Читать книгу Six Sizzling Sheikhs - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE Biryali royal jet took off from the island into a sky of cloudless blue, the sea smooth and winking with sunlight below. Lucy leaned her head back against the luxurious leather seat and closed her eyes.
The last twenty-four hours had been completely draining. First there had been the breakfast with Khaled, when her world had slipped on its axis, and she’d realised—and accepted—that nothing would be the same. Not for her, not for Sam. And, she added fairly, not for Khaled.
Her reluctant agreement to accompany Khaled on the Biryali jet and return home a day later than she’d planned had led to a flurry of activity.
First, the England team’s travel coordinator had had to be told. This had led to everyone else in the team’s entourage knowing her changed plans almost immediately, and within the hour Eric had been knocking on her door.
‘You’re staying? With Khaled?’ he demanded as soon as Lucy opened it, and she’d sighed wearily.
‘Yes, Eric. It turns out Khaled wants to be involved in Sam’s life.’
‘And you’re permitting this?’ Eric’s eyes had narrowed. ‘You want this?’
Did he sound jealous? Lucy had shrugged impatiently. ‘I don’t really have much choice. And Khaled has a right to know his son—’ She broke off, not wanting to finish that sentence: even if I don’t want him to.
‘And what about you? Do you want to be with Khaled?’
Lucy had found herself flushing, much to her irritation. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Eric had asked quietly, and Lucy had felt a flash of alarm.
‘Eric—’
‘Never mind.’ He’d held up one hand to stop her from speaking. ‘I don’t really want to know.’ He’d turned to go. Lucy had suddenly blurted, ‘Why did you tell me Khaled would recover from his knee injury?’ Her voice had rung out in accusation. ‘He’s still clearly in a lot of pain. That injury is more serious than anyone ever imagined.’
‘I did what Khaled wanted me to do,’ Eric had replied after a moment. He’d looked disappointed, defeated. ‘I’ll see you back in England, Lucy.’
There had been other difficult conversations before their departure, although Lucy had not been privy to them. Khaled had broken the news to his father that he had a son, an illegitimate one, and that he was going to England to see him.
Lucy didn’t know how King Ahmed had reacted to such surprising news, but she supposed she could guess. Khaled had emerged from the reception room tight-lipped and white-faced, and the palace had seemed alive with speculative whispers.
She’d retreated to her room, too tired and overwhelmed to face even one more sliding, sideways glance.
Now that was all behind her—for now. They’d left Biryal for England, but for how long? How long would Khaled be willing to pretend at being happy families in London? Would he tire of her, of Sam? Did she want him to?
The thoughts and desires of her mind and heart were so tangled, so twisted. She didn’t know what she wanted.
She wanted to be safe. The thought slipped, unbidden, into her mind. She wanted Sam to be safe. She wanted her heart to be safe.
Was it already too late?
Cool fingers tapped her hand and her eyes flew open. Khaled was leaning across the aisle towards her, a faint smile on his face.
‘Would you like a drink?’
Wordlessly, Lucy nodded. He was close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes, the faint stubble on his chin. When she inhaled, she breathed in the scent of him, a strong, woody aftershave, and something else indefinable—something that she remembered as just being him. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she finally managed. ‘An orange juice, please.’
Khaled raised one hand—an imperious gesture, if there ever was one—and an attendant hurried forward. He murmured something in Arabic, and then sat back in his seat.
‘You are all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him.
‘I realise much has changed for you in the last few days,’ Khaled went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And it must be difficult for you.’
‘Thank you for that sensitivity,’ Lucy replied, her tone containing a touch of acid. Khaled smiled faintly.
‘You’re welcome.’
Lucy turned away from Khaled, towards the window. She had so many unanswered questions, but she wasn’t ready to ask them, or to hear Khaled’s answers.
It was astonishing, she reflected numbly, how quickly and utterly her life had changed. And now that it had she couldn’t believe she’d actually ever thought or hoped it wouldn’t. Yet, even as she struggled to grasp the enormity of the changes ahead of her and Sam, another part of her shied away from confronting the reality. One step at a time. One day at a time. One minute at a time if necessary.
‘Where is Sam staying now?’ Khaled asked, breaking into her spinning thoughts. Startled, Lucy turned to him and nearly jostled the glass of chilled juice the steward had discreetly left on the coffee table by her elbow.
‘With my mother.’
Khaled nodded. ‘He likes it there?’
‘Yes. Mum is very close to him. She’s been a tremendous support since Sam was born.’
Khaled slid her a thoughtful glance, his eyes dark and hooded. ‘I suppose it was very difficult for you, a single mother with a demanding career.’
‘Yes, but Sam has always been worth it.’
‘Does your mother take care of him when you work?’ Khaled’s voice had sharpened slightly, though with curiosity or judgement Lucy could not say. Still, she prickled uncomfortably, ready for a fight.
‘Sometimes. He’s in a nursery now that he’s three, and before that I had a part-time nanny.’
Khaled nodded, his lips pursed, and Lucy steeled herself for another imperious interdict. Would Khaled tell her she couldn’t work, or that he wanted to vet the staff that took care of his son?
And what would happen if—when—he took Sam to Biryal?
Don’t think of it, she told herself. Not yet; it’s too much. One day, one minute, one second at a time.
‘You’ll fetch Sam from your mother’s tomorrow?’ Khaled asked, and Lucy nodded. ‘Then I’ll leave the two of you to settle yourselves. The next day, when he’s back home, I’ll come and see him.’ He paused, rubbing his chin. ‘You don’t need to tell him who I am right away. Wait until he’s comfortable with me.’
