matter of days, it felt as if nothing had changed. She went back to busking on the street corners. Her brother was home and looking for a legitimate job. In her absence, she had received a response from Berlin, telling her that she was on the short list, and should stand by.
Something that would have sent her into ecstasy before was now merely a dull note in her life. She would go if they accepted her, there was no doubt about that, but there was no joy in it.
“Your music's different now,” David said, after watching her busk one afternoon.
“Is it?” asked Olivia. In another world, perhaps she would have been alarmed by that, but right now, all she could do was be mildly curious.
“It's deeper. Slower. Sadder, maybe, even when you are playing lighter, faster things.”
She could believe it. After Makeen walked away from her on the tarmac, never looking back, she had felt something in herself close off. Olivia had no idea if it was permanent, or if she would ever be able to get that part of herself back. At the moment, she didn't even care.
Olivia had an idea of how her life might move forward. She might get into a professional orchestra, or she might simply scrape by as she had been doing. She thought she would eventually pull away from her family, strike out on her own.
At the moment, the thought brought her nothing at all, so she simply existed. She earned money, she talked with her brother, and in her more lucid moments, Olivia was worried that she might be like this forever.
***
One day, Olivia came home to find her parents packing frantically and her brother on the phone, talking with low hushed tones.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, she felt a spark of panic.
“What's happening? What's going on?”
Her mother spared her a look as she shoved clothes into an old duffle bag. “It's Stavros, who used to employ your brother. He's been on the war path since the raid, and now he's bringing it all to bear. Your brother got off not once, but twice, so of course that means he's a snitch.”
Mayellen glared at Olivia, and in that moment, Olivia could feel any bonds connecting her to the woman falling away. Instead, she turned to her brother, who had just hung up his phone, his face pale.
“David? David, what's going on?”
David's face was pale, but composed. “You heard the bulk of it from Mom. If Stavros catches me on the street, he's going to have me executed. I need to get out of the country and fast, but Sis, step into the hall with me. There's something I need to tell you.”
Mystified, still holding her violin, she followed him. In the airless stairwell of the building, her brother turned to her.
“I am so sorry for everything. I … I heard about what you did for me …”
She started to hold her hands up, because she didn't think that she could bear this, but he forged ahead.
“No, listen to me. I haven't asked you about this because … well, because it is private. It's your story, and you would have come to me if you needed something. But I think that one way or another, you need to know this.
“Stavros is a fucking madman, and he wants everyone who blew his organization dead from top to bottom. He's sending a man out to kill the Sheikh. That's the man you were staying with right?”
Olivia felt a cold claw of fear grasp her heart. Her eyes widened. “They're sending someone to kill Makeen?”
“Yes. Tonight, as he enters the art gallery showing. I'm risking my life just telling you this. Olivia … I don't care what you do with this information, but I need to get out of Zahar with Mom and Dad …”
She was already nodding. She set down her violin case long enough to throw her arms around him.
“I'm not sorry for anything I've done for you,” she whispered fiercely. “I love you.”
He held her for a moment, and she was painfully aware that this might be the last time that either of them said anything to each other. The last time she ever saw her brother.
Then he was gone, and she had a decision to make.
She didn't even hesitate. When David disappeared, she plunged down the stairwell, leaping down the last few steps to hit the ground running.
She didn't know what was going to happen tonight, but she knew that she would ne
ver forgive herself if she didn't do something.
***
Makeen hadn't expected the gallery opening to be particularly exciting, but he hadn't expected it to be this boring, either.
He supposed that the problem had less to do with the gallery than it had to do with him. Everything had felt as if it were covered in a fog of gray.
When he had gotten back from the mountains, he had ordered David's release and then threw himself into his work. At night, he went out to his favorite clubs, but nothing held the same kind of savor that it had once had.
He ended up at home, drinking and sleeping before starting the cycle over again. Makeen knew that he had to stop, but at the moment, he couldn't quite see a good reason to do so just yet.
His harried personal assistant was stretched thin with invitations for him, so he had her pick some at random. That was why he had ended up at the art gallery, something that the local arts papers crowed about. Makeen realized with some amusement that him showing up was likely one of the most prestigious things that had ever happened to them.
At the very least, it explained the hulking man who had introduced himself as Frederick almost directly after he arrived. He seemed intent on showing Makeen around, pointing out every piece of interesting art and hinting that there were other pieces in the private galleries that might need his attention.
So far, Makeen had been able to push him off, but he was dreadfully afraid that by the end, he would have to see some of those pieces, if only to make the man shut up.
***
“Please, I need to get in there!” Olivia begged. “Please, I need to talk to the Sheikh.”
The security guard in front of the museum gave her an unamused, unfriendly look. In that moment, she felt every inch the grubby street orphan in her thin T-shirt and long calico skirt. She couldn't let that stop her, though, not when Makeen's life was on the line.
“Sorry,” he said for the second time. “Invitation only. You don't have one, so you're not going in.”
When she tried to walk past him, he pushed her back with a gentle shove.
“Get out of here, girlie. I don't want to get rough, but I will.”
She circled around the building desperately, but there didn't seem to be a way in that wasn't locked or guarded. Olivia was contemplating simply breaking a window when she spotted Makeen through one of the French doors leading to the balcony.
He looked so close, but so far away. It made her heart ache a little, and she wanted nothing more than to touch him in that moment.
Then she remembered her violin. She removed it from her case, laying the case carelessly on the sidewalk.
Olivia said a prayer to any higher power that was listening, and she started to play.
***
He turned his head towards the music with a frown. It fought with the gentle music of the gallery, overriding it with a kind of fervor that was discordant, jarring. Other people were beginning to notice, looking around in confusion.
