by Milly Taiden
“Yes, there is. If you could send Sessily and me back home, we would be deeply grateful.”
His initial inkling proved to be true. The girls wanted to return to Romania. His gaze landed on Sessily, who couldn't quite meet his eyes. Did she really want to go? Or had her skittish, frightened sister convinced her to get while the getting was good?
“I'm happy to do whatever you both want. When would you like to leave?” Ahsan never took his eyes off Sessily.
“As soon as possible,” Iris said.
It wasn't that Ahsan couldn't blame Iris for wanting to go home. The place where both girls had been snatched from, the place that probably represented comfort and peace. Yet he had unresolved business with Sessily, and he wouldn't allow her to just waltz out of his life without a word.
“Sessily, I'd like a moment alone before I make the arrangements.” He inclined his head to Iris, a more cordial gesture than he gave most people, and pivoted for the door. Letting himself into the hall, he raked his hands back through his hair and organized his thoughts. What should he say? He wanted to ask her and her sister to stay on for a week or more, give them a minor vacation while he prepared to take control of the throne. But if they wanted to leave—he wouldn't coerce them to stay.
In the hall, he paced a few feet one way and a few feet the other. He thought he caught heated whispers in the room beyond, though he couldn't make out any words. Sessily appeared, pulling the door closed behind her. Ahsan couldn't judge her mood, couldn't figure out what she was thinking. Her expression seemed oddly closed off and hard to read.
“Is that what you'd like to do?” he asked straight off. “Go home?”
She crossed her slender arms over her middle and avoided eye contact until the last second. “Yes. Iris is...she's traumatized, as I'm sure you can see, and she just wants to go home. It's been an odyssey for her and she needs time to heal.”
What could he say to that? To deny a woman the right to heal after an ordeal like this seemed cruel, yet he had the urge to press Sessily. To get a more in depth answer out of her. He knew women well enough to know that she'd enjoyed what passed between them the evening before, and that there had been more to it than just sex. She'd spent the entire night in his bed, curled against his chest. If her motive was to scratch an itch, she would have gone back to her room before morning. With the upcoming ceremony to seat him in the position of power, he had little time to spare at the moment for situations that weren't directly involved with ascending the throne.
Stepping forward, he cupped her jaw and bent down to take her mouth with his. He swallowed her gasp of surprise and engaged her tongue, finding all the nooks and hollows beneath. Ahsan wanted a taste of her to remember in the upcoming weeks. It was precious little compared to what he really wanted, but it would have to do.
Breaking the seal of their mouths, he thumbed her chin, staring into her eyes. He didn't miss the flicker of something like sorrow in her own, and wondered over it.
“I'll have you on a plane by late afternoon.” Ahsan kissed Sessily one more time, then stepped around her, heading for the stairs.
*
It was one of the more painful things Sessily had ever done, watching Ahsan walk away. She could still taste him in her mouth, could still smell the masculine scent of his cologne. Leaving was going to be much harder than she imagined. But the alternative—to stay and become Ahsan's mistress while he married another woman to produce the required heirs—was impossible. She could no more turn a blind eye to the nights Ahsan would spend in another woman's bed than she could set herself on fire.
No, it was better to go home and lick her many wounds. She needed to get out of this situation with as much dignity as she had left. So she retreated to the bedroom, finished packing clothes that did not belong to her, and helped Iris clean up. After a shower and a change of clothes that Eli provided, Iris looked less like a refugee and more like a person.
Four hours after that, the women were escorted to a waiting limousine out front and driven away from the palace.
Sessily never got to say goodbye to Ahsan. He wasn't waiting by the car with his penetrating stare and didn't escort them to the airstrip.
And he certainly wasn't on the luxury jet when she and Iris boarded.
While Iris quietly exclaimed about the plush interior of the plane, Sessily stared out the window, watching the expansive desert first at ground level, and then from the air. The palace came into view below after a few minutes, sprawling white against the sands.
Then it was gone, existing now only in memory.
***
Chapter Eighteen
The day Ahsan ascended the throne of power was dry and hot. He strolled up the long entrance way to the main palace doors, largely ignoring the gathered politicians, advisors and lawyers. The discreet 'suggestions' they'd been throwing at him for the last seven days had already worn his patience thin, and he was in no mood to pander to their lobbying.
Behind, four of his security team trailed at his heels, silent and watchful.
Attired in a fine suit of black, with a silver vest, white shirt and his favored boots, foregoing the tie much to the chagrin and horror of his personal assistants, he knew he looked sharp. Regardless, his clothing was hardly what the current Emir would want him to wear. The Emir preferred traditional garb for ceremonies and events, but the man would take what Ahsan gave him and like it. He'd said a hundred times he was doing it his way, and he meant to stick by his word to the letter.
Striding into the ceremony room between two doors that servants opened, he approached the high, elaborate throne piped in gold and adorned with rich jewels. This room was even more grandiose than Bashir's, with tall columns lining the walkway he now tread, and more gold layered the marble floors. All the seating sported luxurious fabrics and the walls were inlaid with intricate patterned tile. Lines of gold framed the patterns, making the entire room gleam. It was as if Midas himself had been there, leaving a wide swath of the precious metal in his wake.
