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“And you seem to forget that I am married to the ruler,” she barbed back, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “We miss you, Ra’if. Why don’t you come home?”
“Because I don’t know that it is home anymore,” he said quietly. His eyes focussed on the view beneath him. London, with its modern buildings and historical streets, weaved beneath him. He reached forward and touched the glass, taking a little strength from the character of the city. “And I have business in London still.”
“Then come for Christmas,” she insisted. “Just for a few days?”
He nodded, thinking of Melinda instantly. What had he expected? That they would spend the holiday together? He had completely taken leave of his senses, where that woman was concerned. “I’ll look at my diary.”
“No, you won’t. You’re putting me off. I know you too well for that.”
His smile was half-hearted. “Liv …”
“Ra’if …” She responded. He could hear weariness in her voice and was instantly alert.
“What is it? Is everything …”
“Oh.” She paused. “Everything’s fine. I just … I don’t know. Marook said …” A lengthy pause as Olivia evidently searched for the right words. “He says you’re not yourself.”
“Does he?”
A longer silence stretched between them. “He says you’re unpredictable. Spontaneous. Strange.”
Ra’if’s laugh was rich with disbelief. “That old man has been watching too many soap operas. He is imagining all this! I’m fine, Liv. You know me. Do you really think I’d be in any danger?”
“I think love can catch you unawares sometime,” she said softly. “And that you’re a great guy who a million women would fall over themselves to date.”
“It’s not love,” he said, needing to remind himself of that forcefully. For love didn’t exist in a void. It was a two way street; both people had to feel it to give it life. And she was determined not to let him in. “I’m not in love.”
“So? Then what is it?”
“Use your imagination,” he drawled, wishing the words back as soon as they’d said them. Even to Olivia, whom he adored, he did not feel comfortable discussing the intimacies of his time with Melinda. “She’s a friend,” he pedalled back lamely.
“But you’re sleeping with her.”
“Olivia.” It was a sharp whip into the phone; a reminder to both of them that his birth right had been to sit upon the throne of Dashan. “That’s enough.”
She expelled an angry sigh. “Marook said you were.”
“That man,” Ra’if stood, prowling across his office and propping his arm on the glass window then leaning further forward to look right down at the street. People moved as ants. “It is not his business.”
“It is if she’s into drugs.”
Ra’if was very quiet; very still. “She isn’t.”
Silence stretched between them; it was long and prickly. Finally, Olivia sighed. “Marook says you’ve been speaking to rehabilitation centres. Is it for her?”
He groaned. “And here I thought I’d escaped the iron guard.”
“Sorry,” she laughed softly. “I could call Marook right now and he’d tell me how many times Zamir has eaten today. He knows everything about you two boys.”
“Boys?” Ra’if shook his head ruefully.
“Don’t change the subject,” Liv said softly. “Why are you calling rehabs?”
He compressed his lips and turned his back on the view, focussing on his desk instead. It was cluttered. A bad habit he’d got into recently. There had been a time when he’d have refused to leave the office for the day without clearing his desk completely.
“It’s not for me. Or her.”
“So?” Liv was trying her hardest to be patient, he could tell. “Come on, Ra’if. I haven’t mentioned any of this to Zami yet.”
