Thank you for not slapping my face?
Thank you for kissing me back?
He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close, as he had on the mountain when they’d heard the leopard. It had felt good then, holding her like this, and it felt even better now.
* * *
Weird, that was what it was, Lila decided, trying very hard not to snuggle closer to the warm body beside her.
Right out of the blue, the man appeared and in no time at all he was kissing her.
Worse still, she was kissing him back, leaning into him, feeling the strength of his body, the power of his kisses.
She’d had to bite back a whimper of regret as she’d eased away from him, because she was pretty sure kissing Tariq had been the most exhilarating experience she’d ever had.
But now, walking back to her rooms, it was as if it had never happened, except for the arm that remained around her shoulders.
Which was very nice, but dangerous, wasn’t it, given her decision to not be his wife in the full sense of the word?
Tariq’s arm dropped from her shoulders as they reached the loggia.
‘Goodnight,’ he said, very formal now, the passion she was sure she’d read in the kiss completely gone.
But who was she to be thinking she could read kisses?
Maybe it had just been a run-of-the-mill kiss and she’d been caught up in it because she found him so attractive.
It could even have been a dutiful kiss!
This was a head rules the heart kind of man, so really what else could it have been?
But, damn it all, he had kissed her, so why could she not, just quickly, kiss him back?
‘Goodnight,’ she said, equally formally, but she stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the lips, felt a quick response, a hand on her shoulder, before she slipped away.
Time enough to ponder kisses when he wasn’t around to distract her.
Sousa was waiting in her bedroom, a broad smile on her face.
‘So you are to marry the Prince,’ she said, clapping her hands in delight. ‘And I am to come with you to the Prince’s apartments to look after you there. You will need new clothes for meeting people with your husband, important people, and a special outfit for your wedding. Oh, it is so exciting!’
Lila simply stared at the young woman, unable to believe how fast word had spread, even less able to believe the bit of the conversation that had the word ‘husband’ in it.
‘This is crazy,’ she muttered, all thoughts of kisses forgotten as she slumped onto the bed, wrapping the spread around her shoulders, silently praying for help and guidance from the mother she’d lost so long ago.
* * *
Well, that hadn’t gone too badly! The first part of the evening at least, Tariq thought as he watched his prospective bride disappear through her door, then turned to walk back through the gardens. He’d got her to consent to the marriage even if she had made conditions.
The kiss had been strange, coming as it had out of nowhere.
And didn’t her kissing him back show some level of attraction between them?
‘But I will not be your wife!’
He’d known precisely what she’d meant by that. It would be a marriage in name only.
His head knew that was sensible, but there were other parts of him—not his heart, of course—that felt quite a lot of regret...
Forget it, his head said. You have to follow this path.
He didn’t really believe Second Mother would hire an assassin, but keeping Lila here and therefore keeping her safe had become—what? An obsession?—for him.
And why was that? his head asked, but however hard he tried, whichever way he looked at the question, his head couldn’t find an answer.
He left the arbour, entering his mother’s apartments, telling her only that Lila had consented to his proposal, neither mentioning her resistance nor her condition that it would be a marriage in name only.
His mother looked at him with troubled eyes.
‘You like this young woman?’ she asked, and Tariq shook his head.
‘The marriage is to enable her to stay, nothing more,’ he replied.
‘Nothing more?’ his mother echoed.
‘Nothing more,’ Tariq told her firmly, though memories of the kiss flashed like neon lights in his brain.
He said goodnight and left, through the arbour again, walking across the gardens to his own apartment, treading over the mosaic telling him his head must rule his heart, but suddenly uncertain about the validity of the statement, because it certainly wasn’t his head that had given a leap of excitement when Lila had agreed to his proposal...
Or when he’d kissed her...
It would be a marriage in name only, his head reminded him, but the stirring of excitement remained.
Perhaps if he concentrated on practical matters...
So, what was next?
Hospital tomorrow, and as they’d made no arrangements about leaving the palace, he would have to send a message to Sousa. Then the first injection of GCSF for Lila. He must ask his expert how the injections were likely to affect her. Should she need to rest, it should be at the hospital where he’d be at hand—along with the expert, of course...
And, no, of course Second Mother wouldn’t hire an assassin, but...
* * *
For someone whose world had been turned upside down, Lila slept well, waking to find Sousa had already brought in breakfast.
‘The Prince will collect you at the front door in an hour,’ she said. ‘He will take you to the hospital and later, if you are well after the injection you must have, he will send for me and we will go to the shops.’
‘But I should be working,’ Lila protested, and Sousa laughed.
‘You are to be married soon and must learn to obey your husband. And even though he’s not your husband yet, I would not like to have to tell him you are arguing with his plans.’
Totally exasperated, Lila pushed the breakfast tray aside.