The ceremony itself, televised on both local and global channels, was less about pomp and circumstance and more about paperwork. Ahsan, disregarding the Emir's look of disapproval at the thrown open vee of his white shirt, recited the necessary oaths and signed no less than five documents, officially transferring to him the title and power of Emir. There were handshakes and head bows and wishes for a successful reign.
When the Emir stepped aside to offer Ahsan the throne, a rite of passage and tradition when the title was passed down, Ahsan declined to seat himself there. He had little drive to lord over a room full of politicians who would shortly pick his bones clean with their incessant drivel about this law or that one. Instead, he flashed the cameras a broad smile, a daring wink, and retreated. Gasps of shock at his deviation in protocol followed him back out the doors and into the sunlight. Immediately, three more of his personal guard flanked him, a precaution Ahsan could not do without. Not in the open, not with Bashir's men lurking somewhere in the throng.
Not now that he was Emir, with no wife, no heir, and a target on his back.
Declining all interviews, he sank into the comfort of a cool limousine. Whisked away from the scene, Ahsan reclined against the seat, one arm draped along the back. Funny, he thought, that he felt no different than a half hour before. As serious as he took his new responsibilities, he did not experience a rush of power or have the desire to strut around, gloating over his status. There were more important matters to deal with, such as finding and culling all people involved in Bashir's trafficking rings. His brethren in the Royal Elite had sent him updates throughout the week, explaining leads, following trails, and wearing down informants until they sang.
Progress had been made choosing and assigning his own people to replace those of the Emir, but none could take their positions until the official signing of the documents. Now would come the hard part—the transition. The Emir had already protested some of the changes, all of which Ahsan ignored. He liked to run a well
oiled machine, and he wanted his own people in place to make that happen.
His schedule for the next seven days left little in the way of private time, a necessary evil of his new title.
While he watched the sights of the city fly by out the window, he let his mind roam to more pleasant things. Like a pair of blue eyes, a sweet mouth, and a skein of auburn hair he wanted to run his fingers through. He didn't have time for much, but he had time to remember how her mouth felt under his, how her body responded with passion, and the way she breathed his name in the aftermath.
He warred with the idea of throwing responsibility to the wind and flying to Romania, title be damned. In the end, reason won out. He directed the driver to take him back to the palace where a menagerie of tasks awaited.
*
Anna's Bakery looked the same as it always had. The small shop, tucked between a business office and a quaint gift store, had frontage windows displaying glass shelves full of baked goods and a green and white striped awning tipped out over the front door. What had changed, Sessily realized, was her perception of it. After spending time in Dubai amidst so much luxury, and the richly furnished palace, Sessily could only describe the nondescript street the bakery sat on as rudimentary and old fashioned. Everything had an aged, run down appearance to it, from the paint on the roofs to the whisky barrels full of pansies and other colorful flowers. Parking slots directly in front of each business provided easy access for shopping, with more parking available in the back.
Being the main street in the village, it ran perhaps two or three blocks—which were not the same length as the city blocks of Dubai. These were shorter, containing four to five businesses on each side, and one intersection that didn't have a traffic light but a stop sign.
After taking a week to settle in, and make sure Iris was on the mend, Sessily was due back at work. Anna, an older woman with strong hands and a head of silver hair, had been horrified to learn the circumstances of Sessily's disappearance. Kind at heart but also strong willed, Anna had insisted Sessily take the week off. She could show up at the beginning of the new week to take up her position as the baker's assistant.
She glanced down at her beige pants and simple white tee, which would eventually be covered with a flour smeared apron. Gone was the elegance of Dubai, the sophistication of high society and wine in crystal flutes. This was real life. This was the day to day grind. Making bread and pastries and treats. The pay was a pittance, but enough to keep a roof over her and Iris's heads. For now, she wouldn't have to worry about money. Ahsan had tucked away her five thousand dollars before sending her off, money she'd been shocked to find upon unpacking at home. It assured her and Iris at least six months of frugal living, which was better than just scraping by.
Exhaling, she caught her hair back and secured it into a messy knot with a few clever twists and tucks. As always a few strands escaped to tickle her cheek. Crossing the street, she angled her way past barrels of pansies and pushed open the bakery door. The scent of fresh baked bread assaulted her immediately. It sent a pang through her stomach, full of nostalgia, and when Anna bustled around the corner from a back room, Sessily barely managed to smear a tear away in time.
“My sweet girl! Anna is so glad to have you back.” Anna swept Sessily into a motherly hug, rocking her gently side to side.
Amused at the familiarity of Anna referring to herself in third person, Sessily hugged the matronly woman, then kissed her cheek. “Thank you. It's...good to be back.”
Anna leaned away to see Sessily's eyes. Her own carried a hint of suspicion. In a thick and rolling accent, she said, “You tell Anna what's wrong. Do you need another day off?”
“No, no. I'm fine. It's just...readjusting.” Sessily dropped her hands from Anna's arms after a brief, affectionate rub.
