And still he wanted more. Had he wanted her this much when they’d married? He didn’t remember it being so overwhelming, this compulsion. He did remember enjoying her body very much, though he hadn’t enjoyed her in quite so many earthy and raw ways.
She was his match in bed. His equal. And he was beginning to believe she was his equal outside of it, as well. She wasn’t Jasmine Shadi. She wasn’t quiet or meek or easily cowed. She wouldn’t agree with him on everything. And she wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear just to keep peace between them.
Adan frowned. He still didn’t know why she’d left, why she’d abandoned her baby son, and that bothered him a great deal. If he kept her, was he endangering Rafiq’s happiness? Was she only playing the good mother now because she wanted to be a queen? At the first sign of trouble, would she hand Rafiq off to a nanny and claim that he was too much for her nerves?
No. To the depths of his soul, he knew the answer to that question. Isabella was not like his mother. She would not ignore her child. His mother couldn’t have faked deep love for her children for any amount of money. She’d loved them in her own way, but her way was twisted to suit her own purposes. They were a means to an end, a possession to be proud of. They weren’t meant to be hugged and kissed and loved.
Isabella wasn’t like that. He’d watched her changing Rafiq’s diaper when she hadn’t known he was there. Other than not quite knowing what to do, she hadn’t acted like a woman who would rather be anywhere but where she was. She loved Rafiq. He couldn’t be more certain of it if it were written in indelible ink across her forehead.
She loved their child. And he found he didn’t mind so much sharing Rafiq with her after all. It seemed natural to do so.
Still, he spent the journey weighing the pros and cons. By the time they reached Port Jahfar, Adan knew what he was going to do. There was only one decision he could make. One decision that was right for them all.
He stepped from the car, and Mahmoud, who had returned earlier in the day, bowed deeply. “Your Excellency. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Mahmoud.”
Around them, servants hurried forward to gather luggage while his security team fanned out to oversee the procedure.
Mahmoud shot a glance at Isabella. Then he gave Adan a meaningful look.
“There is a gentleman here to see you, Excellency. A gentleman you have been desiring to see since your return from America.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ISABELLA had just put Rafiq down for his afternoon nap. She closed the door to his room and settled into the living area that connected Rafiq’s nursery to Adan’s suite. A television flashed silent pictures on the screen. She didn’t bother to pick up the remote and turn on the sound. Instead, she opened up a laptop computer that was sitting on a side table and surfed the web. She hadn’t been on a computer since she’d arrived in Jahfar nearly two weeks ago. Her email was overrun, but she set about methodically answering her friends back on Maui.
The band wanted to know when she was coming back. They’d hired a temporary singer, but they needed her dreadfully. She laughed at the number of exclamation points that Kurt, the guitarist, put in his email.
A knock sounded on the door. She waited, expecting a servant to enter, but when no one did, she got up and opened it.
“Daddy?”
“Isabella,” he said, his plump face creased in a frown. There was sorrow on that face. And fear. But fear for what? For her?
Her heart pounded with worry—and just as quickly, the worry changed to anger. He’d lied to her. Whatever had happened to her, he’d lied. She stepped back to let him in, folding her arms around her like a shield.
“Does Adan know you’re here?”
“I have just been to see him,” he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and mopping the sheen of sweat that glistened on his brow.
“And did you tell him what he wanted to know?” she asked, proud of how her voice didn’t betray her cold fury.
“I told him enough.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me what the hell really happened to me,” she said very precisely, the words like razor blades in her throat.
He looked at her in surprise. She expected a sharp correction any second, but he did nothing of the sort. Good, because she would never be meek and dutiful ever again.
“I wanted to protect you,” he said. “I did it to protect you.”
“Protect me from what? And don’t you dare lie to me now, not after what I’ve been through.”
He took out a cheroot and lit it with shaking hands. She moved away, not caring for the smoke, yet realizing he needed it to calm down. Adan must have taken him to task for his deception. The thought satisfied her immensely.
“You were sick, Isabella,” he said when he’d drawn in a lungful of smoke and let it out again. “You weren’t yourself after the baby came.”
A chill skated over her. She spun to face him. “Not myself? How do you mean?”
“You were depressed. Postnatal depression, the doctor said. You were distant, uninvolved with the baby. And you talked of suicide.”
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered past the huge lump in her throat. How could that be possible?
His face twisted. “Believe it, Isabella. Do you think I went through what I did for you just because it seemed like a fun idea?”
She swallowed. Hard. “Adan’s never said anything to me about being depressed. Why not? Wouldn’t he have known?”
“He didn’t know because I didn’t want him to know,” her father snapped. “I couldn’t afford for him to know. He would have had you declared insane, Isabella. And then he would have divorced you.”
Fear wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Insane? Would Adan have done that? She shook her head. No, he would have helped her, not hurt her. He would have wanted her to get well.
