Salim and his family had left Celia at the site to finish her work. She’d almost died during all the talk of family and togetherness.
How would they feel about her if they knew she was hiding a member of their own family from them?
It hurt that she was depriving Kira of her own family and heritage. Not to mention depriving Salim of the family he so openly craved.
She’d decided to tell him about Kira tonight. Whatever happened between them had happened, and she couldn’t do anything about that now. All she could do was try to make the future brighter for all of them.
She was sure he’d come see her.
But he didn’t.
Probably busy with work. She knew he had business dinners several nights a week. And he did have family visiting. Maybe they needed some time to themselves.
At least that’s how she tried to reassure herself.
After a fitful night of broken sleep, she decided to go for a quick run on the beach to shake off stress. Exercise made almost anything easier to cope with.
Sensitive to Oman’s conservative sensibilities, she dressed in light cotton pants and a shirt rather than her usual jogging bra and shorts. It was actually cooler to keep herself covered, she’d discovered. Which no doubt explained why most people in this region didn’t expose their bare skin to the punishing sun.
No one paid attention to thermometers here. There were only two temperatures: hot, and very, very hot. Compared to the misery of the Connecticut winter she was missing, she wasn’t complaining.
Once dressed, she picked up the phone for her daily call to Kira. Her daughter’s garbled hello greeted her. This was Celia’s usual time to call, so her grandparents allowed Kira to answer the phone. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Mama come home.”
“Mama will be home soon, sweetie. Two weeks. That’s not long, is it?”
It felt like an eternity.
“Mama come home today.” Tears thickened the words.
“I wish I could, lovie, but Mama has to work.”
“Kira come, too, and help you work.” Her little voice brightened and Celia could picture those dark eyes filled with excitement at her new idea.
Celia’s chest constricted. “I wish you could, my baby. I wish you could.” Tears threatened and she sucked in a deep breath.
“Why can’t I?” Her brave voice sounded suddenly so grown-up.
Why couldn’t she? She was too young to need to attend school. There was truly no reason why she couldn’t “help” while Celia arranged potted portacula plants and studied the fall of shade over garden walls.
Except that this was her father’s home.
And he didn’t know she existed.
“I…I…” Celia’s voice shook. She needed to get control of herself quickly and reassure Kira there was nothing wrong. “One day you’ll be big enough to help me.”
“When?” Again, the forceful clarity of a child far older than three.
“Soon,” she lied. What was one more lie? Except that each one seemed to eat another hole in her soul. “Do you want me to sing you a song?”
“Okay Mama.” Her reply didn’t conceal her disappointment. “You sing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby.’”
Celia gulped and inhaled. The song was so familiar she usually didn’t pay attention to the words, but today they rang with threatening prescience, echoing from one side of the world to another. “…When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, down will come baby, cradle and all.” Her voice wavered and she tried to turn it into a laugh.
She was so afraid of breaking that bough. Of rocking the safe world she’d tried to create for Kira thousands of miles away in Connecticut. But she was learning that sooner or later it had to break, and she’d just have to do her best to catch her.
Brushing away tears, she hung up the phone with promises that she’d send more pictures from her cell phone and tell Kira exactly what she ate for breakfast.
Running shoes laced, she pushed out into the invigorating morning warmth. Her shoes sank into the sand as she ran, and her calves enjoyed the extra work as she filled her lungs with fragrant sea air.
A high rock outcropping marked the end of the hotel property. She ran to it, then stretched in the shade on the far side for a few minutes. She was about to turn and run back, when she heard familiar voices.
“Celia’s more beautiful than I thought she’d be.” It was Elan’s jovial voice.
The object of their conversation blanched and ducked behind the craggy rock. A fissure near eye level allowed her to see the beach beyond, stretching to the hotel complex. She shifted until a sliver of visibility revealed Salim and Elan.
“You thought I’d spend years pining over an ugly woman?” Salim sounded in good humor. Again he wore a long, white dishdasha, this time with the traditional ornamental khanjar dagger at the waist. Morning sun reflected off the hard planes of his handsome face.
He’d spent years pining? Well, he’d admitted as much to her at their dinner together.
Celia bit her lip and listened.
“I’m glad you’re finally coming to your senses where she’s concerned.” Elan wore jeans and a white towel wrapped around his neck. Sweat shimmered on the thick muscle of his back.
“What do you mean?” She couldn’t see Salim’s face, but she could picture his thoughtful frown.
“You know, getting back together with her. I know the two of you spent the evening together the night before last. How come Celia wasn’t with us at dinner last night?”
“She had something to do.”
Celia bit her lip.
“Make sure you don’t let her get away a second time.”
“A third time, actually.” Salim sounded somewhat embarrassed.
“What?”
“I didn’t tell you we had a little…reunion…four years ago at the Ritz Carlton in Manhattan.”
“And what happened after that?”
“I flew back here. She has her own career, her own life. It was obvious there was no future between us.”
“She told you that?”
“No, but it was understood.”
“You told her that.” It wasn’t a question. Apparently Elan understood his brother, despite their years apart.
“I don’t like confusion.”
