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“But she didn’t go to my father until after Morgan’s wedding. At least, that’s what I thought you said.”
“Yes. But she went to him because she’d made some bad investments earlier, and your father promised he could do impossible things with what capital she had left. He could get her an incredible return on her investment with him, and so she gave him everything. Everything. And he stole it all.”
Jemma winced, sickened all over again by her father’s betrayal. “That’s on his head, not yours.”
Mikael turned his head, looked at her from beneath his dense black lashes. “My mother should have died of old age, comfortable in her American home. But she lost her home, along with her nest egg. Heartbroken, and terrified, she took her life. Hung herself in the hall of her home the day she was to be evicted.”
Jemma stared at him, aghast. “She killed herself?”
He nodded. His jaw worked, and he ran a hand down his throat, as if trying to find the words. “She was just fifty-four,” he said when he could finally speak again. “But she’d lost her home...again. She knew she couldn’t go to my father. She was afraid to come to me. We were still rebuilding our relationship and she was afraid I’d be disappointed in her, so she panicked. She did what she thought was the best answer for all.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I still have that last note, the note she left, saying she was sorry, and begging me to forgive her for being stupid and weak.”
He turned his head abruptly but not before Jemma saw the suffering in his eyes.
For several moments there was just silence, an endless, impossible silence heavy with grief.
Jemma reached out and placed her hand over his. “People make mistakes,” she whispered.
“It’s my fault she died,” he said. “At first I blamed my father, and your father, but I am the one responsible for this. I did this to her. I rejected her. Refused her. I left her no hope—”
“Would you have helped her if she came to you about her house, Mikael?” she interrupted, leaving her seat and moving around the table to kneel before him. “If she’d told you her situation, that she had nowhere to go, and no way to pay her bills, would you have taken care of her?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? Or is that what you say now?”
He stiffened, shoulders squaring. His dark eyes burned down at her. “You don’t think I would?”
“I know you would,” she said, taking his hands, holding them tightly. “But do you? That’s the important question. Because until you believe you would have helped her, you won’t be able to forgive...you, her, or your father.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MIKAEL WAS DONE TALKING. He’d said far more than he’d intended to say but he was glad he’d told Jemma the truth. Glad she knew now who he was, and what he was. Better for her to know on the fourth day than the eighth. Better to give her all the facts up front, instead of blindsiding her at the end.
He rose from the table, drew her up to her feet. “I cannot think anymore, or talk anymore. I am talked out. I need diversion. What about you?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.”
She followed him back into the Crimson Chamber. The satin sheets had been changed, and freshly made, the bed lined with stacks of ruby-hued pillows.
A bright white light shone from the ceiling, onto a screen attached to the far wall.
He saw Jemma glance up at the light, and then saw the moment she realized it was actually a projector. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked, turning to him.
“Do you like movies?”
“Yes.”
“I do, too. I thought maybe you could use a break from the pool and the sun and would enjoy a good film.”
“I’d love it. But only if you stay with me. Otherwise I wouldn’t enjoy it at all.”
* * *
Jemma loved their afternoon at the movies in the Crimson Chamber. The dark red walls and rich burgundy and ruby pillows and cushions made the room feel like an elegant, and exotic, movie theatre. Staff brought them food during a break between the two films, a break Jemma laughingly called the “intermission,” and then curled back up in Mikael’s arms when the second film began.
He had to leave at the end of the second movie to check in with his staff. He kissed her before he left and promised to meet her for dinner in the courtyard. They were to dine outside tonight, inside the pink and turquoise tiled pavilion. “We’ll go to the Turquoise Chamber tonight. You’ll enjoy tonight,” he told her, kissing her again.
“I’ve enjoyed every night,” she answered truthfully, smiling up at him.
* * *
She arrived in the courtyard that evening before he did, dressed in the filmy turquoise kaftan that had been laid out for her.
The kaftan was long, reaching her ankles and it swished as she walked, clinging to her stomach, hips and thighs.
Jemma wandered around the grand courtyard, admiring the large blue tiled pool lit by blue and pink lights, and pausing to smell the sweet fragrant lilies and roses that grew in clusters in enormous glazed pots.
She was glad she’d arrived in the courtyard before Mikael. She enjoyed having this moment to herself, liked the excitement bubbling within her, and the sense of anticipation.
She’d enjoyed this afternoon with Mikael. She’d found it hard to concentrate on the movies, though, with him there, at her side. She’d wanted him to make love to her, but he hadn’t. He’d held her, and kissed her several times, but he’d otherwise shown admirable restraint.
She, on the other hand, wanted to be touched. She’d curled at his side, pretending to watch the movie when all she really wanted was touch. She was beginning to feel addicted to pleasure. Or was she addicted to him? She didn’t know, wasn’t sure how she could know.
Jemma felt a tingle down her spine. She wasn’t alone anymore. She knew Mikael had arrived even before she turned to see him.
Slowly she faced him. He was standing at the far end of the pool, watching her. “That color suits you,” he said.
Suddenly the courtyard hummed with energy. She felt the same electric surge in her veins, her heart racing, too.
He was wearing black trousers and a white linen shirt and he looked handsome and virile and confident.
Her husband. Her king.
She smiled, amused by the thought, but the thought took hold. He might very well be a good husband for her. He seemed to be a good king.
A servant appeared with a tray of cocktails and together Jemma and Mikael walked around the courtyard, with Mikael pointing out various plants that had significance, whether due to age, or relationship to the Kasbah.
“The date palms were for a great-grandmother, and the citrus trees were for my grandmother. The trees are replaced every ten to fifteen years, depending on their maturity and fruit production. My mother loved pink roses, so those were for her.” Mikael smiled at her. “What shall we plant in your honor? What is your favorite flower?”
She shook her head. “I think it’s all perfect just the way it is. I wouldn’t change anything.”
“You don’t want to be immortalized in the Bridal Palace’s garden?” he asked.
She knew he was teasing her. She could see it in his eyes and the quirk of his mouth and she felt a bubble of warmth inside her.
She was happy.
That’s why she felt different...why everything seemed different. The happiness explained the bright sparks in her head and in her eyes. The happiness made her tingle, and her insides fizz.
It wasn’t the desert heat temperatures heating her, warming her, but happiness. And she was happy because of him. Happy because she cared about him. And cared maybe more than she should.
* * *
They made love in the Turquoise Chamber and fell asleep tangled together, skin damp, limbs intertwined.
Jemma woke first, it was early.
Day five, she thought. She would be here for only three more days.
She counted the nights in her head, remembering the colors...
White the first night in the Chamber of Innocence, and then Topaz, Amethyst, Ruby or Crimson, and then last night was Turquoise.
Where would they go tonight? To the Emerald Chamber? Sapphire?
Did it even matter?
She had to leave. Had to return to London. Didn’t she?
Confused by her conflicting thoughts, Jemma quietly left the bed and stepped outside to the courtyard. It was still early. The sun was just rising and the temperature felt cool, the early morning painted the palest pink and yellow.
Jemma’s maid appeared in the courtyard with coffee and a tray of breakfast pastries. Jemma refused the pastries but sipped the coffee in a chair near the tranquil pool, listening to the chirp of birds nesting high above in the palm fronds.
Mikael appeared in the doorway a half hour later. He’d showered and dressed and was wearing his robes. “I need to go to Ketama,” he said, approaching her to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “I will be back tonight. I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to.”
