‘You will let me hold him too?’ she asked, and Alex passed the white bundle to Samarah then knelt to put her arms around the children as well, so all three of the orphans were enclosed in the loving embrace of the two women.
The scene was burning into Azzam’s eyes, like a painting seen and never forgotten, when he realised Clarice was speaking to him—Clarice, who had never been far from his side since his return, objecting when he turned her away from his own quarters so he could wash and dress.
‘I have been thinking about Bahir,’ she was saying, and Azzam had just restrained himself from demanding to know what else she should be thinking about so soon after his death, when she continued.
‘And what he might wish for me.’
Ah, that was more like the Clarice he’d come to know. She was concerned about herself, not about her dead husband—concerned about her place in things now.
‘He would not wish for me to be sad and lonely,’ Clarice continued. ‘You, his brother, must know that’s true.’
Unfortunately, Azzam did. Bahir had been so besotted he’d have given Clarice the world, had it been at his disposal. He’d certainly lavished her with riches—palatial homes back in the U.S., which she visited regularly, a ski lodge in Switzerland, an apartment in London, not to mention jewellery worth more than the GDP of many small countries. She was hardly going to be cast out into the world as a poverty-stricken widow.
Yet she was after something more. He knew her well enough for that to be more than a suspicion.
‘Are you sad and lonely?’ he asked.
‘Of course I am,’ she snapped. ‘That’s why we’re talking. I think we should be married. It is within the bounds of propriety in your country for a man to marry his brother’s widow, I’ve read about it.’
A rage he’d never felt before rose up in Azzam.
‘How can you be thinking of marriage to another man when my brother has been dead little more than a week? How does your mind work that you are putting this pressure on me? Have you no feelings? No propriety? No sense of right or wrong?’
She turned to face him, the beautiful golden hair lit from behind by the sun so she seemed to gleam with light, her perfect features beautifully made up, her blue eyes shining at him. And as he watched she slid the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, wetting it so it, too, shone.
It was a gesture she’d used on him many years ago and now he wanted to turn away from her—to never see that face again.
‘You would have married me all those years ago had Bahir not come along,’ she reminded him, making him feel ashamed at the truth she spoke.
‘I cannot think of this now, let alone talk of it. It is beyond anything anyone could imagine, that you would talk of marriage now. Bahir is barely dead. At least respect the rules of mourning if you’re throwing rules at me.’
‘Three months and eleven days?’ She all but shrieked the words at him. ‘You expect me to be without a man for all that time?’
The crudity of it, on top of the lack of respect she was showing his brother, angered Azzam so much he had to turn away from her lest he say something he would later regret.
‘We will talk again,’ he managed to say, through teeth clenched tight to keep in words that would do more harm than good.
‘Soon!’ she retorted, and he heard a threat in the words.
He spun towards his own quarters, knowing she wouldn’t follow him there, then remembered he’d left Alex with his mother, and in a kind of limbo, for she’d be uncertain what her role was now, and would no doubt be thinking of returning to her home.
A stab of something he hoped was only regret slashed through him, but what would hold her here?
The children?
For a while—until they were settled in the palace. He thought he knew her well enough now to understand she wouldn’t just walk away because they had shelter, food and clothing. She was the adult they’d clung to after losing their mother—she would understand that.
He returned to the open part of the wide colonnade where it was the habit of the women to gather every afternoon. Alex was seated on carpets by his mother’s knee, the little boy this time on her lap, while the little girl, Tasnim, chatted to his mother, who still held the baby in her arms.
The thought of marrying Clarice had made him feel nauseous, while the sight of Alex by his mother’s knee had him feeling very different—and unlikely—things.
Bahir, I need you!
The inner cry went up, so heartfelt he could feel it rip right out of his chest, but Bahir was gone and he had to solve the riddles on his own. It was his job to make decisions, not only for the country but for this family…
Alex listened as Samarah and one of her aides, Afifa, translated snippets of Tasnim’s conversation. She felt strangely at ease—peaceful—here at Samarah’s knee, Zahid dozing on her lap, listening to the chatter of the women and the wondering questions of Tasnim.
It was nothing more than a reaction to the last few days, she understood that. The tension she’d kept hidden beneath the surface as she’d helped the earthquake survivors was now gone, and in its place not emptiness, just a feeling of contentment.
Which would, she knew as she watched Azzam return from his assignation with the beautiful Clarice in the garden, soon be over, for once the children were settled, she would return to Australia and this little interlude would be as much a fairy story as Aladdin and his magic lamp.
‘You will stay while they become used to life here?’
Alex smiled up at Samarah.
‘I was thinking that just now. I shouldn’t stay. There are reasons why I should return to work at home but, yes, I won’t leave the children until I know they feel comfortable in their new surroundings.’
Samarah reached out and Alex felt her light touch, like a blessing, on her head.
‘You work too hard. I knew that when I met you, though you always pretended it was nothing to be visiting me outside your working hours. You were too tired, too thin, too worn down by work. There is a reason?’
Alex looked at the woman she had grown to admire, and knew she couldn’t lie.