“So you believed it was better he thought I was dead?” Anger—and fear—was a living thing inside her belly, twisting and turning and lashing her with its claws.
“It was better for everyone.”
Horror permeated her bones as she stared at him. How could he have done it? How could he have been more concerned about his station and his business interests than about her?
Because she knew what had motivated him as surely as if he’d blazoned it across the sky. I couldn’t afford for him to know …
If a prince had divorced his daughter for being suicidal and depressed, then he would lose respect. His business would suffer.
Prince Weds Daughter of Prominent Businessman would have become Prince Divorces Insane Daughter of Prominent Businessman.
“How did you do it? How did you make everyone think I’d died?” she said, her lip trembling. She needed to hear it. Needed to hear to what lengths her father had gone to “protect” her.
To protect himself. Because, once more, she’d managed to disappoint him, hadn’t she? He’d wed her to a prince, and she’d ruined everything.
He finished the cheroot and stubbed it out. “You really did walk into the desert, Isabella. We couldn’t find you. It was two weeks before I got word that a woman resembling you had been taken to a hospital in Oman. You were found by British tourists who kept you alive long enough to get you there.”
Her eyes were flooding with tears. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”
“Because you were near death, because you blocked it from your mind—I don’t know! When I realized you didn’t know you had a child or a husband, I had you examined by a psychiatrist. He said you were repressing memories that were painful to you.”
Painful memories? About Adan and Rafiq?
“But why didn’t you tell Adan? I might have remembered if he’d come for me. I’d have been with my baby for these past two years instead of living somewhere else and believing the lies you told me.”
He shook his head. “You would not have magically remembered, Isabella. And Adan wouldn’t have let you near Rafiq once he realized you were so unstable.
”
He came over to her, put his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to shrug away from him, but she was too numb to do so.
“I know you don’t believe this, but I did what I thought was best for you. You’re my only child, and I love you. I would have sooner had you living somewhere else and not knowing about your past than to have you committed to an institution. It was a blessing that you had forgotten.”
“You don’t know that he would have done that.”
“He is an Al Dhakir, Isabella, and he bears a great responsibility. More so now than before. He could not have afforded the attention. He most definitely cannot do so now.”
A chill skated over her. “What do you mean by that? It’s over. I’m back, and though I don’t remember, I’m fine.”
“For now,” he said, his eyes full of sadness as he gazed at her. “But what if you were to get pregnant again?”
She shook him off. “I don’t remember any of what you’re saying. I can’t just believe what you tell me when I don’t know the truth!”
“I’m telling you the truth, child. You were depressed once—it’s possible you could be so again. And who knows what you will do next time?”
She swiped at her eyes with trembling hands. “They make medication for depression. It won’t happen again.”
“You were on medication the last time, though I made sure your husband didn’t know about it. But you didn’t take it, Isabella, and look what happened. Do you want to take that chance again? Do you want to embarrass your husband, your nation, by trying to harm yourself or your baby? What if you succeed the next time? What then?”
She wanted to put her hands over her ears, like a recalcitrant child, and shut him out. She wanted to lock out the painful words and pretend she’d never heard them. How could she have done such a thing? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be normal, like any other woman who’d just had a baby?
Why wasn’t she normal?
“What are you suggesting I do?” she asked. Part of her was gibbering in fear and the other part, the rational part, had locked on to cool, disconnected control. The only way to get through this was to not feel anything.
He sank onto one of the couches and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Go back to the States, Isabella. Go back and forget any of this happened.”
Tears dropped down her cheeks though she tried not to let them. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I won’t do it. I’m not leaving my baby ever again.”
He sighed and got to his feet once more. “You may not have a choice. Adan knows everything now. And he may not be willing to give you another chance.”
She waited hours for Adan to come. The sun passed high overhead, then slowly sank into the sea, and still he did not come. He had to come eventually, because she was still in his apartments and Rafiq was still with her. She sat on the couch in the living area, a home-improvement program on the television while Rafiq played with a set of building blocks on the floor.
The people on television were so happy, fixing up their modest home with new curtains, paint and furniture. Newlyweds with a baby on the way, the host helpfully informed her.
Isabella splayed her fingers across her stomach. Had she ever been that happy? Had she made plans with her husband for their home and their new baby, or had she simply done what she’d been told and not asked questions or dared to have an opinion?
She was very afraid she knew the correct answer.
Was that why she’d forgotten everything? Had she been so miserable that she simply couldn’t face it? Was she that weak that she couldn’t face her own past?
Angrily, she tossed the remote onto the couch. She was so wound up she wanted to punch something. She would have hauled off and socked the cushion off the couch, but it would make a noise and Rafiq would jump since he was so engrossed in his play. And she didn’t want to frighten him. He was her precious, precious child. Her chest hurt with all the love she felt for him. How could she have ever dreamed of harming him?