‘This is unbelievable!’ she muttered, more to herself than Sousa, for none of it was her fault. ‘It’s like being back in Victorian times, where wives were forced to obey their husbands.’
She was about to add, ‘Anyway, it’s a marriage in name only,’ but realised such words would echo through the palace within seconds and she didn’t want to humiliate Tariq with such gossip.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE WAS WAITING at the front door, not in the car but on the top step near the sandals. Nerves fluttered wildly in Lila’s stomach as she took in the man she was to marry.
Think of it as a job, with him as your boss, she told herself. It’s no different from working for him.
You can do this!
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, then rushed into conversation before he could reply. ‘I had meant to look up the stem cell stimulating process last night, but went straight to bed instead. I know the injection has a string of initials, but not having worked on an oncology ward in the last few years, I cannot for the life of me remember them.’
Had his eyes narrowed?
Had he not been prepared for professional conversation?
Surely he hadn’t expected a kiss by way of greeting?
She stole a glance at his face as they walked to the car.
No, he definitely wasn’t expecting a kiss...
Forget the kiss...
‘Granulocyte-colony stimulating factor—G-CSF,’ he said, opening the car door for her and waiting politely while she climbed in. ‘It’s a hormone occurring naturally in the body that stimulates the stem cells to enter the blood.’
‘And when there’s a sufficient level we’re good to go?’ Lila asked, as he joined her in the vehicle, settling himself behin
d the wheel, not sparing her a glance.
Perhaps he’s feeling as awkward as I am, she thought, but another stolen glance at his face suggested he was as devoid of feelings as the large wooden gate through which they were passing.
She doubted he did awkward!
But she wasn’t going to ride in silence.
‘And the procedure to harvest them... There’s a machine, isn’t there, that takes my blood, sieves out the stem cells, then gives it back to me? I spent time with oncology patients during training, but, as I said, I haven’t worked with them since. I do remember seeing someone sitting in a collection centre with tubes in both arms and knew he was a donor.’
‘Peripheral blood stem cell collection, or PBSC, it’s called,’ he said, his attention so focussed on the very quiet road ahead it was as if he’d never driven it before. ‘It usually takes four to five hours.’
‘And the patient?’ No way was Lila going to be put off by his lack of conversation. ‘There’s a risk of graft versus host disease, isn’t there? Khalil will need a lot of preparatory treatment before he gets the transplanted cells, won’t he?’
‘A lot,’ was the answer, and Lila gave up.
They were driving down the avenue of eucalypts, and a sudden rush of homesickness washed over her.
She had family who loved her at home—did she need another one?
She could have the injections, donate her stem cells, and then go home—out of Second Mother’s way, satisfying the King, and, most importantly out of this man’s way—not way so much as presence.
Powerful presence!
Even sitting in a large vehicle with him had the fine hairs on her arms standing up, and little shivers of something—she wasn’t sure what—trickling down her back. How much worse would these physical symptoms be when she was married to the man?
A man who didn’t love her...
* * *
Tariq drove, aware as he’d never been before of the woman by his side. Sitting there, chatting, as if nothing at all had happened between them.
Well, had anything?
Not really—a kiss, nothing more.
So why was his body throbbing with need, his nerves as taut as the ropes on a tent in a storm?
The kiss had obviously affected him far more than it had affected her so that she could carry on a normal conversation—a little stilted, but still—while he could barely think.
Barely think of anything beyond how soft her lips had been, how slight her form when she’d leaned into him, how sweet her mouth...
He was, of course, magnifying the whole thing out of proportion, his head told him, but it was his body doing the remembering, and while the head might rule the heart, it wasn’t having a lot of success ruling his body.
There was a lane up ahead that led to a date grove. If he pulled in—kissed her just once more—surely that would release him from the spell, make him realise she was just another woman and all women were good to kiss.
Well, all young, attractive women...
He didn’t pull into the lane.
Instead he tried to think about the day ahead, settling Lila for her first injection, making sure she had someone with her, a cup of tea or cool drink, whatever she wanted...
After which he’d send her home or to the big mall where Sousa, and Barirah if he could get hold of her, would organise a wedding dress. He supposed the big mall was where women bought wedding dresses...
His body tightened at the penultimate word and he reminded it sternly the marriage would be in name only.
He glanced her way, and thought he read sadness in her face, the rosy lips downturned, a hint of moisture on her cheek.
Had he been too abrupt? Too unyielding in his response to her attempts at conversation?
Maybe if he tried conversation, the tension in his body would ease.
‘I know we kept records of the clinic visit to the mountains but I wondered, when you’ve time, if you could do a report on it? Aspects you found worked well, any problems that could be fixed, improvements that could be made. Just a general report.’
She glanced towards him and he wondered if she realised he was just making conversation.
