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‘Can’t you? Actually, it’s very relevant. I’ll have you know that my family is descended from mighty warriors and ruthless tyrants. There have been Al-Maisan sultans conquering neighbouring lands ever since our people first settled in the desert, and there has been much bloodshed along the way. Nobody’s history is whiter than white, Gabe. Not yours and especially not mine.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not the same,’ he said stubbornly.
She laid her hand on his arm. ‘It is the same—just different. Our baby isn’t a clone of your father, you know. Nor of you—or me. Our baby is unique and I know for sure that the best and only legacy we can give him—or her—is love. We must love this baby with all our hearts, Gabe. Even if you don’t feel that way about me—do you think you can find it in your heart to love our baby?’
He shook his head and for a minute his face was contorted with pain. ‘What a brute of a man you must think I am,’ he declared bitterly, ‘that I would be incapable of feeling something for an innocent scrap of humanity.’
‘Not a brute,’ she said gently. ‘A man who has been wounded—badly wounded. But I am your wife and I am going to help you heal, but I can only do that if you let me. If you can bear to open up your heart, Gabe—and let me in.’
She saw a muscle flickering at his temple as he caught hold of her wet shoulders and looked into her face.
‘Only if you can you forgive me,’ he said. ‘Can you ever forgive me for what I have done, my darling Leila?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said softly, her hand reaching up to touch the hard contours of his face. She ran her fingertip along the high slash of his very Slavic cheekbones and the firm curve of his lips. She looked into the pewter eyes and her heart turned over with love. One day soon she would tell him to learn to understand his father, and then to let the bitterness go. That there was a little bit of bad in the best of people, and a little bit of good in the worst.
But not now.
Now she must be focused on the most important things.
‘We’re both very cold and very wet,’ she said as she snuggled up against him. ‘Do you think we should go home?’
Gabe stroked a straggly strand of damp hair away from her face and smiled, but the lump in his throat meant that it took a moment or two before he could speak. ‘Right here is home,’ he said unevenly. ‘Wherever you are. I love you, my compassionate and passionate princess. I love you very much.’
He tapped on the glass and the car moved away, and that was when he started to kiss her.
EPILOGUE
‘HE LOOKS VERY Qurhahian,’ said Gabe as he gazed into the crib where the sleeping infant lay.
Leila smiled, giving one last unnecessary twitch of the snowy cashmere blanket which now covered the crescent curve of Hafez’s perfect little foot. ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what Murat said to me today.’
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‘Did he?’
She nodded as she looked down at their tiny son. His skin was faintly tinged with olive and already he had a hint of the slightly too-strong nose which had been the bane of her life, but which Gabe always told her was the most beautiful nose in the world. Deep down she suspected that her husband was relieved to discover that their firstborn looked more like her than him. But Leila was confident that, with time, his few remaining reservations about his heritage would melt beneath the power of her love.
Today had been Hafez’s naming ceremony, here in the palace in Simdahab where she’d grown up—and it had been the most glorious of visits. All the servants had clucked excitedly around the princess’s new baby. That was when they hadn’t been buzzing round the Western guests who had flown out for the occasion and who mingled with the dignitaries and kings from the neighbouring desert countries.
It had been a day of immense happiness and joy, but Leila thought that Murat seemed rather pensive and she wondered if it was because the woman he had been destined to marry had found happiness with another man.
She put her arms around Gabe and pressed her lips to his cheek. ‘My brother said something very strange to me today.’
‘Tell me.’ He started to kiss her neck.
Leila closed her eyes as shivers of sensation began to whisper over her skin. ‘He said that at least there was another generation of the Al-Maisan family, in case he never produced an heir of his own. He seemed to imply that he would never marry—and that he’d be contented with a long line of mistresses instead.’
Gabe smiled as he brushed his mouth over her scented skin. Hadn’t he once thought that way himself? When his heart had been so dark and cold that it had felt as if a lump of ice had been wedged in his chest. ‘All it takes is the right woman,’ he said. ‘And once she comes along, it seems that a man will happily change his entire life to please her. Just as I have done for you.’
‘Oh, darling,’ she said, closing her eyes with dreamy pleasure as she thought back to everything that had happened to them since Hafez had been born.
They had sold his apartment and moved to a large house overlooking Hampstead Heath, because Gabe realised that Leila had been right. That his minimalistic high-rise apartment was no place to bring up a baby—it had suited a phase of his life which was now over. Hafez needed grass and flowers, she had told him firmly. He needed a nearby nursery and hopefully a school he could walk to.
So a studio had been built for her in the basement of their new house, from which she would work as a freelance photographer. That way she got all the pleasures of working, but none of the regular commitment which would keep her away from their son.
Gabe lifted his hand and stroked back the glorious fall of hair from her face so that it streamed down over her shoulders in a cascade of ebony. The roseate curves of her lips were an irresistible invitation, and he kissed her with a steadily increasing hunger before drawing away from her.
‘I love you,’ he said.
