Cross the Stars (Crossing Stars #1)

by Venessa Kimball

  I’m positive Raj didn’t miss a single one of my expressions from Petra. He never lost sight of me and was always separated from me by a volunteer, mostly Ana. Even with Tom’s presence, Raj didn’t hide his attention on me or his proximity.

  The sun was high and the heat just becoming unbearable when we made our way back to the bus.

  “So, what do you think of Petra?” Raj asks the group as we walk, renewing their frenzy of what they appreciated about it. The myth, the archeological investigation, the history, and the mystery that still shrouds its existence and what it still holds secret from civilization were all the chatter and while all of it fascinated me, I wanted to know more about the bedouin people, the ones who occupied the carved caves. Where had they gone?

  “The people that lived here, where did they go?”

  “The bedouin are nomads, inhabitants of the desert. They do not stay in one place, and when Petra became a tourist attraction, they left.” His explanation has him scanning every face, then resting on me. “There are few authentic bedouin people remaining, but you will be happy to know where we are staying will fulfill your inner bedouin.”

  David’s question breaks my concentration on Raj’s seemingly seductive call to my inner bedouin.

  “How far is it from here?”

  He looks at Tim then at everyone else. “Not far. Tonight we will celebrate as the bedouin with zarb, a traditional feast, music, dance, and night under the moon and stars you will never forget. Tomorrow we will have activities in the Wadi Rum.”

  On the bus ride from Petra to Wadi Rum, Raj had planned a catered lunch en route. I expected something light, but when one of the drivers came through the bus distributing small boxes still warm to the touch as I held it on my lap, I was curious about the contents.

  Two words: stuffed falafel.

  The portion isn’t skimpy, with a full box of eight stuffed falafel balls calling my name. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I had already consumed half of them and was anticipating the rest eagerly. By mid-bite of my last falafel ball, I notice Raj watching me, grinning as he takes a bite. I’m embarrassed both for eating like I am and not knowing how long he has been watching me eat like this. I must look like a fucking pig. Cordially, he lifts his bottle of water to me and I take hold of mine and do the same.

  After he drinks he leans toward me. “Do you like them?”

  I look at him like he is crazy, then down at my plate, only half a ball remaining. “Uh, yeah.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin as he returns to his own food, his grin undisguised.

  “I made sure to get them from the best place for stuffed falafel in Jordan. Hashem’s.”

  Holy shit! He got my favorite! “I’ve been there!”

  He nods. “Yes, I know.”

  I tilt my head and laugh a little. He got my favorite. “You know?”

  He nods. “I asked the volunteer that talks a lot. What is his name again?”

  “David.”

  Having taken a bite of falafel, he swallows it then leans toward me, looking for prying ears as he whispers, “He told me you couldn’t stop eating them. He said you even took some home.”

  Thanks, David. I feel my cheeks redden a little as I try to make excuses for my overindulgence. “I didn’t eat any more than them. And, I took some home for the Ba’ashirs and Ahmadis. The waiter, he insisted.”

  I know my explanation falls on deaf ears as he continues to grin and eat his falafel. After a few moments of silence between us, and a chance to consider the lengths he went to talking to David about how much I enjoyed Hashem’s stuffed falafels, I whisper, “Is this like the safety stalker thing.”

  He looks at me sideways.

  “You know, like following me home, finding out where I eat, what I like?”

  He raises one eyebrow and the dimple on his cheek becomes visible. “It is purely for your safety, Ella. I could not have you eating a poorly made falafel.”

  His grin widens as he pops the remaining bit of a falafel into his mouth and sits back, obviously fucking proud of himself. He is totally screwing with me now. I roll my eyes and sit back in my seat, disguising my own smile by indulging in my last bite.

  Once past the visitor’s center to Wadi Rum, we pass camp sign after camp sign, directing us to their sites. The deeper we get into the Wadi Rum, the more curious I become about this campsite. Our bus stops at what seems like the end of the road. I look out my window and the windows adjacent to me. The two SUVs following us have stopped behind us, the sun-glassed bodyguards waiting for directives of where we go next, I suspect.

  Raj rises and steps out from his seat, calling one of his security men to him. He speaks quickly in Arabic then turns to the rest of us. “I have trucks waiting to take us the rest of the way into the desert.”

  When he said trucks, I assumed they were the SUVs he has used at the center and the one I had ridden in before. I was mistaken. The trucks are pickup trucks. Old, dusty, paint-chipped, rusted pickup trucks with tent tops rigged on the back for coverage from the sun. The men sitting in the bed and leaning along the side of the truck are covered with head wear, much like a hijab, but Raj’s says it is called djellabiyya and a smagg, a long red and white head covering.

  As we walk up to them, they quickly come to us and take our bags from our shoulders. Raj speaks to them in a dialect not like the one my ear is trained to. “What are they speaking?”

  Raj laughs with one of the men as they finish speaking. “It is called Badawi, the bedouin dialect.”