“Brother of mine, you have a talent for screwing up your love life. I’m going to personally see to it that you don’t mess things up this time.”
Salim laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control.”
Celia’s ears burned. What on earth did he mean?
She gulped. He’d be horrified if he knew she was listening in on their private conversation.
“How, exactly, do you have it under control?” Elan’s voice grew closer.
Celia shrank against the rock, its rough surface digging into her palms and knees.
“Isn’t it obvious? She’ll go back to the States, and I’ll stay here.”
“How does that solve anything?”
“It’s a clean break.”
“Yeah, except that’s not what you need. She’s the one, Salim. You know it, don’t try to tell me different.”
Salim laughed, but it wasn’t a genuine laugh, more of a forced guffaw. “No, Elan. Your romantic American notions are touching, but Celia is not the one. I intend to marry Nabilah Al Sabah.”
Celia’s jaw dropped as her ribcage tightened around her painfully swollen heart.
“Who’s Nabilah Al Sabah?” Elan’s skepticism showed in his tone.
“She’s the daughter of Sheikh Mohammad Al Sabah.”
“The guy who owns that big shopping mall in Dubai.”
“Among other things. He has a large retail empire.”
“So this proposed marriage is something of a business arrangement?” Elan didn’t try to hide his distaste.
“Not at all.” Salim had the decency to sound offended. “I’ve chosen her because I think she will be an ideal wife and will make a good mother for our children.�
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“How many children do you two have together?”
Celia gulped.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even kissed her.”
Elan laughed. “Then how do you know she’ll be a suitable wife?”
“She comes from excellent stock.”
Elan let out a long dismissive snort. “Brother of mine, you know I have a strong appreciation for excellent stock. I pay close attention to it—when selecting my stallions and mares. With women and marriage it’s entirely different, let me assure you.”
“I’ve been married before.”
“Not successfully.”
Celia’s breathing was in danger of becoming audible, as she crouched painfully against the rock, a few feet from the brothers. Sweat trickled down her face.
She heard some movement in the sand, and when they spoke again they were farther away.
“I was young then, and unprepared for the responsibilities of marriage and family. I tried to fulfill them as best I could, but only disappointed a wife who wanted an affectionate husband, as well as a reliable head of household.”
“Because you were still crazy about Celia and didn’t want to make love to another woman.”
The long silence made Celia aware of the pounding of her own heart, louder than the surf hitting the sand a few yards away.
“At the time, yes.”
“And what makes you think that will be different now?”
“Because I’m older and wiser. I’ve accepted that I cannot marry Celia and I must choose a suitable wife and do everything in my power to make the relationship work.”
“Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?” Elan’s incredulity rang across the sand.
Probably his own brother was the only person to express an honest opinion to a man as powerful and revered as Salim Al Mansur.
“Why can’t you marry her?” Elan demanded.
“She’s American, free-spirited, she doesn’t care about tradition.”
“I can tell you from personal experience that such women make very fine wives and mothers.” She could almost hear Elan’s grin.
“It’s different with you and Sara. You live in America. Celia would never live here in Oman.”
“How do you know? Have you asked her?”
“Of course not. Besides, she wouldn’t fit in. You’ve seen how she dresses. She’d never go along with all the arcane social rules and regulations we have here.”
“You certainly don’t. At least from what I’ve observed so far. I’ve seen you drinking wine, for a start.”
“I may not always agree with traditions, but as head of the family I have a duty to uphold the best of them. I’m proud of the customs and mores of our country, and I want my children to be raised accordingly.”
“Brother.” She heard a rustling sound, like Elan taking hold of Salim. “If you plan to marry another woman, then why are you playing around with Celia? Why did you bring her here?”
“To purge her from my system.” He had the decency to sound sheepish.
Tears sprang to Celia’s eyes.
He hadn’t hired her because he wanted to revive their relationship, nor even because he wanted her landscape design expertise.
He’d hired her because he wanted to develop immunity to her.
“And how’s that working for you?” Elan’s snide tone gave Celia a moment of satisfaction. “Fine.”
Elan blew out a snort. “Yeah. Right.”
They moved along the beach, and she had to struggle to catch their words above the sound of the waves.
Still, she heard Salim’s final words: “In two weeks she’ll be gone. I promise, on my honor, that I’ll never see her again.”
Celia peeled herself back from the hard surface of the rock and for the first time let an audible whimper escape her mouth. Her skin stung where she’d pressed it against the uneven surface. Her whole body ached, sickened by a destructive cocktail of rage and pain.
How could she have let herself imagine—even for a moment—that there could be anything between them but steamy sex and temporary intimacy followed by heartbreak?
She’d fooled herself into thinking that she’d come here to tell Salim about Kira, and she hadn’t accomplished even that.
I’m proud of the customs and mores of our country, and I want my children to be raised accordingly.
Wasn’t that the reason she’d kept Kira secret? She knew Salim was a man of tradition—it was why he’d dumped her in the first place. She’d always suspected he’d insist his child be raised in Oman by him. Without her.
Her heart forcefully rejected the notion.
Kira deserved to be raised by someone who cared about her, not a bunch of centuries-old customs.