‘It appears I’ll have nothing but time,’ she said, ‘if someone else is taking the next clinic run. I’ll be happy to do a report, but I’ll need more than that to keep me busy. One injection a day hardly constitutes a full day’s work.’
‘It’s only for four days—or five if we count the day they take your blood. And you’ll have the wedding to prepare for. I thought on the fourth day of the injections, that’s if they’re not affecting you, I should speak to your father—to the man you call Pop. Would you like me to send a plane to bring him and his wife over for the ceremony?’
Lila thought of the crazy, happy day when all the family members they could muster had celebrated Izzy’s wedding, and shook her head.
‘I wouldn’t like them to be part of a pretence,’ she said quietly.
He didn’t answer, not for what felt like several very long minutes, then, with a sideways glance at her, said, ‘It doesn’t have to be pretence.’
His voice had seemed deeper than usual, and slightly husky, and it caused such a riot of emotions in Lila’s body she was dumbfounded.
Of course it does, was what she should have said, but the words definitely didn’t come out.
Instead she looked out the window and thought of the kiss, and where such kisses might lead if it wasn’t pretence!
They were passing a residential area, substantial rendered brick buildings suggesting wealth, then the occasional flag flying from a pole at the front told her it was probably an embassy enclave.
She looked for the so-familiar Aussie flag, but failed to find it. Perhaps Karuba was too small for an Australian embassy, but surely there’d be a consul? Could she ask him to her wedding, so she had someone from home by her side? She had no idea what a wedding here entailed, even whether they had guests, but surely there’d be witnesses.
‘I will take you to the pathology department and introduce you to Professor Eckert, who is both caring for Khalil and pursuing further study into the treatment of childhood leukaemia, especially the use of stem cell transplants. Much of his work has been done with donors who are not a perfect match during the tissue typing tests but who can still successfully donate, given the right preparation for both donor and recipient.’
Lila thought of the implications of this work and felt a little bite of excitement—intellectual excitement this time.
She couldn’t help but smile.
‘How wonderful it would be if he could make stem cell transplants successful with even, say, a fifty percent match. How much hope that would give people worldwide.’
‘He’s getting close,’ Tariq told her, and he, too smiled.
Pity, because his smile really did affect bits of her she didn’t want affected, so she was distracted when he spoke again.
‘After the pathologist is finished with you, you can go shopping,’ he said, and, for pity’s sake, he smiled again.
‘You say that as if it’s a great treat,’ she muttered, more upset by two smiles in a minute than the actual words. ‘As it happens, I loathe shopping. It always seems to me to be a total waste of time. In fact, since I’ve discovered online shopping, I rarely venture into actual stores.’
This time he laughed!
Not much of a laugh, more a huff of merriment, but if smiles were affecting her, the huff and the twinkle in his eyes that accompanied it were far worse, so by the time they drew up at the hospital entrance she was in a total dither.
Made worse when the words he’d spoken earlier—It doesn’t have to be a pretence—had now lodged in her head and become a kind of chant...
Of course it had to be pretence.
Apart from everything else, she still didn’t know entirely who she was.
Okay, she had a mother—but her father?
‘Are you coming?’
He’d left the vehicle to be ferried away by a doorman, and was standing beside her, peering at her as if he’d like to have read her thoughts.
Good thing he couldn’t!
Now he took her arm—because she hadn’t answered?—and led her into the hospital.
‘Barirah will meet you here when you are done,’ he said, depositing her in an inner office behind the large waiting room. ‘I’ll wait and introduce you to Professor Eckert, then must do some work.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to let her keep him, because his hand was still on her elbow and his body was very close to hers, and what with the kiss and all the other stuff going on, this was not good.
It does have to be pretence, she was reminding herself when Professor Eckert arrived.
* * *
After two hours of intense scientific conversation with the professor, Barirah’s arrival was such a relief Lila didn’t complain about the shopping. A car was outside the staff entrance, Sousa waiting in it. Barirah spoke to the driver, and they were swept away, out of the quiet hospital environs and into the chaos of the city, a place Lila hadn’t yet seen.
‘Busy,’ she said, and both women laughed.
‘Today’s a quiet day,’ Sousa told her. ‘There are days when cruise ships dock in the harbour and every trader from miles around sets up stalls on the footpaths.’
‘And spill over into the street,’ Barirah added. ‘Normally we don’t shop in shops.’
She chuckled.
‘That sounded stupid, didn’t it? What I mean is the places we, the family, use know all our sizes and also our preferences and style of clothes so they bring selections to us. From today, they will do this for you as well, but they need to see and talk to you, to measure you, and for you to try on different outfits so they will know what to send to the palace.’
‘I’m not a good shopper,’ Lila told her, not going to far as to say she hated it because Sousa was so excited, and even Barirah seemed happy to have been given this task. ‘But I’ll go with the flow.’
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