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“You have no business being here.”
“But I live here.” He smiled. A thin, flat, hard smile.
“Not in this part of the palace. These are my private rooms, part of the women’s quarters.” Although that didn’t stop him last time.
Amin’s smooth handsome face creased before quickly clearing. He lifted a hand, gesturing to the sun and sky. “We’re outside, and all this belongs to Allah.”
Finally her legs found the strength and she pushed up from her chair, glancing in Ben’s direction where he’d followed a ladybug beneath the breakfast table. “Then we shall go inside.”
“I’m surprised you’re not happier to see me. We have…unfinished business.”
She stiffened, her gaze locking on the curve of Ben’s small back, the shape of his hand as he prodded the spotted ladybug into flight. “There is no business between us, and I will not let you ruin my life again.”
Amin followed her gaze, his heavily lashed eyes narrowing as he focused on Ben. “A handsome child.” He drew aside the lace tablecloth. “He looks rather like me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t believe Amin had the gall to say such a thing. “I don’t see the resemblance.”
But Amin was grasping Ben by the shoulders and lifting him to his feet. Bryn’s heart leaped in her chest. It made her skin crawl seeing Amin put his hands on her son.
“It’s there in the eyes,” Amin said, roughly tilting Ben’s head back, before twisting his head one way and then the other. “His nose and mouth, like mine. He could be mine, couldn’t he?”
Meet fire with fire, she told herself, resisting the urge to grab Ben and run. “It’s only natural for you to see a family likeness.” Reaching for Ben, she firmly drew him away from Amin against her own body, shielding him within the circle of her arms. “As Sheikh al-Assad’s first cousin you have many of the same characteristics.”
“Yes, his first cousin.” Amin’s eyes glittered like ice. “How lucky we are to have each other.”
“Luckier than you deserve.”
“You really shouldn’t take that tone with me,” he drawled, taking seat in the chair opposite the one she’d just vacated. He stretched out his legs and crossed his arms behind his head, revealing his solid gold Rolex watch. “I take it you’ve never told him about us.”
“There is no ‘us,’” she answered sharply. “Never has been.”
“Darling Bryn, how can you say that? We were once quite close.” His lips pursed, eyebrows rising suggestively. “Very, very close.”
“Not that close.”
“You invited me to your room.”
She had, but not like that. Not the way he was making it sound. Hand shaking she reached for Ben, needing to touch him, needing to find strength. “You know I only wanted to talk.”
“Do I?”
She felt sick, dreadfully sick, the realization that this was one nightmare that wouldn’t end. Amin was evil, the worst kind of evil, and she didn’t know how to deal with him.
“I’m taking my son inside.” She clasped Ben’s hand in hers and squeezed it, fearing for him, for her, for Kahlil. If she let him, Amin would destroy everything again.
“Darling, you can run, but you can’t hide.” Amin’s perfect English followed her. “I’m back, and I’m waiting.”
Bryn pushed Ben inside the door to her bedchamber, and locked it, before sinking to the ground and covering her face with her hands. She felt hot and cold and violently ill. Please God, no, don’t let him do this to me again…
Small hands pulled her own away from her face. “Mommy?”
Bryn heard his voice, saw his face but felt such unspeakable horror and dread that she could only manage the briefest of smiles, her lips stiff, unyielding. “It’s okay, baby.”
But it wasn’t okay. It was anything but okay.
“You can’t go in there now—”
Bryn brushed past Rifaat, throwing open the doors to the suite of rooms that housed the palace office. Computers, huge color monitors, phones, faxes, file cabinets, security cameras…the office came equipped, no old world palace in this modern suite.
Two secretaries startled, covered heads lifting from their keyboards. A third assistant appeared from an inner office. All stared at Bryn.
She didn’t care. “Where is he?” she demanded, her gaze sweeping the dark paneled walls, deep red Persian carpet, the massive oil painting depicting a feudal war-lord sacking a walled city while horrified people ran from burning buildings.
“He’s on a conference call,” Rifaat answered sharply, placing his body between hers and a partially open door.
Rifaat’s heroic measures were unnecessary. Kahlil, dressed in Western clothes, black turtleneck and olive-green check trousers, appeared immediately in the inner office doorway, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space.
“What’s going on in here?” He held a cordless phone to his chest. His black hair was ruffled, and his deep voice crackled with impatience.
“Nice painting,” she snapped, furious with Amin, Rifaat, Kahlil, all of them. She’d forgotten the politics of the palace, the sheer implausibility of getting anything accomplished…at least if you were a woman.
“You interrupted an OPEC meeting to talk about my painting?”
“No.” She drew a deep breath, her confidence suddenly flagging. “Your cousin Amin is back.”