Maybe she wouldn’t tell him. She’d finish the job—she had a contract and she wouldn’t break it—and then she’d leave.
Her chest filled with anger and hurt.
And then I promise, on my honor, I’ll never see him again.
Six
C elia managed to avoid Salim and his family for the rest of the day. She spent time driving to nurseries, looking for the last few elusive plants she needed, and going over paperwork in her room. When the phone rang, she didn’t answer it.
She ordered dinner in her room, and by 9:00 p.m. she was fairly confident of being left in peace for the rest of the night.
A knock on the door made her start.
She frowned. If it were Salim she’d say she had a headache and send him packing. She certainly wasn’t going to give him another chance to purge her from his system.
“Who is it?” she said in a forced whisper.
“It’s Sara. Can I come in?”
Celia bit her lip. What did Sara want?
She couldn’t think of a good reason to turn her away. “Sure.” She unlocked the door with fumbling hands. “Come in. It’s kind of messy. I’ve been catching up on some spreadsheets.”
She had a printer hooked up to her laptop, and the results were spread unartistically over the large bed and part of the tiled floor.
Sara wore a simple silver-gray dress that accentuated her pretty roses-and-gold coloring. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She smiled warmly at Celia. “We missed you at dinner. I was hoping to pick your brain about landscaping our house in Nevada. We have a heck of a time getting anything to grow because it’s flaming hot in the summer and under several feet of snow in the winter.”
Celia laughed, glad for the familiar subject matter. “I always advise my clients to start with native plants. At least you know they’ll grow.”
“Yeah, but you can get tired of sagebrush. It’s pretty much all there is and we have plenty of it already.”
“How about a nice sculpture?” She lifted a brow.
“Elan’s horses are the most beautiful sculptures. We’ve got plenty of those. I guess you’re right and I should focus on what works. Who’s this?”
Celia’s heart almost stopped as Sara leaned forward and picked up a photo from the cluttered bedcover.
A picture of Kira that she’d been mooning over earlier that afternoon, reminding herself to count her blessings.
“Uh…Kira.” Her brain had frozen, and it was all she could come out with.
Sara peered at the picture. “She’s adorable.” She glanced up at Celia, expectant.
“Yes,” managed Celia. She turned to stack some scattered papers, as fear stung her fingertips.
“She looks a lot like Ben.” Sara tilted her head, holding the picture at arm’s length. “He’s a boy, of course, and I can tell from the dress that this is a girl, despite the short hair, but there’s a striking similarity about their eyes and the shape of their mouth.”
“Oh.” Celia pretended to busy herself shoving papers into a manila folder, while her pulse drummed at her temples.
The long silence finally made her turn to look at Sara.
Who stared right at her.
“She’s your daughter, isn’t sh
e?”
“Yes.” The simple word exploded from her mouth.
What mother could deny her own child?
Sara blurred as tears sprang to Celia’s eyes.
“I knew it immediately.” Sara pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment, staring at the picture. “She looks so like Salim. She is Salim’s, isn’t she?”
Celia nodded mutely.
“She looks like you, too. You can tell she’ll have your lovely bone structure. And what a sweet smile. I think that’s yours, too.”
She handed the picture back to Celia, who accepted it with shaking fingers.
“Salim doesn’t know about her, does he?” Sara’s voice dropped, serious.
“He doesn’t. I wanted to tell him. I was going to…but….”
“How old is she? She looks about two in that picture.”
“She just turned three. She’s started nursery school. She’s living with my parents in Connecticut while I’m here.”
The useless facts did nothing to cover over the bald reality that she’d kept her daughter’s existence from the girl’s own father.
“You have to tell him.” Sara’s intense stare—her eyes were an unusual pale green color—did not brook contradiction.
“I’m not so sure.” Celia tucked the photo into her shirt pocket, and wiped her perspiring hands on the back of her jeans. “Sometimes it seems like a good idea, then something happens and…” She trailed off.
Heat rose to her cheeks as she recalled the humiliating confidences overheard on the beach that morning.
“What are you afraid of?” Sara rose and put a cool hand on Celia’s arm. “I haven’t known him long, but Salim’s obviously a good man.”
“He could take her. It’s the law here—in any Islamic country, I think. A child belongs to its father.”
“He wouldn’t do that. Besides, from what I know, even in cases of divorce the child lives with its mother until it’s eight or so. One of our business partners from Saudi told me that.”
“Would you be willing to give up Hannah when she turns eight?” Tears threatened and were audible in Celia’s voice.
“God, no.” The very thought seemed to make Sara shiver. “Still, to not tell him…” She looked up at Celia, still holding her arm. “It took me a while to pluck up the courage to tell Elan about Ben. I was his assistant at the time and our liaison had been a total accident—just one night, with no prospect of any relationship. He was so horrified by his lapse of judgment that he left the country afterward for several days without even telling me. I was sure I’d lose my job and be left pregnant with no health insurance. It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure, but I told Elan the truth, and look how wonderfully things have turned out.” She shone a warm gaze on Celia. “That could happen for you and Salim.”
The Desert Prince Page 7