“All right. You tell Anna if you need anything.” Anna patted her back, then bustled around the counter where all the baked goods were on display for sale. “But! There is something. This came for you this morning.” Anna lifted a tall vase of flowers from the floor in the corner and set it on the glass display.
Sessily eyed the clear vase and two dozen pink tipped white roses with confusion. “For me?”
“Yes, yes! There is a little card.” Anna pointed to a small envelope attached to the pink ribbon around the vase.
At the display, Sessily reached for the envelope and pulled out a two inch by three inch card. It had two initials embossed in gold. A. A. Had Ahsan sent her flowers? Who else could it be with those initials? What was more—why? He had to be married by now. Was he the type to schmooze women even after vows? Sessily snorted.
“Here. We'll put them on the table.” She walked the vase over and set it on one of two small tables available for customers. The fine array of perfect roses looked out of place in the rustic bakery, Sessily thought. It seemed much more fitting for a fine suite in soft colors of cream and cocoa, with gold accents and high end furniture.
“Are you going to tell Anna who those are from?”
“Just someone. It's nothing, really.” Sessily tucked the card into the pocket of her pants, and went into the back to don an apron. A large steel table sat in the middle of the room, with several towel covered steel bowls that had dough rising inside.
“That looks like more than 'nothing really' to Anna!” Anna called from the front.
Sessily peeled back a towel and punched down a swell of dough. That felt better than she thought. “It's someone being nice, that's all.”
Anna grunted.
Sessily scattered flour over the table and tossed the dough down to begin kneading. There was something therapeutic about pushing, pulling and tugging on a thick wad of pliable material. She worked out her frustrations, mind busy with thoughts of a married Ahsan sending her gifts.
It was going to be a long day, and an even longer night.
*
“Sessily!”
“Yes?”
“Delivery for you at the front!”
Exhaling at the interruption, Sessily wiped her hands on a towel to remove some of the flour and headed into the main room of the bakery. Two days had passed since her first day back, and since the delivery of the roses. The flowers still looked picture perfect where they sat on the table, but she didn't even glance that direction as she accepted a package from the delivery man and signed for it. Middle sized, the brown wrapped box was square and light.
Sessily took it to the other table, the one not bearing flowers, and picked at the tape securing the paper. Inside, she found a plain box of black with a lift off lid. Inside that, another box, perhaps four inches by four inches. This one was velvet, different from the rest.
Opening the lid with more than a little trepidation, she discovered not a diamond necklace or an expensive, flashy bracelet, but a miniature replica of a yacht. Sucking in a surprised breath, she picked the extraordinary object off its bed of velvet and took a closer look. White in color, the yacht appeared to have every detail intact. There were three 'levels', miniature smoked glass windows around the front and sides, and a swimming pool at the back. Did yachts really have swimming pools? The replica was heavy as well, made of some sort of metal material.
Of course she harked straight back to her conversation with Ahsan when they discussed visiting Greece and taking a tour on his boat. Was he suggesting they do so? Reminding her, teasing her? How convenient, she thought, that the worldly playboy—the now married playboy—would want to whisk his lover away from his homeland, away from prying eyes.
Setting the yacht back inside the box, she snapped the lid closed, gathered up the other boxes and wrapping, and took it all into the back. Dispersing the trash, she set the velvet box on a high shelf behind a sack of flour.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Except for the rest of the work day, all she could think about was swarthy skin, tropical water, and a luxurious cruise on a yacht.
Damn the man.
***
Chapter Nineteen
&nb
sp; Three days after receiving the yacht, Sessily exited the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. Listening to Anna hum a catchy ditty from the oven room, Sessily swerved toward the display cases but stopped when a colorful object snagged her attention. It sat on the table with the flowers, which had finally started to wilt. A box of white, the lid wrapped with sharp black ribbon and sporting a black bow, awaited. It looked sleek and expensive and entirely out of place in the shop.
Setting the towel down, Sessily rounded the display cases again and went to peer out the front windows at the street. A few pedestrians walked here or there, one or two getting in and out of their cars. She saw nothing like a delivery truck however, or anyone who looked out of place.
In this small of a town, there was no worry that the citizens would waltz in to steal bread and pastries, so she and Anna didn't concern themselves with having someone in the front of the shop at all times. People knew to call out or tap the bell on the counter.
Whoever left the box had made a stealth entrance and exit.
She knew who it was from, of course. Ahsan. Another gift. Half giddy with excitement and half perturbed at his persistence, she approached and lifted the lid. The box itself was medium sized and perhaps twelve inches deep. Inside, she encountered a glut of filmy tissue, and peeled it back to expose an explosion of color. Tropical colors, in blues, purples and whites. She pulled out a daring sarong and a little top to match. Something she might expect to wear on vacation—on a yacht. It would fit her perfectly, she knew, because that's how Ahsan worked. Also inside, she discovered a small printed card with a message for her to arrive at a nearby airstrip—private naturally—at one in the afternoon tomorrow. It took no great effort to understand he expected her to show up and be whisked away to Greece for a tryst.