Cross the Stars (Crossing Stars #1)

by Venessa Kimball

  I’m still stuck on him wanting me to stay in the most lavish tent on site. “Yes, I love it,” I say, smiling widely.

  He seems to relax with my answer. “Good. Well, I will let you settle. Dinner will be served shortly and the music and dance will follow.”

  He starts to walk away, but I stop him. “Wait, why is Zaid here?”

  My question quickly spoils his smile as he faces me, occupied with what he is going to tell me. “He says he has come to visit with the volunteers. Get to know them.”

  “He hasn’t spent much time at the center. Maybe it’s true.” I try to be optimistic about Zaid’s intent, even though the expression he gave me earlier doesn’t feel like the type used to welcome guests

  Raj tucks his hands in his jeans and shakes his head, avoiding my eyes as he stares into the light of the kerosene lamp next to my bed. “When I met him at the trucks, he reeked of alcohol. He shouldn’t be here.” He breaks his meditative stare into the lamp’s flame, then looks at me urgently. “If he speaks to you, come and find me.”

  His explicit response worries me. “Why? Because of what he said to me the other day at the center? Raj, he doesn’t bother me. I can handle myself.”

  He doesn’t smile, doesn’t look away, doesn’t negotiate as his golden eyes command of me. “Just do as I say.”

  Staring at him, I try to get beyond the hard surface he has shown me, but what is between him and his brother is too deep to break through.

  “Ella.”

  His saying my name is a warning for me to heed his instruction and while it seems a little much for me to be fearful enough of Zaid to come running to Raj, I’m willing to agree to it if it gets him to stop worrying. “Okay, I will.”

  The only signal my answer has been received is a firm nod before he leaves the tent he handpicked for me.

  The restrooms and showers are behind the tents, and after I have washed and dressed in a clean sweater and jeans, I head back to my tent. The sun has fallen behind the ridge line cradling us and the stars and moon have found their place in the sky for the night even with the sun still waning. The desert chill I was told about is real, as I feel it seep through my sleeves, sending the smallest shiver up my arms. I walk through the maze of tents toward the sound of woodwind instruments, drums, and the crooning voices of the bedouin singers.

  The fire in both the large sitting area and the smaller one near the entrance are ablaze, seeming to dance with the strum and drumbeat of the music. A few of the staff are fluffing pillows and rise to smile when I walk by. I return their smiles and continue down the incandescent lit path toward the large tent on the opposite side of the camp.

  I enter the tarp where it has been tied back, instantly feeling the warmth of the space after entering. Like my tent and the hookah tent across the way, the sand floor is covered with a similarly bold-colored rug with pillows lining the walls of the tent.

  The musicians are playing at the far end of the tent and Zaid is camped out in the middle of a group of volunteers, chatting and laughing as he speaks to them. They all laugh loudly as I watch him. “I tell you, the size of the lizard was four feet long!”

  With his hands stretched out long ways, the volunteers continue to laugh. “My brother and I ran out of that cave as fast as we could, yelling for our father. Pleading with him to not leave us!” Zaid is laughing just as hard as he explains his and Raj’s apparent escape from a giant lizard as kids. I smile from the contagion of watching them all laugh, just as Zaid looks over in my direction. He nods and waves at me before returning to his talks with the volunteers. I remember Raj’s warning and think it crazy as I watch Zaid interact with our group. He seems like he is having a good time telling old camp stories.

  Ana is occupied on the other side of the tent talking with Tom when I catch her eye and head over to them. “Isn’t this music amazing!” Ana says, leaning over to me.

  “Wait until dinner is over, they really get going!” Raj says as he comes up behind me.

  His hair is still damp from having just showered and I find myself staring at him, imagining the act of him bathing, when I bring my focus to the line of servers delivering the many dishes of food.

  “You missed the best part, Ella. The earth oven!” Ana smiles excitedly as she moves to sit down, pulling me with her. “They buried the lamb into this oven below ground then cover it to cook for two hours!”