‘There was—is, in fact—a reason, but it’s personal, Samarah. Just something I must do.’
It sounded feeble so she added something she knew Samarah would understand.
‘A family thing.’
Samarah studied her for a moment then nodded, as if accepting that to question Alex further would be rude.
‘But while you are here,’ Samarah continued, ‘you must see more of my country than a few rooms in the palace and a destroyed village. A car shall pick you up in the morning. Take the older children with you, for they, too, will enjoy the sights. Hafa will accompany you, and Ghaada will mind the baby.’
‘It is I who should be showing you around.’
Alex looked up at the sound of Azzam’s voice, and realised that, as ever, he’d rejoined the group in that silent manner he had, so quietly she hadn’t heard him come.
‘Of course you can’t take time to do that.’ Clarice must have been right behind him, for the words, cold and dismissive, spun through the air. ‘You’ve already been neglecting your duties, Azzam. Some things can’t stop because Bahir is dead. Trade delegations, important politicians visiting from overseas, your own business people—your days will be too full to be taking children and their nanny on a guided tour.’
Alex looked from one to the other. Clarice was probably right, but from what she, Alex, knew of Azzam, he wasn’t a man to take orders from anyone.
She knew she’d guessed right when he came to sit beside her.
‘Their nanny, as you call her, is my wife,’ he said, the coldness in his voice cracking in the air like ice crystals. ‘And after what she has done for my country and my people—my people, Clarice—I should be spending my life trying to repay her.’
This was entirely too creepy to be true, Alex decided, processing the words but guessing they were being said for a reason beyond the charmin
g compliment embedded in them. The problem was that it was hard for her to work out what was going on when the bits of her that were touching Azzam, so close she couldn’t avoid contact, were feeling drawn towards him, as if wanting to cuddle into him, for heaven’s sake!
Why was he talking this way? As if he owed her—worse, as if he cared…
Clarice had thrown one look of fury in Alex’s direction then stalked away, and suddenly Alex understood. It was a little play for Clarice’s benefit.
To make her jealous?
Though why would she be jealous of any woman in her brother-in-law’s life? What was Azzam to her apart from her husband’s brother?
And worst of all, did Azzam think so little of her, Alex, that he would use her as a weapon against this woman?
The thought killed the treacherous warmth as suspicion wormed its way into her heart.
‘She has different ways of showing grief so we must forgive her,’ Samarah was saying, and Alex knew she was trying to ease a situation that had grown suddenly tense, for all the women were now looking from the departing Clarice to Azzam, as if asking themselves the same questions Alex had pondered.
‘Grief is no excuse for rudeness, Mama,’ Azzam said, though he softened the words by adding, ‘although I think you would excuse the devil himself, you are so soft-hearted.’
Silence fell on them, not an uncomfortable silence now but one in which Alex’s awareness of Azzam had time to grow again, so, in spite of the reservations she was now feeling about this man, her nerves twitched and twittered at each other and sent wayward messages to her brain.
‘Unfortunately she is right.’ Azzam broke the quiet. ‘I do have duties that will prevent me showing you my country, but tonight I’m free. No one has expectations of me tonight. Will you trust the children to Ghaada and Hafa and have dinner with me?’
What could she say? Samarah and the other women were all urging her to agree, and the wild chatter that followed their English words made her think they were suggesting places he should take her.
‘Let Azzam plan his own adventure—he’s a grown man,’ Samarah said calmly. ‘But you, child—’ she touched Alex on the head again ‘—wear the silvery gown you will find in your dressing room. I was right in thinking the pale colours would look much better on you than the dark ones you chose for practicality rather than beauty.’
‘You chose those clothes for me?’ Alex asked her. ‘Thank you, but there are far too many, and they are way too fancy.’
‘Hush,’ Samarah said. ‘After what you have done for our people, we should be giving you a palace, not just a few articles of clothing. As for the gown, you can wear a cloak over it if you feel it too bare to wear in public, but somehow I think Azzam has a private tour in mind.’
Azzam stirred beside her, while Alex puzzled over the words. She turned to him, but his face revealed nothing, the strong lines giving no hint of what might lie ahead.
Until he smiled and said, very quietly so only she could hear, ‘If the silver gown makes you look more beautiful than the outfit you are wearing, it might be best you wear the cloak over it and we go to very public places.’
Was it really a compliment? Did he mean it? Alex looked around, thinking Clarice might have returned to within earshot, but Bahir’s widow was nowhere in sight.
Which didn’t stop Alex feeling distinctly uncomfortable. How long had it been since anyone had paid her a compliment? Well, sometimes someone at work might remark on a job well done, but a compliment on her looks? And coming from a man who was surrounded by beautiful women?
Suspicion returned, but excitement had sneaked in as well. She hugged Zahid and set him on his feet, watching as he went into the garden to explore with Tasnim, his wounded arm held securely in a sling.
Tonight, she, Alex, would forget all the confusing questions her brain kept throwing at her, and behave as if she’d rubbed her lamp and wished for just one magical night. She’d wear the silver gown, and the high-heeled silver sandals she’d spotted in the wardrobe.
