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“Or at the very least, you must have felt —,” afraid. The word came to her unbidden and her eyes widened as something like realisation grew. Little pieces of a puzzle began to knit together, building a different image of Zafar in her mind. She’d always seen him as the embodiment of confidence, a man who had been born to rule and knew it. But what if he’d been taught to rule, made to feel that his father’s love and approval was dependent on his mastery of those skills? Farrah had always been very discreet but she’d said enough for Millie to understand that Zafar’s stepmother had never accepted him. Was it possible this warrior-like Sheikh had spent his entire life feeling that if he didn’t behave in a certain way he’d be rejected?
It made no sense.
They drove in silence for some time more, though it was no longer comfortable. Millie was absorbed by her thoughts, staring out of the window without seeing, so she didn’t notice the gradual shifts in landscape, the sand darkening in colour, tufts of grass appearing at first before rock appeared beneath them. The car bumped over it, but Zafar continued on.
“You weren’t close to Farrah’s mother,” Millie said eventually. She couldn’t say why but questions had begun to spread through her that needed answering, questions that – she felt – were inherent to the kind of father Zafar would be. They would certainly tell her why he was the kind of man he was. Why he’d pushed her away?
“Wasn’t I?”
“No. Farrah’s said as much.”
His smile was mocking. “Of course she has.”
“Don’t be like that. She wasn’t idly discussing you. It came up only recently. In fact, I didn’t really think of it again until now. But how come you never mentioned it to me?”
“Why would I have?”
Because we were falling in love. She stopped herself from uttering the pathetic rejoinder. After all, they’d been no such thing. She might have thought she was doing that, but of course she wasn’t. Love wasn’t one sided. And it had never formed a part of his intentions.
“We talked. A lot. Or maybe that was just me,” she said with frustration. “You said very little, in actuality.”
It was only by chance that she noticed his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his fingers had turned white at the bones. “There is nothing to discuss. My father’s second wife had no obligation to love me. What does it matter?”
Millie drew in a shocked breath. “But you were just a boy when they married!”
“So?”
He flicked her a glance, and Millie knew she wasn’t imagining the practiced look of complacency on his face. Zafar might have been able to fool most people but not Millie. She saw through him as easily as if he were made of glass.
“So your parents’ divorce was less than amicable, and shortly after your father remarried. I don’t believe you weren’t hurt by your stepmother’s lack of acceptance. Or your father’s choice to marry someone who could treat you that way.”
“My stepmother was always cordial,” he responded. “There is no bad blood between us.”
“Cordial,” Millie spat the word with venom. “That is no way to treat a young boy and you know it.”
He arched a brow, evidently surprised by her outburst, but before he could respond, he drew the car to a halt and on autopilot, Millie looked beyond the windscreen. As her eyes landed on a series of colourful canvas tents that had been erected on the edge of what appeared to be a cliff, her line of questioning momentarily evaporated.
“Where are we?”
“Halfway. We’ll break the journey here.”
Her lips formed an ‘o’ of surprise. “Here?” And despite the seriousness of their conversation, she felt a burst of excitement. “We’re going to spend the night here?”
“I presume this is alright?”
“Oh, yes,” enthusiasm quivered in her words. “It looks…beautiful.” And it did – just like a Bedouin camp from a picture book. Her hands clasped the door handle before she could recollect protocol, so that she was pushing out of the car at the same moment a security guard approached.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, without really meaning it. Zafar was at her side a moment later.
“Would you like me to show you around?”
She nodded her agreement.
“This is our tent,” he said, as he guided her to the largest, set a fair distance from the others. On the outside it was cream, brown and turquoise, but inside it was like an extension of the palace. Rugs had been thrown on the floor to create a bright carpet and the furniture was definitely not like any camp furniture she’d ever seen. There was even an en-suite bathroom, rudimentary compared to the palace but more than functional for their situation.
“Have a look around,” he suggested. “And make a list of anything else you require for your comfort. The helicopter can go back to the palace for whatever you might need.”
“I don’t need anything beyond this. Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”
