by Jane Porter
How could she adore her son but then walk away from him?
“Do you look like your father?” she asked Mikael as they finished their meal.
Mikael ran his hand through his short black hair. “I wish I hadn’t told you about the divorce.”
“Why?”
“I’m not comfortable with it. Or proud of my father. Or myself. Or of any of the decisions made.”
Jemma understood, more than he knew. She’d wanted to go live with her mother when her parents divorced, but she hadn’t wanted to lose her father. And for years after the divorce, she’d still looked forward to seeing him, and she’d cherished the gifts he’d sent in the early years after the divorce—the dolls, the pretty clothes, the hot pink bike for her twelfth birthday—but then her parents quarreled again when she was thirteen, and all contact stopped. Her father disappeared from her life completely.
She hated him, and yet she loved him. She missed him and needed him. She went to London to start over, to get away from her past and herself, and she thought she had. Until the news broke that he’d stolen hundreds of millions of dollars of his clients’ money.
Jemma looked at Mikael. “I sometimes think that if my parents hadn’t divorced, and my father had been more involved in our lives, he would have made different choices. I think that if maybe we’d stayed close, he would have realized how much we loved him and needed him.”
Mikael’s expression was incredulous. “You blame yourself?”
“I try to understand what happened.”
“He was selfish.”
She flinched. “You’re right.”
“He was the worst sort of man because he pretended to care, pretended to understand what vulnerable people needed, and then he destroyed them.”
Jemma closed her eyes.
“Who befriends older women and then robs them?” he demanded.
Eyes closed, she shook her head.
“Your father told my mother to refinance her house and give him the money to invest, promising her amazing returns, but didn’t invest any of it. He just put it into his own account. He drained her account for himself.” Mikael’s voice vibrated with contempt and fury. “It disgusts me.” He drew a rough breath. “We should not talk about this.”
She nodded, sick, flattened.
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Mikael left his chair and paced the length of the pool. Jemma’s eyes burned and she had to work very hard not to cry.
She was so ashamed. She felt raw and exposed. In the Arab world, she represented her family. She was an extension of her family, an extension of her father. Here in Saidia his shame attached to her. His shame would always taint her.
Silently Jemma left the pool, returning to the Chamber of Innocence to shower in the white marble bath, and shampoo her hair to wash the chlorine out. As she worked the suds in, she gritted her teeth, holding all the emotion in.
She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t lonely. She wasn’t miserable in any way.
No, miserable would be living in Connecticut, trying to find a place to stay, wondering who might take her in, if maybe one of her mother’s few remaining friends might allow her to crash on a couch or in a guest bedroom.
Rinsing her hair, she lifted her face to the spray. It was so hard to believe that her family had once had everything. Hard to believe they’d been placed on a pedestal. Their beautiful, lavish lifestyle had been envied and much discussed. Magazines featured their Caribbean home, their sprawling shingle house in Connecticut, the log cabin in Sun Valley. They had money for trips, money for clothes, money for dinners out.
Jemma turned the shower off, wrung the excess water from her hair wondering if any of it had been real.
Had any of it been their money to spend?
How long had her father taken advantage of his clients?
Bundled in a towel, she left the bathroom, crawled into the white and silver bed and pulled the soft Egyptian sheet all the way over her, to the top of her head.
It was hard being a Copeland. Hard living with so much shame. Work had been the only thing that kept her going, especially after Damien walked away from her. Work gave her something to do, something to think about. Working allowed her—even if briefly—to be someone else.
Now she just needed to get home and back to work. Work was still the answer. She simply had to get through these next seven days. And seven nights.
Jemma drew a big breath for courage, aware that the night would soon be here.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE WAS TO dress for dinner.
That’s what the card attached to the garment bag instructed: Dress for dinner. I will collect you at nine.
Jemma unzipped the bag, and pushed away tissue to discover a sumptuous silk gown the color of ripe peaches. Ornate gold beading wrapped the hem and the long sleeve of the asymmetrical gown. The gown gathered over one shoulder creating a full flowing sleeve, while leaving the other shoulder and arm bare.
It was beautiful. Exotic. A dress for a desert princess.
There was a jewelry box in the bottom of the garment bag containing gold chandelier earrings studded with diamonds and pearls. They looked old, and very valuable.
She lifted an earring, holding it to her ear and looked in the mirror. The delicate gold and diamond earring was stunning against her dark loose hair. She’d wear her hair down tonight, dress like a desert princess. She hoped Mikael would not be angry this evening. The morning had been fun. He’d been a great companion. For a couple hours she’d forgotten why she was here.
He arrived at her door promptly at nine. Jemma had been ready for almost an hour. Opening the door she discovered he was dressed in his traditional robe again and she felt a stab of disappointment, preferring him in Western clothes. She felt more comfortable when he looked familiar, and not like the foreign sheikh he was.