  Our bags are loaded in the fourth truck in line while the rest of us are helped into the beds of the other three. Raj’s well-maneuvered plan to sit next to me works, putting me arm to arm in tight quarters as we all squeeze into the bed of the trucks. To make more room, Raj places his arm behind me, as do some of the other volunteers. The other’s closeness don’t seem to draw attention like Raj’s and mine as Tom watches us. I pretend I don’t see him, let his inspection blow over, far away as I melt against Raj’s thumb running along my back, hidden from prying eyes.

  I notice the royal security in two SUVs latch onto our caravan. I figured they would have turned around, but I guess royalty needs security even in the desert. I lean over to Raj and cup my hand to keep my words isolated to him. “Is it safe out here for you?”

  He looks down at me, then back at the security we have gained. “It is just a precaution.”

  The caravan begins to slow as we approach a grand expanse of canyons. The closer we get, the more enormous the stature of the horseshoe-like shape it creates. Beneath the cove of ridges, multiple tents surround an open center, with a line of pillars adorning the passage into our camp. We are about a hundred feet or so from the entrance as we unload from the trucks.

  While the men unload our bags and the eight bodyguards begin transporting them to the camp, Raj explains, “This campsite is one of the few run completely by bedouin. The family is very close to my family’s hearts. Our family trips to Wadi Rum in the past have always been here and I wanted to make sure you received the same treatment as my own family. The entire camp is ours tonight and tomorrow. The staff will get you situated in your own private tents and we will meet for dinner after you have settled.”

  Raj is gleaming as he welcomes us to our very own bedouin camp experience.

  “He reserved the entire camp for us?” Ana questions me under her breath.

  I watch Raj graciously reciprocate the thanks he is receiving from some of the volunteers. “Yeah, he did.”

  Ana moves on after the other volunteers as I hang back, waiting to have my own moment to thank him. Suddenly, he stares off in the distance, his brow furrowed. I follow the line his eyes have taken. Another black SUV is approaching quickly, the red glow of the sunset behind it.

  It slows to a stop, feet away from the trucks and bedouin men that brought us here. The rear door to the SUV opens and Zaid steps out onto the sand, wearing khaki linen pants along with a linen long-sleeve shirt rolled at up to his elbows. He g
reets the men casually, going to them first, embracing and exchanging words and laughter as Raj and I look on.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” Raj says under his breath roughly.

  “You weren’t expecting him, I take it?” I ask hesitantly.

  “No.”

  Tom walks past Raj and me to meet Zaid. “Prince Zaid. I didn’t know you were meeting us here! What a surprise!”

  He pulls Tom in for a hug, one he wasn’t expecting as he awkwardly hugs him back. Zaid pulls back from him. “I didn’t know you were coming out here until this morning.”

  I notice him staring at Raj now. “It seems my brother forgot to tell me. I had to hear the news from the Queen.”

  He makes sure to exchange a glance with me before saying to Tom, “The point is, I have been looking for a chance to get away and visit more with the volunteers. Get to know them. This is going to be a great evening to do it, under the moon and stars of the Wadi Rum!”

  I observe Raj; his expression is hardened and stoic, not the man I am accustomed to. “Ella, I will see you at the camp. I need to speak to my brother.”

  As Raj starts toward Zaid and Tom, I slowly move on toward the entrance of the camp.

  As I walk toward my brother, Tom already heading up to the camp site behind Ella, I notice Zaid watching her. I have never needed to be a jealous man. Never cared enough for a woman to be jealous or territorial, but the way he is looking at her, like she is prey, I want to rip his fucking eyes out with my bare hands.

  I block the scope he has on her as I stand in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

  Zaid pulls back from me. “What kind of greeting is that?”

  Roughly he pulls me into a manly hug, slapping me on the back. “There! That is a brotherly greeting!”

  The smell of alcohol on his breath, on his clothes … he likely spilled it on himself as he drank on his way out here. Knowing he won’t release me until I hug him back, I slap his back and speak into his ear, “You have been drinking.”

  He laughs loosely as he pulls away. “Just a little. Remember how we used to sit by the fire and drink out here?”

  “Yes, I do.” While those were fond memories in the past, I try to hide my frustration with his presence here now. “After what happened, you should not be drinking.” I start toward the entrance and Zaid comes to my side. The staff is already leading the guests to their tents. I notice Tom and Ella speaking with the staff, Ella looking back at me, worry in her eyes.

  “I have to say, she is a beautiful woman. Natural beauty.”

  His words burn me up as he talks about her.

  “I see she isn’t wearing her veil.”

  “None of them are, Zaid,” I comment, put out by his attempt to attack her.

  “Yes, I know, but none of them are as compelling as she.”

  Fucking asshole. “That’s enough.”

  “The way her body sways when she walks. I can see what compels you.”

  I whip around and close in on him, toe to toe. “I said enough. Don’t fucking talk about her, look at her, or speak to her, Zaid, or so help me.”

  My flesh feels like it’s on fire, ready to explode as I glare into my brother’s blackened eyes. He stumbles back and looks me up and down. “You need help, Rajaa. So violent all of a sudden. Does she make you act this way? All crazy and shit?”

  He laughs, snorting once, and speaks under his breath, “Fucking women.” He breathes in deeply all of sudden, closes his eyes, and stretches his arms up to the sky, releasing a cleansing sigh. “Ahhhhhhh, I have missed Wadi Rum.”