Stop. She couldn’t go there. She simply couldn’t think it. Besides, she didn’t know if it was even remotely true. She’d tried to harm herself, not him. She might not remember what had happened then, but she knew in her bones she could never harm her child.
Another hour passed and she put Rafiq to bed, then returned to the living area. She couldn’t go to the rooms she’d been given when she’d arrived, because that would mean leaving Rafiq alone. And she couldn’t go and lie down in Adan’s bed since she was no longer certain he would want her there.
She fell asleep on the couch finally, curled up in a ball with the remote in her fist. When she woke again, the only light in the room was the glow of the television.
She pushed herself up, yawning—
And squeaked as she realized she wasn’t alone.
Adan sat in a chair across from her. He was watching her, waiting—for what? For her to go crazy before his eyes?
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You talked to my father, I take it,” she said. What sense in delaying the inevitable?
“I did.”
“And so now you know.”
“How are you, Isabella?”
The question made her angry. As if he was now worried about her sanity and needed to treat her with kid gloves. “Other than wanting to clap tinfoil on my head to keep the aliens from finding me, I feel just fine,” she retorted.
He didn’t crack a smile. “Did anything he said jog your memory?”
She crossed her arms. “No. I walked into the desert and nearly died. People found me. I woke up with a big gaping hole in my memory where you and Rafiq should have been. End of story.”
She suddenly deflated, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “It’s frightening not to remember what happened to you, especially when people tell you things you said or did and you just don’t remember any of it. It’s like it happened to someone else, or maybe it’s just a movie someone tells you about. Because it can’t be you. If it were, you would remember.”
He turned his head toward the closed door to Rafiq’s room. “How has he been today, without Kalila?”
She shoved a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He didn’t want to talk about it, of course. The moment they got to the difficult parts, he was done. Could she blame him? It was creepy, in a way.
“He fussed a bit, but he’s been fine. He asks where she is. I told him she was sick and she had to go away to feel better.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “He can’t understand the full truth, but he doesn’t need to be lied to, either. When I was five, my dog died. My parents couldn’t tell me the truth—” Here she paused and shook her head. “Oh God, of course they couldn’t.” A bitter laugh erupted from her throat before she stuffed it down again. “They told me he ran away. For years I kept hoping he would come home again, wondering if I’d done something wrong to make him leave. It was harder when I learned what really happened, years after the fact.”
He was looking at her with sympathy. She almost hated it, almost hated the way he seemed to see her as a fragile creature when only a few hours before he’d treated her like an equal. She didn’t delude herself that he’d fallen in love with her, but she’d thought he was beginning to care. How could he ever care about someone as broken as she was? He’d always be wondering when she was going to crack again.
“Then I guess you were right to tell him.”
“What happens now, Adan?” she asked. Because she just didn’t feel like beating around the bush.
He stood. “It’s late. We should probably go to bed.”
Disappointment ate at her. She was tired, but she’d hoped he would say more. That he would tell her he’d been thinking about what came next. That he would say something about what her father had said, other than to ask if she was all right. She wanted to know how he felt about it.
But he wasn’t going to tell her. Not
tonight anyway.
“I had you moved closer,” he said. “Your room is across from Rafiq’s now.”
Her room. He didn’t even want to sleep with her anymore.
“Great,” she said. Because what else was she going to say?
He walked over to a door and opened it for her. “Get some sleep, Isabella. We’ll talk in the morning.”
She paused in the doorway. Her hands itched to reach out to him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, wanted him to wrap his around her and squeeze her tight. She wanted comfort and connection.
But he wanted away from her. Away from his crazy wife. Her heart hurt.
She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from touching him.
“Good night, Adan,” she said. And then she went inside and closed the door.
Adan lay in his big, lonely bed and longed for Isabella. She’d seemed so tired, so fragile and worn-out, and he’d known he couldn’t ask anything of her. He’d thought of taking her to his bed and just holding her, but he hadn’t trusted himself to keep from doing anything else once he had her in his arms.
She’d had a lot to process this afternoon.
So had he.
He was still so angry with Hassan Maro that the man was lucky he wasn’t sitting in the bottom of Port Jahfar’s darkest prison cell at the moment. After he’d spoken with Maro, he’d gained access to the rest of Isabella’s medical records. The doctor he’d had talk to her upon their arrival had examined everything and called him back immediately, confirming the findings.
Isabella had been suffering from postnatal depression, as he’d earlier thought, and she’d nearly died in the desert. Further, she’d chosen to block certain memories of her life as a coping mechanism for the emotions that had driven her out there in the first place.
Adan turned over and punched the pillow, his body aching. But his heart ached more. He’d thought back to the early days of their marriage and tried to remember what had happened between them. Not much, he had to admit. He’d taken her virginity, got her pregnant and left her to her own devices while he ran his businesses and waited for the birth of their child.
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