“You look stunning,” he said.
She smiled, hiding her nervousness. “Thank you.”
“Do you know what we are doing for dinner?” he asked, leading her from the room, and down the outer corridor.
“No.”
He smiled down at her. “Good.”
He escorted her all the way to the front of the Kasbah, and out through the grand wooden doors. A car and driver waited for them.
The driver opened the back door of the black sedan. Jemma glanced at Mikael before climbing in. But he said nothing and his expression gave nothing away.
With Mikael seated next to her, the driver left the walled Kasbah. Soon they were driving through the desert, the car flying down the ribbon of asphalt. Moonlight bathed the miles of undulating sand.
Mikael pointed to the landscape beyond the tinted window. “This, my queen, is all yours.”
She looked out the window, at the vast desert, and then back at Mikael, struggling to keep a straight face. “It is truly lovely sand.”
“Are you making fun of my desert?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.” His eyes gleamed. “Because I value every single grain in this desert.”
She smiled, and he smiled back and then his smile faded. He reached out and lightly touched the ornate gold chandelier dangling from her lobe. “These look beautiful on you.”
“They are exquisite,” she agreed.
“But you said you do not value jewels.”
She looked at him warily. “Not as much as some women, no.”
“But you value...talking.”
He sounded so pained that her lips curved and her heart turned over. “Sharing,” she explained.
“How do you feel about apologies?”
She lifted her brows. “In my experience, women love them. Men tend to hate them.”
He smiled faintly. “That se
ems true in my experience as well.” He hesitated. “And as difficult as it is for me to say I’m sorry, I owe you an apology. I was curt with you earlier, at the pool, and I focused my anger on you, when it’s your father I am angry with.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t have to apologize. Every word you said was true. Your mother was treated terribly—”
“Yes,” he interrupted quietly. “But that doesn’t excuse how I spoke to you. And it doesn’t make my behavior acceptable. You were reaching out to me, and sharing your experiences, and your feelings, and I lashed out, hurtfully. I am sorry for that. I take no pride in my faults, and as you have seen, I’ve many.”
For a long moment Jemma could think of nothing to say. It was hard to speak when her eyes burned and her throat ached. She was surprised, and touched, by his honesty, never mind the humility. “Of course I forgive you. We all have things that hurt us.”
His dark head inclined. “I am sensitive with regards to my mother, because my father mistreated her, and then I mistreated her, too.”
“You were just a boy at the time of their divorce.”
His features tightened. “I hated her for getting the divorce.” The words were said bluntly, sharply. “Was her pride so important? Was her pride more important than me? She knew when the divorce was finalized, she’d leave the country, without me.” He extended his legs as much as he could. “I’d be lying if I said that I understand now. Because I don’t. Maybe I won’t ever. But it was terrible then, being eleven, and knowing my mother chose to leave me.”
Jemma reached to him, put her hand on his arm. “Perhaps she didn’t think she’d really lose you. Maybe she thought things would turn out differently.”
“How?”
“Maybe she thought your father would back down, change his mind, not move forward and marry a second wife. Or maybe she had worked out some sort of alternative custody arrangement. Maybe your father had agreed to share you...or even grant her custody while you were a child.” Jemma leaned toward him, the delicate gold and diamond earring tinkling. “If your father had deceived her about the marriage contract, who knows what he might have said to her? Or promised her?”
He glanced at her. “But I didn’t know that as a boy. I didn’t know he was to blame. That he was the one who’d lied. So I blamed her.”
“You were angry with her.”
“I hated her.”
“And then as an adult you learned the truth.”
“Yes.” His lips curved but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And I hated him.”
“You told him that?”
“No, not then.”
“But you did go to your mother? You tried to make amends?”
He sat still, expression blank. “I waited a long time. I waited too long. If I’d gone to her earlier, and tried to help her earlier, she might not have relied so much on others. On outsiders.”
“Like my father.”
He nodded. “I should have been there for her sooner.” His expression turned mocking. “You can see why I don’t like talking about the past. I was not a good person. I was a very destructive person, and that is why I’m so driven to redeem the Karims and restore honor to our family and Saidia. I cannot let my mother’s death be in vain.”
“I think you judge yourself too harshly,” she said gently.
“Power is never to be abused.”
“I have yet to see you abuse your power. If anything, you appear determined to be fair, even if your idea of justice is very different from how we, in the West, would view it.”
“Then perhaps I have begun to make amends.” He smiled at her, but his smile failed to light his dark eyes, then he glanced out the window, and nodded. “See those lights in the distance? That’s where we are having dinner tonight, my queen.”
Jemma gazed out at the swathe of darkness with the pinpricks of light. “Is that a restaurant?”