  A few of the other staff begin moving about us as we all settle on both sides of the line of food placed in the middle: ribs of lamb, homemade kebabs, and the infamous lamb’s meat Ana described buried in the oven below ground. Skewered chicken finishes out the line of meat as the small metal tables I saw earlier are put to use. Attendants deliver portions of bedouin rice, corn, and Fatir, the bedouin bread. As if that isn’t enough, the first round of servers return with small bowls filled with pickles, fried eggplant with cabbage, and a side of thick tahini.

  Raj sits across from me and started listing off all of the food, explaining what they are made of and how spicy they are. “The matbucha is spicy, that is the way it is meant to be so be careful.” His smile settles on me when he is done presenting the menu. “Please, eat.”

  Zaid calls from the other end of the invisible table, “Yes, falinakul!” He holds up a glass occupied by a milky content, celebrating the start of the meal. I notice Raj glance over at him, then visibly breathe in deep, agitated by Zaid’s obnoxious yell. The volunteers around him seem to like it, but I can see it is upsetting to Raj. As everyone starts chatting and reaching for food, I lean forward, catching Raj’s eyes. I pretend like I am searching for the perfect piece of skewered chicken, but my intent is to draw him away from the anger he seems to have where his brother is involved.

  Once I have caught his eye, the grin that melts me returns. “What is this again?” I ask as I point to the red tomatoey sauce in one of the small bowls.

  “Matbucha.” His accent sounds thicker all of a sudden, sending my senses soaring as I listen intently to him intermingle English. “It is a sauce for dipping and also for the meat. I prefer it with the meat. It is very hot.” The way he curls his accent around certain words, “dipping” and “hot,” I can’t help but lean closer as I take a spoonful to add to my plate.

  “Be careful, I’m not kidding when I say it’s hot,” he laughs, surprised at the portion I have taken.

  I tilt my head and peer up at him as I sit back. “I like it hot.”

  His smile suddenly loses its humor, becoming a seductive smirk. “I do too.”

  The rest of the dinner, I hold his attention, exchanging glances as we eat and pretend to listen to the conversations around us. We look away at different times throughout the dinner, but always, one of us is watching the other when we return to each other.

  I sweep the last dollop of Matbucha with my bedouin bread, Raj carefully watching me place it in my mouth. He leans toward me and takes one more piece of lamb. My eyes only on him, he says to me, “You surprise me. Most can’t stand the heat.” His eyes glance up at me through his dark heavy lashes. “I’m sure you are full of surprises.”

  My chest rises and falls with the quickening beat of my heart, our conversation taking on a seduction hidden from everyone around us. “Yes, I am.”

  Suddenly Ana leans over, nudging me. “You are what?” She places another small piece of chicken in her mouth as she looks between Raj and me.

  “She was just telling me she is enjoying her time here at the camp. She finds it captivating. Isn’t that what you said, Ella?” Raj’s ability to pick up quickly on Ana’s question and even quicker ability to pose a question to further intoxicate me, has my mind whirling.

  I glance at Ana. “Yes, I did.”

  The three glasses of mint lemonade sends me to the ladies room just as the Turkish coffee and Baklava are delivered. Raj watches me leave the tent, not letting me escape his heated amber eyes. On my way back, I notice Zaid standing on the path looking up at the stars, an empty glass in his hands.

&nb
sp; As I approach him, I tell myself to keep it simple, avoid him, remembering what Raj had said. “Hello.”

  As I move passed him, he catches me off guard with a question. “What do you think you are doing, Ella?”

  I stop and turn back to him, somewhat confused by his question. Did he mean in the literal sense? “Using the restroom.”

  His chuckle is low as he shakes his finger and me, angling his dark eyes to reflect the grand, kindling bonfire in the center of the camp. “Ahhh, I think you know I mean my brother and you.”

  “Excuse me?” My throat tightens considering what he might think is going on between us.

  He flails his free hand at me menacingly. “You and my brother. Tell me, has he fucked you yet?”

  I can’t breathe all of a sudden as his words batter me with his biting notion.

  I find my voice somehow. “I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about.”