  He sways from side to side, the high from the alcohol a contributor. I look at the two guards who brought him here. They turn away, sensing the disgust I have for my brother and how quickly he has returned to old ways. I glare at him. “Look at you, fucking drunk!”

  As he blinks his eyes open, they quickly turn narrow, darker, more evil as his voice rumbles, “No, I’m not fucking drunk!”

  Abruptly his maniacal expression shifts instantly to a beaming smile as he casually and peacefully responds, “Just a few drinks on the ride here. Nothing more.”

  The quick shift in his polarity is too familiar and I can’t help wondering, if one addiction has returned, how close behind are the others? I shake my head, thinking of when and how they will return. “What is next, Zaid?”

  He settles his smile into a sinister grin. “Next? We feast!” Him compressing my concerns into what’s next in the events here at the camp is expected as he cackles and walks around me toward the entrance.

  Standing at the entrance of the camp, I look back at Raj and Zaid down by the trucks that brought us here. They’re arguing and I’m sure it’s about him showing up. Tom is shaking hands with the bedouin staff. “Ella, come here.”

  I move closer to the staff and bow my head out of respect. One of the men takes my bag from me.

  “Shukran.”

  The man smiles and bows his head, then starts walking away with my bag, beckoning me to follow. One of the other staff and a few bodyguards take Tom and a few of the volunteers down an opposite walkway toward another set of white tents, I assume our accommodations for the night. I see Ana ahead with a few of the volunteers who are sleeping on the same side of camp as me.

  The canvas path we walk along is lined on either side with candlelit vases every few steps. There is a large tent to my left¸ under the widest part of the mountainous horseshoe. Another large tent mirrors it on the right. The tarp has been rolled up on one side as we pass, revealing seating all along the back side adorned with deep burgundy and navy cushions for comfort. A large rug covers the sand floor and at the center, a tall elegant hookah surrounded by short metal tables and pillows for sitting. In the center of the camp, four palm trees rise high above, swinging and shifting in the desert air. Below them is a small fire pit, being kindled by a few of the bedouin men who drove us here. Farther into the belly of the camp are large circular sitting areas, large pillows being laid by the staff as my guide leads me to our overnight tents.

  The few volunteers on our side of the camp have found their tents for the night, their tarp entrances tied back. Ana collapses on her bed just as I pass hers.

  My attendant stops at a tent and pulls back the tarp for me to pass. As soon as I enter, I no longer feel like I am in camp, but a luxurious hotel room. The tent’s walls are lined with shades of red and gold sheer cloth. Kerosene lamps embellish the four corners of the chamber, setting a mystical and romantic feel in the space. The bed is in the center of the room, white linens accented with bright red and gold pillows in the center. A set of towels twisted into the shape of a heart sits on the bed, while billowing sheer netting is at the peak of the tent’s roof, to be released over my bed when I sleep tonight. My server has set my bag on the armchair across from my bed, next to a small metal table, much like the ones at the hookah tent. He is rolling back the tarp entrance of my tent, just as Ana peaks her head in. “Wow! Um, your tent seems giant compared to mine.”

  The attendant bows and smiles and I do the same before he exits the tent. “I don’t think it’s any bigger than the others.”

  She looks around then sits on my bed. “Yeah, maybe just different colors or something. Hey did you see the hookah tent?” Her eyebrows dance as she cunningly smiles.

  I shake my head and laugh at her under my breath. “Yeah, I saw it.”

  “I saw the prince’s brother came.” She is leaning back on her elbows as she comments.

  My mind already busy about his showing up and Raj’s reaction to it, I get up and begin laying my things out on the bed. “Yeah.”

  I don’t offer anything else, even though I know she is searching for information.

  “Well, I’m going to find the ladies room and unpack. I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.”

  After she’s left, I place my clothes in the set of drawers next to the bed and sit on the bed. I’m about to lay back just for a moment when Raj’s voice interrupts me.
“So, is everything to your satisfaction?”

  His presence at my tent entrance seems to relieve the tension of his absence with Zaid. I raise my brows at his insane question of how this tent could possibly be unsatisfying. “Uh, yeah. This room is bad ass!”

  He appears disappointed by my word choice so I quickly change it. “I mean, it’s amazing. Completely satisfying and breath-taking. I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

  Again, I take in the ornamentation, the lavish, bold-colored sheers lining the tent. “It’s hard to believe we are in the middle of the desert. I feel like I am at a five-star hotel.”

  He smiles. “May I enter?”

  I grin at his politeness. “You may, Your Highness.”

  He smiles at my use of his title. “Ha, ha.”

  He looks around at the room, like he is examining for anything out of place. “Are you sure you like it? I asked the owner to choose the most ornate one for you.”

  I can’t speak for moment as he continues around the room, inspecting, touching, then glancing back at me with a grin I swear will set my panties ablaze any second. “You what?”

  He continues around the room, coming to stand in front of me. “I wanted you to have the most lavish tent on the site.”

  So that’s why Ana thought her tent looked different.

  He leans toward me, feeling my attention is lost to him. “Ella, do you like it?”