“No.” Amusement warmed his voice. “Not a restaurant. At least not the way you’d think of it. But it is where we’re eating.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEMMA WAS SPEECHLESS as Mikael escorted her into the tent. Plush crimson carpets covered the sand. Rustic copper lanterns hung from the tent’s wooden poles. More lanterns and candles glowed on low tables. From the fire pit outside the tent she caught a whiff of roasted lamb. As if on cue, her stomach growled.
Mikael looked at her. “Ready to eat?”
“Starving,” she admitted.
“You’re in luck. Our first course is ready.”
The grilled vegetables and meat were served with a couscous flavored with slivered almonds and currants. They scooped up the couscous and meat with chunks of warm sesame bread and Mikael was fascinating company, as always.
Jemma welcomed his stories about Saidia’s history and tribal lore, understanding now why he’d worn his robes tonight. This was his desert. His world.
Just then the evening breeze played with the sheer silk panels lining the tent, parting the material, giving her a glimpse of the white moon and the deep purple black sky.
The night sky was so bright and the stars dazzled. The sky never looked like this in London or New York. But in the vastness of the desert, with darkness stretching in every direction, the sky literally glowed with light.
“Beautiful night,” Mikael said, following her gaze.
She nodded. “Amazing. I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”
He hesitated a moment. “I think after the honeymoon, we should go visit your mother. I don’t want her to worry about you. She has enough worries already.”
“You’d let me travel with you?”
“With me, and without me. Marriage isn’t a prison, and I’d never keep you from your family, or opportunities, provided you were able to fulfill your duties as my wife and queen.” He paused, studying her. “I have a house in London. It’s large, and comfortable. Well located. It needs you. Someone to fill it with people and parties.”
Jemma looked away, emotion making her chest ache. “Now you’re just teasing me. Tempting me with possibilities that are...impossible.”
“How so?”
“You shouldn’t dangle things before me. Or opportunities. I’m strong, but not that strong. If I stayed here, it shouldn’t be for things.” She turned to look at him again, her gaze locking with his. “It should be for the right reasons. It should be for you.”
For a moment there was just silence. And then Mikael leaned forward, captured her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips before releasing her.
Jemma’s heart turned over. Her lips tingled. She nearly pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop the throbbing.
“Next time I see Sheikh Azizzi I must thank him,” Mikael said, his deep voice pitched even lower. “I was angry with him in Haslam. I was angry that he’d try to saddle me with you, but obviously he knew something I didn’t.”
“Saddle doesn’t sound very complimentary.”
“You weren’t happy about it, either.”
No, that was true. She was shocked, angry, desperate. But happy? No.
But she almost felt happy right now. For the first time in months and months she felt calm. She felt content. She felt as if she could breathe.
Which is why she had to be careful. She needed to keep her guard up. It was vital she not let Mikael get too much closer.
While they’d talked a servant had removed the dishes, replacing the platters and bowls with trays of delicate biscuits and dried fruits.
“You really like London?” Mikael asked her, taking one of the dates stuffed with cheese and rolling it between his fingers. “It was never a culture shock?”
“I liked it from the start. No one paid me any attention. I felt free there.” She selected one of the flaky almond cookies and broke it in half. �
��It’s different now. I’m known, and more alone than ever.”
“You’re lonely?”
She nodded. “Yes. I miss what I had. Not the things, but the friends, the activities, the energy. I used to wake up every day, excited to see what the day would bring. Now I just get by. Push through.”
“Once we return to Ketama, once everyone knows of our marriage, you will discover that doors presently closed to you, will open. As my wife, you will be welcome everywhere. As my wife, no one would dare to shame you, or exclude you.”
Jemma popped half the cookie in her mouth and chewed, but her mouth had gone dry, and the cookie tasted like sawdust. “I don’t want to be accepted because people are afraid of alienating you. I want to be accepted because people like me.” Her eyes suddenly burned and she took a sip from her golden goblet. “It hurts to be scorned.”
“Which is why you need my protection. I do not want you to suffer more than you have.”
His gaze met hers and held. His dark eyes burned into her. She felt her pulse quicken, and butterflies flit wildly in her middle, her body humming with awareness.
Mikael would be a protective husband. He would probably be generous to a fault. He’d already showered her with gifts and trinkets, and was good at paying her compliments.
She wondered what marriage to him would be like. Not the honeymoon part, but the ever after part.
What kind of husband would he be?
Would he have expectations for his wife’s behavior? Rules for the relationship? What would he not permit, or tolerate?
Mikael’s eyes met hers, and held. “You have something on your mind.”
“You can read me too easily. Have you always been so attentive to women?”
“No. Never.” He leaned over and refilled her goblet. “I’m usually accused of being insensitive and self-absorbed.”
“Are you different with me?”
“It would seem so.”
“Because I am your wife?”
“Because I can’t help but pay you attention. You command it.”