  “No? Oh, well then let me explain it to the naive American girl. My brother is a prince, intended for a princess. A clean Muslim princess, not a foreign whore that has slept her way through college.”

  Motherfucker! “You don’t know shit about me.”

  He slinks toward me, lowering himself to meet my height. His presence is as overwhelming at the smell of heavy liquor on his breath. The way he looks down at my body turns my stomach. “I admit, you are beautiful, but you are used, a piece of ass he will fuck, then leave. He has done it before, many times.”

  He has done it before?

  His cunning words work into my mind, making sense when I should be denying them because he is fucking drunk. “Before he leaves this summer, he will propose, and anything he does with you will just be a fling. A seductive game.”

  A fucking princess? A proposal? Why did he lead me on?

  I dig my fingernails into my palms as Zaid backs away. He studies me curiously all of a sudden, licking his lips and turning my stomach. “He is good at it, yes? The way he speaks to you, the trip here to the desert, the getaway. Making you think you are the only one. It is all part of the seduction. The one you have fallen so easily for. The one that will end the moment he proposes to Princess Daya.”

  “It’s you, Ella. ‘Eh enta.”

  Fucking “it’s you,” bullshit!

  Zaid’s sinister smile rises wider. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Ms. Wallace.”

  As I watch Zaid walk back to the tent, sauntering drunkenly, I stand there questioning everything that has happened between Raj and me: the night at the loft, the elevator, the day he saved me, the apparent fate of it all, his interest in me, saying I have possessed him. How can it all be a game? Can they all be lies, the universe and fucking fate revoking the pact I made up in my head?

  “Fucking asshole!”

  The words roll from my mouth just as I see some of the volunteers spilling from the tent. Holding my breath and tears at bay, I turn around and walk toward the cluster of tents housing us tonight. I can’t see him, can’t look at him. If I do, I might deck him.

  As I stalk back, the bedouin musicians have started to play at the large arena circling the bonfire, strumming and thumping their instruments to inspire a crowd. I keep my head down, breathing erratically and fighting back the tears I refuse to shed. The candlelit path blurs as I remember my place: a stupid American girl who fell for a game-playing prince.

  Some of the volunteers are taking their baklava and Turkish coffee out by the bonfire. The musicians have already started singing and playing, but Ella still hasn’t returned.

  “Rajaa, are you coming?” Tom asks as he rises from his cushioned seat.

  I hesitate, looking to the entrance of the tent, Ana disappearing beyond it. Maybe she is out there waiting. “Yes.” I take a baklava with me as I rise. As soon as I pass through the tarp, I search for her, scanning the open circle of the camp, the lit paths and bonfires giving me sight. Zaid is stumbling toward us, his empty glass tipped to the ground. Backtracking from where he came, I see Ella rushing away, back toward the tents. He has said something to her, something that would send her back to the tents without coming back to tell me.

  I stride toward him down the candlelit path, not stopping until I am nose to nose with him. “What did you say to her?”

  He stumbles back from me, feeling both the punch of my words and presence. He scoffs and stares back at me with his jet-black eyes. “I told her what you didn’t, I assume. That you are intended, promised to another.”

  I look around us, noticing all of the volunteers gathering at the bonfire, near the music. If we weren’t in their sight, I would fucking pin him to the ground.

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “You better watch yourself, brother. You have a princess back home waiting for you to propose.”

  Princess? “What the fuck are you talking about? That is over, not going to happen now that you have destroyed the Amir’s trust in our family. Do I even need to remind you of the mess you created?” I hiss as I lean into him, concealing my words from anyone in earshot.

  Zaid rolls his eyes and nudges me off of him. “Ah, that is right. You don’t know about Father’s and my meeting with the Amir this morning. My plea, my confession, and my path to redemption. God bless Allah.” He puts his hand on his forehead, exaggerating his non-existent forgetfulness. “That’s right, you were visiting the sites with your fucking American entourage!”

  I move toward him, his voice getting too loud. “Lower your voice, Zaid.”