“Such a racket,” Frederick said, and Makeen barely stopped himself from snapping at the man.
“I'm going to go see what it is,” he said, heading to the nearest window. He noted with irritation that the social climber was following him, and resisted the urge to tell the man to go.
Instead, he came to a pair of French doors that led out onto a small balcony, where he could hear the music more clearly, and right before he opened them, he recognized the music.
Olivia …
It was the same wild melody that she had been playing on that terrible night, that same music that had caused his heart to break into a thousand pieces. Now she was playing it wildly on the street in front of the gallery.
“Olivia? What are you doing?” he shouted.
The moment she saw him, she raised her head and lowered the violin. Even now, his heart clenched at how beautiful she was, how pure her loveliness was under the street light. Not all the models in the UAE could compare with her.
“Stavros is sending a man to kill you! Tonight! Your life is in danger!” she shouted frantically.
He frowned, not understanding what she was saying, but Frederick the social climber certainly did. With a guttural cry, the man exploded into motion, lunging forward with something undeniably sharp in his hand.
Makeen barely dodged in time, aided in part by Frederick overcommitting to his lunge and nearly bumbling past him. His attacker turned with alarming quickness, and now Makeen had caught his knife hand, trying to force him back.
The man was enormous, but Makeen was fueled by rage and adrenaline. He smashed the man's hand into the iron railing, causing him to drop the knife to the street below, and then he forced him to his knees.
The crowd behind him had finally figured out that something was wrong, and now they came bolting out of the room to subdue the man.
Makeen tried to still his harsh breathing and his racing heart, ignoring the people who wanted to make sure that he was all right. He was dimly aware that he had skinned his knuckles and had somehow wrenched his elbow, but that wasn't important.
Instead, he twisted on the balcony, his eyes scanning the street for Olivia. Olivia, who had done what she could to save him. Olivia, who he knew had put herself at risk to come here.
She was gone, and the street below was empty.
Chapter Eleven
The airport was crowded and close. It reminded Olivia of the last time she had flown with Makeen, when his wealth and status won her past these crowds onto a private plane. The memories were still sharp enough to cut, but they came back with a rush, even as she settled herself into the coach seat waiting area.
The other passengers traveling to Berlin ignored her. She was just one more young woman in jeans and a T-shirt, a student, possibly traveling home after some time abroad. Unlike those students, however, the only things she owned were tucked into the backpack between her feet and of course, the violin case on her lap.
At the last possible moment, Olivia had found the message from the Berlin orchestra. They wanted her. They sent her plane tickets, there was a company apartment she could stay in for a short while, and then she would be on stage. She wouldn't be the first violin, but she would have her part, and she would have her place.
It was everything that Olivia had been working towards. She should have been elated.
Instead, she only nodded and began her preparations.
Her family had gone to ground. David was in hiding from Stavros, and who knew when it would be safe for him to appear again. She felt his loss far more strongly than she felt that of her parents, and sometimes she felt bad for that.
Instead, she was a woman leaving on her own. If Olivia thought about it for too long, she would start crying. She had loved Zahar, but it was more than that.
She was also leaving Makeen. She was leaving half her heart behind, and a part of her still couldn't believe that she was doing it of her own free will.
She stared up at the bright fluorescent lights, willing the tears back. It felt like she had spent the last few weeks crying. She didn't want to do it anymore.
“Please don't cry, darling.”
For a moment, Olivia thought she had finally snapped. The man sitting next to her looked too perfect, far too handsome. The last time she had seen Makeen, he had been fighting for his life. The time before that, he had stalked away with a life-ending anger in his heart. This man, dressed casually in a linen suit, watched her with a slight smile on his face. Somehow he had come to be sitting next to her without her awareness.
“Are … are you real?” she croaked, and he nodded.
She couldn't help herself. She didn't care why he was here. All that mattered was lunging forward even as she put her violin down, falling into his arms.
For several long moments, she simply rested in the protection of his embrace, letting the pain and fear of the previous weeks fall away from her. When she finally looked up, she gazed at him with some confusion.
“What are you doing here, Mak
een?”
“You are an astonishingly hard woman to track,” he said, stepping back slightly. They took their seats again, but this time, he held on to her hand. Despite the casual look on his face, she could feel how tightly he was holding on to her.
“Am I?”
“After you saved my life, you disappeared.”
“I was just staying at a hostel,” she said in confusion. “Why were you looking for me?”
For a moment, she could see the hell he had gone through. His face was a perfect mask of misery and pain, the twin of her own. Then it was smoothed away when he touched her cheek gently.
“I deserve that, I suppose,” he said. “Olivia, I am looking for you because I love you. I cannot be apart from you. You risked your life to save mine … Getting me that information could have cost you everything.”
“I couldn't let you die,” she whispered painfully. “Not … no matter what happened between us. I love you.”
The words came out without her willing them to do so. They were the truest thing she had ever said, the finest, and she could have started crying again.
Makeen crushed her into a deep embrace. She could feel his heart beating hard.
“Olivia, little songbird, I love you. I love you to the sky and the sea and back again, and nothing should have convinced me that you did not care for me. I am sorry. I am sorry for everything that we have gone through together, and I am sorry for my part in bringing you so much pain. If you allow me to, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”
Olivia murmured a protest as he pulled back, but it was only to reach for a velvet box in his pocket. As she stared with disbelief, he opened it to reveal a ring mounted with an enormous pale green pear-shaped diamond.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked, and as the airport erupted into applause, she sobbed out a barely coherent yes.
They kissed deeply, and to Olivia, it was perfect because it was only the first of many that would come after.
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