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“Listen to me, old man. My husband doesn’t want a divorce. He wants—”
“You. Yes. And to get you, he will bring dishonor to a foolish girl, to an important family, to an entire people.”
“No. No, I don’t believe you.” Megan gave an unsteady laugh. “You make it sound as if I’m going to—to bring down the throne!”
“You well may,” Hakim said grimly. “At the very least, you will make it impossible for Lord Qasim to implement the changes he’s worked so hard to achieve.”
“You’re wrong,” Megan said desperately. “I’ve been in all those meetings. My husband’s ideas have been well-received.”
“Your husband has had a difficult enough time convincing his people to follow his new ways. Now he stands to lose the respect of an entire faction. He’s flaunted the centuries-old traditions that govern who he is to marry, who is to sit beside him as queen, who will provide him with heirs to the throne.”
“Lies, all of it! Qasim’s father married a foreigner, too.”
“Only after his first wife died.” Hakim leaned toward her so that she felt his hot breath on her face. “You have put the sheikh in great danger.”
“Danger?” Megan felt her knees turn watery. “How—how can he be in danger?”
“We are a people of ancient traditions. The only way to assuage the stain of dishonor is with blood.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Qasim has changed things here.”
“Traditions are not changed as easily as plans for roads and hospitals.”
“I’ll speak with him. I’ll ask him if—’’
‘‘What will you ask him? Or rather, what will he tell you? Do you think he’ll let you know what he risks for you?” Hakim’s eyes bored into hers. “You say you love the sheikh. Perhaps you do. Then I must ask…Do you love him enough to give him up, or will you wait until he loses his throne, his kingdom, his people…his life?”
Hours later, an eternity later, Megan lay beside Caz in their bed.
The night was silent and dark, heavy with moisture from a storm that was rolling in over the sea.
She knew what she had to do, and that she should have done it by now, but she’d wanted one more night, one more memory to warm her through the years that stretched ahead.
Caz had made love to her.
She had made love to him.
For the last time, her heart kept saying, for the last time.
Each kiss, each caress had been filled with the pain of what she knew would come next. And it was time to do it. Now, before she lost her courage.
But first—first, one last kiss…
Megan brushed her lips over her those of her sleeping husband. His mouth softened, clung to hers, and she almost let herself sink into the kiss.
But she didn’t.
She slid from under his arm, rolled to the edge of the bed and reached for the robe she’d deliberately left within reach earlier in the evening. Once she had it on, sash firmly tied, she rose to her feet.
“Caz?”
Caz sighed and rolled on his belly.
“Caz, wake up. I want to talk to you.”
“Mmm.” He turned over and looked at her. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing, kalila? Come back here,” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“We have to talk.”
