But I couldn't be alone tonight. The rush of feeling that had come over me earlier was still there, like a fire in my breast. I felt as though I'd opened a door, one I'd kept shut tightly for too long. There was no telling what might come out of that closed-off place inside me, and I wasn't ready to face whatever it was on my own. Tonight was too tender, too lovely.
"Let's just sit a while longer," I said. "We can go back to the study, by the fire where it's warm."
He hesitated.
"If things get too hot and heavy, we can always play charades until it passes," I said.
He laughed.
"All right, then," he agreed. "We'll meet the dawn together."
Sadiq grabbed a pillow to take along with us. I took his hand as he led me from the guest bedroom back to the study.
The fire was burning lower now. Sadiq stoked it, waking the last of the flames from the shrinking logs. He pulled the fireplace screen closed before coming to join me on the couch.
"So we don't burn up in each other's arms," he explained, shoving the pillow behind his back as he reclined against the arm of the couch.
"We wouldn't want that," I said softly.
I stretched out in front of him, leaning back against his chest. I covered us in the blanket he'd given me earlier. His arms circled around me. I felt small and safe, and a little like I was someone else. That was okay, though. It would be my gift to myself this Christmas. I would let this man hold me and not ruin it with too much thinking.
I drifted somewhere between sleep and waking. Sadiq was quiet but I knew he wasn’t asleep; his fingertips stroked my arm lightly. I didn't want to fall asleep, not yet. Tonight was a perfect, balmy place, an enchanted bubble in time that cradled me as sweetly as this man's arms did. Once I slept, tonight would be gone, and tomorrow… Well, tomorrow could be anything.
"Sadiq?" I asked, yawning.
"Yes?" He sounded tired, too.
"Tell me a story?"
I wouldn't have blamed him for laughing, but he didn't. Nor did he answer right away. When he did speak, he sounded thoughtful.
"I'm not sure I can."
"Don't know any good ones?"
"Oh no, I know a good one. I'm not sure it will be the same in English, though."
"Then don't tell me in English."
Another pause, then he began to speak. The unfamiliar syllables flowed over me like music. I closed my eyes and listened as he spoke. In my mind, I tried to invent a story to go along with the words I couldn’t understand.
I imagined the tale he told me was about a boy who was born so beautiful that the moon fell in love with him and wanted to keep him for herself. The boy didn't want to live on the moon, so he had to flee his homeland and hide away in a castle in a strange land.
But what happens when a girl from the village discovers the beautiful boy? Does she hide with him forever in the castle? Do they flee together and find a land so full of sunlight that the moon cannot reach them? Or maybe she fights the moon; maybe the village girl is so fierce in her love that the moon herself flees, and leaves the lovers in peace.
I shifted onto my side. Sadiq caught the edge of the blanket as I moved, keeping me covered and warm. My ear lay against his chest now. When he continued the story, I could hear the rumble of his words within him.
I fell asleep before the story was finished. In my dreams, I stood with Sadiq on a beach as white as milk. It was night, and the waves crashed with a sound like voices as he kissed me beneath a moonless sky.
SEVEN
The first thing I became aware of was the smell of wood smoke. I tried to stretch and realized with a surge of adrenaline that I wasn't in my bed. I opened my eyes, squinting against the morning sunlight that flooded the room.
That's right. I opened his drapes.
Memories of the night before rushed in. I sat up with a start and looked around the room. I was alone. I shivered, pulling the blanket closer around me; the fire in the hearth had died completely, leaving the room cold. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and saw that it was just after nine. I ran my hands through my hair, certain that I looked a mess. Not much to be done about that. I laid the blanket neatly over the back of the couch and went to look for Sadiq.
Everything felt different today. The hallways and rooms of the mansion no longer sparkled with that indefinable magic that had thrilled me last night.
That's wasn't magic. It was bourbon.
The beginnings of a headache certainly agreed with the idea that I'd simply had too much to drink as Sadiq and I had passed the hours. Still, I couldn't accept that it was just alcohol that had given me those feelings. Even the anxiety I felt now couldn't make me forget how everything had shone; how for one night it had felt as though he and I were alone in the world. That world had felt like a good place, a merciful place.
I wandered through the house until I heard a faint clanging of metal against metal. I followed the sound down to the enormous kitchen Sadiq had shown me the night before. He didn't notice me come in, and I watched from the doorway as he stood at the stove, stirring something in a copper-bottomed pot. His feet, as usual were bare. His expensive jeans hung a little low on his narrow hips, and the long sleeves of his white cotton shirt were pushed up over his elbows.
"I thought you didn't cook," I said, grinning.
He looked up and smiled at me. There was a trace of wariness in his eyes that made me think he was feeling as exposed as I was in the cold light of morning.
"I found oatmeal, salt, sugar... There were instructions on the box. I thought I'd be daring."
I approached him but kept a few feet back, my arms wrapped around myself protectively.