She’d dance with the prince and have the wondrous memory of it all to take home, tucked into her heart. And when work and the life she’d chosen got too much for her, she could take it out and marvel at it, remembering…
‘You are rubbing your lamp and wishing again,’ Azzam said softly. ‘I can tell from your smile.’
Now she smiled directly at him.
‘Actually, I’d shifted from the magic lamp to one of our European fairy tales. I was thinking I’d be like Cinderella going to the ball. Do you know the story?’
He grinned at her.
‘Can you imagine a father in my culture allowing his boys to be brought up on fairy stories? Oh, my mother told Bahir and I the stories of our land, but fairy stories from another land? I have heard of this Cinderella but I don’t know the story. Perhaps later you will tell me.’
Alex needed only an instant to realise that it wasn’t a story she would wish to tell this man—particularly not the bit about Cinderella getting to marry the prince.
‘Or we can talk of real life perhaps,’ she said, and heard a faint whispering sigh as if a dream had just floated out of reach.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HAFA helped her dress, as excited as if it was she, not Alex, going out to dinner with the prince. She brushed Alex’s fine hair until it shone, then plaited two strands of it, one from each side of her parting, linking them behind her head with a silver ribbon.
‘Not only will they keep your hair from trailing in your dinner,’ she joked when she pushed Alex in front of the mirror to admire her work, ‘but they make you look like a princess.’
‘Which I’m not,’ Alex told her, but Hafa shook her head.
‘Of course you are. It is all over the palace that His Highness introduced you as his wife.’
Alex smiled at Hafa’s innocent acceptance of what had played out in the colonnade.
‘Our marriage was to protect both my and his reputation. It wasn’t real.’
She didn’t add that he’d brought it up—made it public—for some reason of his own, neither did she add her suspicions of this reason. She couldn’t work out why, but she was certain it had something to do with his sister-in-law, because if looks could kill, Alex would be dead and buried by now.
She was still thinking about this, while Hafa fussed over the dress, when a young girl came to tell her Azzam was waiting. The girl led Alex out the back way—the way she’d gone to find the helicopter, and to her surprise it was a helicopter awaiting her. Not the big one, which was probably based at the hospital now, still involved in missions to the ruined village, but a small one, like a monster dragon fly, painted in what she now recognised as the royal colours of black, white and silver.
Apprehension shafted through Alex’s body—this was too much, she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t go flying off into the night in a glamorous silver dress with this man she barely knew. This wasn’t a fairy story and this kind of thing didn’t happen to ordinary, everyday Alexandra Conroy.
Something very like panic built in her head, swirling there, while something that definitely wasn’t apprehension slithered along her nerves, and the feelings she’d been beginning to suspect she had for this man made her body tingle with awareness.
‘Not a carriage made from a pumpkin, my lady, but the best I could do,’ Azzam said, although he’d had to force the words out through a very dry throat, so beautiful did Alex look.
The silvery eyes flashed suspicion. This was not a woman you could win with sweet words or easy compliments.
‘I thought you didn’t know about Cinderella,’ she said, obviously not as impressed by him in his best gown with the silver braid down the front as he’d been by her in the silver gown.
He offered a smile that he hoped looked genuine, although from the inside it felt strained and tight. He, who was normally relaxed with women, was suddenly tense and uneasy in ways he didn’t understand.
‘I looked her up on the internet,’ he said
. ‘As you seem to know of our Aladdin, I thought I should know of her.’
At least that had her smiling! He took her hand to lead her to the aircraft, helping her into the passenger seat, touching her with hands that felt hot and clumsy.
‘We are not going far and this little beauty is not very noisy so you won’t need the communication helmet.’
Even more dry mouthed now, he tucked the silver dress around her legs so it wouldn’t get caught in the door, and felt the warmth of her flesh beneath the fine material. He should stop right now. This was madness. He could invent an urgent phone call, pretend a text message had come into his cellphone as he walked around the helicopter to take his seat…
Except he’d deliberately not brought his cellphone with him, wanting to give this woman one special night to remember of Al Janeen before she disappeared out of his life.
Or was he hoping for something more?
Hoping she might fall in love with his country and maybe not disappear?
Fall in love with him?
He was aware this was the height of stupidity because she hadn’t given the slightest indication that she was interested in him, so he had to believe that the attraction, if that’s what it was, growing inside his body was totally one-sided.
Although last night attraction definitely had been there—the way she’d responded to the kiss… That was physical attraction, probably heightened by the danger they’d shared…
As for his country, she’d seen the inside of the palace—or a small part of it—and a ruined village, so how could she fall in love with it?
And hadn’t he decided, back when he’d still had some working synapses in his brain, that what he needed in the way of a real wife was someone from his own country and background and culture?
‘You haven’t seen the city so I will fly you over it, but I thought for dinner we would go somewhere special. You have seen flamingos?’
‘Flamingos?’ she echoed in such delight he had to smile, and the tension that had captured his body began to ease. ‘Big birds, long legs, pink?’
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