  He ignores my request. “Seems the Amir is considering your and Daya’s union again after our talks. Duty is greater than love in these arrangements. Isn’t that wonderful news?”

  Zaid’s smile is maniacal, plagued with drunken insanity, and has now fed Ella lies. “You are delusional. Daya and I will never marry, even if there is the smallest truth of what you are saying. You will be king, why don’t you fucking marry her!”

  He laughs, “Daya marry me? No, you and her were meant to be! The Amir will only have you for his princess. Plus, I can’t fuck one woman forever.” He studies me deeply, looking into my eyes. “What? You think you will marry her?” He points back toward the tents. “This American outsider, min barra, you don’t know her, who she is, who her family is. You would be disgracing your family by pursuing her. You and her can never be and I have made her completely aware of that.”

  Needing to put distance between my brother and me before I take him down, I place my palm on his chest and lean close to him, a mere breath separating us. “You should leave. Now.”

  Zaid grins and glances at the volunteers settling in around the musicians, the drum beat of the tarbuka driving the dancers, shadows against the bonfire. The glow of the fire casts swirling dark shadows over Zaid’s sinister face. As he backs away he narrows his eyes on me. “I am already gone.” He tosses his glass onto the sand as he stalks toward the entrance of the camp, the two guards who brought him following behind him. I make each stride count as I take the path to find Ella.

  The son of a bitch is lying. It can’t be true. I know he has told her lies, made her feel like she is nothing, just like he has done with any woman he has come in contact with. Any human he comes in contact with! How could I have missed him leaving the tent? He must have walked out while I was talking with Tom, waiting for Ella to return from the restroom. While I was waiting for her to return, he was fucking persecuting her! Feeding her lies about me, about her, about an us that can’t be.

  I can’t get to her tent fast enough as I march to the rousing drumbeat.

  “Son of a bitch,” I mumble under my breath as I pace the floor of the confined space of the tent. I replay Zaid words in my head and damn myself for falling too easily. How could I have been so fucking naive. “A fucking princess, marriage.” I breathe out a whimper with the words, feeling the tears and emotions come over me again. I fucking hate myself right now and all I can do is cry here in this tent, the one this piece-of-shit liar wanted specifically for me!

  I shake my head, hearing Zaid’s words
repeat again and again. A proposal this summer to a pure Muslim woman. Not a cheap, used piece of ass. While Zaid’s words were saturated in drunkenness, he had sobered me, reminding me of what is logical, what is true: he is royalty and I am insignificant.

  I grab a pillow that has fallen from the bed and toss it against one of the walls of the tent. I am smarter than this, damn it! I had told myself that very thing when he came to my classroom at the center! I step out of my jeans, kicking them into the corner. The way he spoke to me, looked at me, captured me in his eyes again. All while he was fucking promised to a princess! “Motherfucker!”

  I stalk over to my bag on the side chair and rummage for my night clothes, when his deep, urgent voice breaks the rhythmic drumming and crooning of the men singing in the distance. “Ella.”

  I turn to the enclosure his voice is coming from. “Get the fuck away, Raj!”

  I move to the bed and grab another pillow, throwing it in the direction of his voice, barely brushing the tarp out of place.

  He growls through the closed tarp, “You need to keep your voice down!”

  I march toward the tarp, directly in front of where he stands. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do! I’m not a Muslim princess you can boss around. I’m a cheap, used piece of ass you were fucking playing with! It was all a game for you, just to fuck me, right?”

  All of a sudden the tarp whips open as Raj stalks straight toward me, his eyes narrowed on me. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  His towering presence, his menacing anger-filled eyes, are overwhelming as all hell, until he scans me, noticing I am only in a sweater, my jeans tossed aside. Feeling vulnerable under his inspecting eyes, I remind myself he is the fucker at fault here as I fire back, “I said games, asshole! You wanted a fling before you proposed to your princess!”

  He raises his hands to his head as he turns away, breathing quicker as his anger rises. He comes toward me again and I back away, needing space from him. “Is that what my fucking brother told you? That I just wanted to fuck you and leave you? A fucking fling?”