"You didn't have to do that. I can eat at home."
His smile faltered, and he tilted his head.
"Are you all right, Annabelle?"
The way he said my name made my breath catch in my throat. He made my name beautiful. I glanced away.
"I'm okay. A little off-balance, I suppose. Last night was..." I shook my head.
"Yes, I know." He looked into the pot and resumed stirring. "Morning is always there, waiting for us. Isn't it?"
"Yeah. I hate that."
"Last night was wonderful, though." He lifted his eyes to mine, and it was hard not to touch him. "It was a gift, and I'm grateful to you for it."
I didn't trust my voice to respond, so I just nodded. I reached out my hand and touched his arm. His warm skin under my fingers sparked an immediate recollection of being in his arms in the deserted ballroom. I pulled back my hand as my face went red. The memory of his kiss consumed me.
When I was able to meet his eyes again, I saw in them a trace of the hunger that had blazed in them the night before, and I knew he understood why I couldn't speak, why I couldn't stand closer to him. I took a few steps away from him, pretending to be fascinated with an industrial stand mixer while he finished cooking our breakfast.
We ate the oatmeal in the kitchen, standing at one of the stainless steel prep stations. Despite last night's exuberance, neither of us spoke much. Our spoons moving in the ceramic bowls made scraping sounds that were strangely loud in the big, otherwise silent room.
"What will you do today?" he asked.
It was only then that I realized that it was Christmas Day. I had planned to sleep late, do some reading, and Skype with Marion. Now I wasn't sure if I was up to hearing my sister's voice, seeing her smile. She loved me. More than that, she believed in me. But she didn't know who I was, not really. She didn't know the Annabelle who forced open locks and rummaged through strangers' bedrooms. She didn't know that I lied to her almost every time that we spoke, that the job I talked to her about didn't exist.
I dropped my spoon into my bowl and stood up straighter.
"I've got to go."
His look of confusion passed quickly, smoothing into a polite smile.
"Of course."
Sadiq walked with me to the front door. Our shoes and coats were still scattered in the entry whe
re we'd left them after building the snowman. I hid a smile as I pulled on my boots. He held my coat out for me, and even the brief closeness as I grabbed it felt electric.
"Well, goodbye, Sadiq," I said, and turned to open the door.
"Annabelle—"
I turned back, my heart beginning to beat faster.
"May I call you?"
I hesitated. Part of me was still uneasy about giving him my personal information. It was still hard to believe that he wouldn't hand me over to the police. And yet, he'd had the opportunity to turn me in more than once, and hadn't done so.
No, it wasn't fear of arrest that made me afraid of giving Sadiq my phone number. The night I'd spent with him had made me feel things I hadn't been able to feel in years. It had been exciting, even blissful at some moments, but it was terrifying, too. I wasn't ready to be that raw, open version of myself. I still carried too much guilt and shame. I still needed the walls I'd built in order to survive my own choices, but with Sadiq, those walls evaporated like mist.
"Why don't you give me your phone number?" I suggested, forcing a playful smile. "Then I can call you. I'm one of those modern girls, you know. When I meet a new guy, I like to be in control."
He nodded his agreement. Beneath his easy smile, his expression was unreadable. He found a message pad in a drawer and wrote down the number. I folded it and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans, before I remembered something that made me cover my face with my hands and laugh.
"What is it?"
"Your phone," I said. "I cut the line. I can't call you." I wanted to stop laughing; I wanted to apologize, but it was just too ridiculous.
He shook his head and chuckled.
"I had that fixed before you got here yesterday, silly. Don’t worry, when you call me, I will answer. Whether you want to go on a date, or, more likely, a ride from jail, I will answer your call."
My laughter finally subsided. I sighed.
"I'm sorry, Sadiq. I really, really am."
He was standing an arm's length from me. Now he reached across that small distance and stroked my cheek lightly, with the backs of his fingers, the same way he'd done last night in the ballroom.
"Well, I’m not."
I lifted my hand and cradled his where it rested against my cheek.
"Merry Christmas, Sadiq."
"Merry Christmas, Annabelle."
***
I drove home but as I stepped up to the front door I found I couldn't bring myself to go inside. I wasn't ready to see all my stolen possessions again. These things made my home pretty, but they also proved I wasn't the sweet girl that Sadiq saw in me. They were waiting for me inside; waiting to remind me that I was a thief and a liar. I turned my back on the house and started walking with no destination in mind.
Today was warmer than Christmas Eve had been. Still, I hugged my coat around me tightly. I stared down at the broken sidewalk and melting snow, my thoughts wandering.
It was useless to pretend that I could just turn on It's a Wonderful Life and be merry. The simmering discomfort of my crimes had boiled over and become unbearable. I didn't want those things in my house for a single day more.
I thought about how long it would take to return the items. Casing a house, making a plan for when the place was empty, could take weeks or months. I felt utterly miserable thinking about living with the evidence of my guilt for all that time.