“Yes, I know, and he told me he saw you in the garden today.” Kahlil’s brows drew together. “He said you chatted for a few minutes and introduced Ben. Is there a problem?”
The way he put it, the visit between her and Amin sounded quite amicable. He wanted it to be amicable. Amin was his cousin after all, one of his closest relations. “No,” she faltered, “I just wasn’t sure you knew he’d returned.”
“You’re pleased then? He reminded me that you two were once such good friends.”
She felt sick, her skin clammy. Trust Amin to begin planting poisonous seeds! She struggled to think of something that wouldn’t be incriminating. She wasn’t ready to tell Kahlil about Amin’s assault. She needed to think of a way to share with him her own weaknesses and failings first. “I…yes, it’s always a pleasure to see your family. I just wished you had been the one to introduce Ben.”
“We’ll have dinner tonight. I’ll make sure he joins us. Ben, too. I’ll take care of formal introductions then.”
Alarm bells sounded in her head. She wouldn’t expose Ben to Amin again. She could handle Amin, as long as Ben wasn’t present, subjected to Kahlil’s cousin’s cruelty and games. “I know you like to eat late. It’s really too late for a little boy. What if just the three of us had dinner? Better yet, maybe you and Amin would prefer to have dinner alone tonight.”
“The three of us,” Kahlil said firmly. “It wouldn’t be a celebration without you.”
Anxiety tangled her in knots. “What are we celebrating?”
“All of us being together again. Just like old times.”
Lalia formed a crown on Bryn’s head of silvery-blond ringlets, the blond strands smooth, gleaming with a scented pomade. She dressed her in a slim white gown with a plunging neckline, which was more daring than most and a narrow silk skirt beaded with hundreds of tiny seed pearls.
“You look like a queen,” Lalia said admiringly, handing Bryn a mirror.
But gazing at her reflection, Bryn didn’t see a queen—she saw her worry, her eyes wide, anxious, her forehead knit, her lips pressed so tightly that white lines etched on either side of her pink mouth.
She was to meet Kahlil in his dining room in half an hour. But she had to speak to him first, before Amin appeared.
Bryn appeared at Kahlil’s bedroom door without invitation. He frowned at her sudden appearance but didn’t rebuke her. Yet his expression darkened when she mentioned she’d rather have a quiet dinner with him without Amin being present.
“You object to my cousin?” he asked shortly, tightening the black-and-gold belt worn over his whit
e crisp trousers, and casting a narrowed glance in her direction.
“I’m more comfortable alone with you.” She squirmed at her inability to be more direct. She wanted to tell him about Amin, but needed to approach the subject carefully. She needed Kahlil’s trust, first, and a stronger bond.
“But I’ve already asked him to join us. It would be impolite to break the engagement now. That is, unless there’s a reason why he shouldn’t be included.” Kahlil paused, a pregnant silence. “Bryn?”
She shifted uneasily, wondering if this was some kind of a test. What did Kahlil want her to say? “I…I’m not feeling very sociable tonight, that’s all.”
“But you look beautiful.”
The compliment was edged with savagery. Bryn swallowed nervously. Something wasn’t right. Kahlil didn’t seem himself, or at least, not like the man she’d woken up with this morning.
“Amin’s on his way to the dining hall now. What am I to tell him?” Kahlil persisted, sliding his arms into his outer robe. “That I’ve changed my mind? That I’d prefer an intimate meal with my wife instead of dinner together?”
“You are the sheikh,” she whispered.
But he didn’t immediately reply, just watched her with the same hawklike wariness he revealed earlier. “All right. Fine. I’ll send word that you and I are to dine alone, but I can’t get out of the evening completely. I’ll invite him for an hour from now. He’ll have coffee and dessert with us.”
It was better than nothing. And perhaps by some miracle, she’d find a way in the next hour to tell Kahlil exactly what had happened all those years ago.
Grilled marinated lamb, peppers, saffron rice. The meal was simple and yet delicious. They sat facing each other on the carpeted floor, pillows behind their backs, a low table placed before them. Kahlil relaxed during dinner, talking easily, telling her stories, and continuously refilling their glasses with strong, burgundy-red wine.
“No more,” she protested laughingly, when he moved to fill her glass again. “You’ll have me doing something silly in no time.”
“Sounds interesting,” he answered, half reclining. “Could I make some suggestions? I recall a very erotic dance you did for me once. If I remember, it required taking off your clothes, one by one.”
She blushed. “I don’t think it’s wise, especially not with your cousin coming.”
Mentioning Amin’s name profoundly changed Kahlil’s mood. He nearly knocked over his gold wine goblet in his haste to rise. “Not a good idea,” he curtly agreed, moving from her to the small sitting area furnished with large overstuffed chairs upholstered in buttery leather.
Bryn rose to gather the dishes and fill the tray.