Except...
I stopped short. The reason I'd burgled so many houses in the last few weeks was because so many wealthy people vacationed over the holidays. And even the ones who'd stayed in town were likely to have plans away from home today. It wasn't yet noon. If I was a little bit lucky, and if I started soon, I could very well return everything today. By this time tomorrow, I could be on my way to feeling like a good person again.
EIGHT
I started walking, then running, back to my house. I was frantic to begin, my mind clinging desperately to my plan. I found my backpack and filled it with as many of the stolen items as I could carry. A few were too large, and I planned to come back for them after I'd returned the smaller things. It would be trickier, but if I'd managed to get them out, I could get them back in.
Some of the people I stole from might never even have noticed. I was almost giddy as I tossed a pair of gloves and a flashlight onto the front seat of my car. The lock-picking tools were still in my glovebox.
I tried to force myself to slow down and concentrate. Hurrying led to mistakes, and now was no time to screw up and get caught, not after all this time. I brushed out my hair and tied it back in a ponytail. I changed out of my boots and into sneakers, pulling on one of my university sweatshirts to complete my "disguise."
The first house I needed to revisit was an enormous place, a breathtaking piece of modern architecture hidden in a thick stand of tall pines. I'd chosen this place because the glass walls had let me see the treasures inside, and the surrounding trees kept any neighbors or passersby from seeing me. I parked on an unpaved maintenance track, the same place I'd left my car during the original robbery. I cut through the woods, traveling the quarter mile with as much stealth as the crunching snow would allow me. In my backpack, wrapped in a towel, was a silver music box. It opened on delicate hinges to reveal a porcelain ballerina who rotated slowly to the tinkling melody of "Clair De Lune." It had charmed me, and I'd taken it knowing I'd never sell it.
I stopped short of the clearing where the house stood. There was no car in the drive, and the large garage sitting back away from the main house was closed, giving me no clues as to whether this family was spending Christmas at home or elsewhere. I watched from my hiding place for ten minutes. There was no activity. I decided to get closer.
I sprinted from the tree line to the backyard. Ducking behind a small shed, I remembered the big drawback about this house: the glass walls that let me see in made it almost impossible to avoid being seen by anyone who might be inside. I craned my neck around the edge of the shed, squinting. The sun reflected off the glass, throwing harsh glare into my eyes. I tried to make out the interior of the house, but it was hopeless. Finally, I gave up and moved hiding spots, darting over to a cluster of shrubs about twenty yards to my right.
Much better. I had a clear view into the living room. A Christmas tree towered in the corner, but its lights weren't on. I said a prayer of silent gratitude. On Christmas day, I couldn't ask for a surer sign that the family was away.
I didn't huddle and sneak anymore. I walked, unhurried to the house, much of my anxiety having dissipated. I remembered the rear sliding door I'd gotten into last time, but guessed correctly that the family had learned their lesson and locked it this time. They'd put a wooden stick in the tracks of the door, too. I'd have to find another way in.
I circled the house slowly, taking stock of my options, until I arrived at a cellar door, set on an angle low to the ground. I crouched in the grass and examined the lock, a padlock fastened into a metal loop that held a hinged plate in place. I could try to pick the lock, but I failed at picking locks as often as I succeeded. And, anyway, there was a much simpler way. I pulled the pouch of burglary tools from my back pocket and took out a small, flathead screwdriver. I fitted it into one of the screws that attached the hinged plate to the wood of the doorframe and unscrewed it. I repeated the act with the other two screws, and the plate fell free. I heaved the door open, and it fell back with a bang that echoed through the clearing, making me wince.
It was unlikely that anyone had heard it, but still, I decided I'd better hurry. I flicked on my flashlight and made my way down the uneven wooden stairs into the cool, damp darkness of the cellar. I shone my flashlight over the cement floor and painted cinderblock walls, searching for the interior stairs. I found them in a far corner beside a tower of cardboard boxes. I hurried up the stairs, praying the door to the inside of the house would be unlocked. The handle turned easily in my hand.
The cellar door opened into a tiled mudroom leading onto the kitchen. I paused
here, trying to remember where I'd found the music box. It had been upstairs... A library? No, a music room. I strode through the living room, down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs. It took me a few moments, but I found it. The room was just as I'd remembered it. A baby grand piano stood in the center of the room, its chocolate-colored wooden surface gleaming in the sunlight that cut through the treetops in bright ribbons. There was a harp with a stool beside it, the woven fabric covering the seat cushion worn with use. I looked to my right and found the cabinet. Its glass doors were closed over shelves full of sheet music, metronomes, and tuning instruments. I approached the cabinet and opened it. I pushed a stack of piano primers aside to clear a space on a high shelf. I slipped my backpack off my shoulders and took out the music box, still safely wrapped. The little weight of it in my hands was solemn and significant. I needed this fragmented penance; my conscience wept for it.
The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance Page 6