How long would that take? It was difficult to imagine Khaled with a child, his child. Would he charm Sam? Would he tire of him? The fear gnawed at her, ate away at her insides.
When would he leave?
It was stupid to be afraid of his leaving, when that was what she’d wanted all along: to be left alone. Yet already the thought of his rejection made her insides twist and roil. Stupid.
‘That sounds sensible,’ she finally said, and took a sip of juice.
Eventually she fell into an uneasy doze, only to be woken when the attendant began to serve dinner.
‘Will you have wine?’ Khaled asked as the steward prepared to pour, and, still befuddled by sleep, Lucy nodded.
The wine was rich and red, and glinted in the dimmed lights of the cabin. Lucy felt as if she were in a fancy restaurant rather than on an aeroplane. The table between their seats had been laid with a linen tablecloth and napkins, winking crystal and creamy porcelain plates.
Outside the hard, blue sky was replaced by endless black, lit only by the plane’s wing lights. The attendant served a salad of baby spinach leaves with roasted peppers and pecans, and then retired to the rear of the cabin. Khaled lifted his glass, smiling faintly.
‘To our future.’
Lucy’s fingers felt cold as they curled around the stem of the glass; she raised it to her lips. Our future. Khaled’s meaning couldn’t have been plainer: he was staying in her life, in Sam’s life. They had a future.
What would it be like, Lucy wondered, to see Khaled on a regular basis? To have a relationship, a future with him, even if it wasn’t the one she’d once imagined?
How long would it last? How long did she want it to last? The prospect of inviting him into her life once more terrified her. What she couldn’t do was invite him into her heart.
Except she wondered how much choice she really had when it came to Khaled. She’d been so weak before. She wanted to be strong now, to keep him at a distance, but could she?
Would he leave her broken-hearted again—or worse, break the heart of her son?
‘What are you thinking?’ Khaled asked, his voice low and husky with suppressed laughter. ‘Your forehead is crinkling as if you’re trying to work out a rather difficult maths problem.’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Lucy took a sip of the rich, red wine and let it slip like liquid velvet down her throat, firing her belly. ‘Just…thinking.’
‘It is bound to be awkward for us at first,’ Khaled said, also sipping his wine. ‘Considering our past. But I’m sure, for Sam’s sake, we can move past whatever we felt for each other.’ His voice was so neutral, so bland and indifferent, that Lucy couldn’t keep from giving a rather sharp laugh.
‘That’s a good way of putting it—“whatever we felt for each other”.’
Khaled frowned. ‘What are you implying, Lucy?’
She shrugged and took another sip of wine. ‘Only that we rather obviously felt different things. But you’re right, Khaled, it will be awkward, and we can move past it. I have already.’ She smiled with bright determination, knowing she sounded too defiant, too childish, but not caring.
Whatever we felt for each other. Ha! She knew what he’d felt: nothing.
‘You think I didn’t care for you?’ Khaled said slowly, and now he was the one who sounded like he was working out a maths problem.
‘I’d say you spelt that out quite clearly when you left,’ Lucy replied shortly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Khaled looked away, and Lucy saw the tension in his jaw, his powerful shoulder. ‘There were reasons why I acted the way I did.’
‘What—your knee?’ Khaled stiffened, and Lucy ploughed on with relentless determination. ‘Obviously your injury was more serious than anyone supposed, Khaled. I see that now, and Eric told me you didn’t want anyone to know. But, even so…’ She took a breath, feeling the hurt once more, so fresh and raw. ‘Even so, you didn’t have to…to take your bat and go home!’ He jerked, turning back to her, his eyes narrowing dangerously. ‘If you were hurt, I wanted to be with you,’ she said quietly. ‘Comfort you. Help you.’
‘Help me,’ he repeated, and it sounded like a snarl. A sneer.
‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed. She sat back, tired and defeated once more. What was the point of remembering, rehashing, the past now four years later? Four years too late. It didn’t change things. It just made them hurt again. Hurt more. ‘But obviously you didn’t want that from me,’ she finished, setting her glass on the table. ‘And I accepted that, and moved on. So.’ She forced herself to look up, and even to smile. ‘That’s why we can get past the awkward bit. For Sam’s sake…and for our own.’
Khaled gave a little laugh and shook his head. ‘Obviously we felt different things. Obviously I didn’t want your help. It’s so very clear in your world, isn’t it, Lucy? You have all the answers without having asked any of the questions. So very black and white.’ He gave another little laugh, the sound taut with bitterness, and Lucy stared at him in surprise.
‘Then tell me—’ she began, but Khaled cut her off.
‘No matter. I am glad we are in agreement. The past is finished, and we can move on.’ He lifted his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. ‘In fact, I think we have already.’
By the time the plane landed at Heathrow, Lucy was exhausted. Khaled, she noticed, looked tired as well; his face had the greyish tinge of fatigue, and she wondered if his knee was paining him again. How long did these flare ups last?
They didn’t speak as they left the plane. Khaled issued a few terse instructions to a hovering attendant regarding their luggage and then gestured to a dark sedan idling by the kerb.
Lucy climbed in, grateful for the comfort, and Khaled followed. ‘What is your address?’ he asked, and Lucy gave it to him.
She didn’t particularly relish the thought of Khaled seeing her rather humble Victorian terrace on the outskirts of London. It was far from what he was used to, whether it was the Biryali palace or his luxury flat in Mayfair. She thought of the days and nights she’d spent in that flat, and forced the memory from her mind.
‘Where will you be staying?’ she asked as the car pulled away from the kerb. ‘Do you still have your flat?’
‘No. I sold it.’ Khaled’s voice was brusque, and with a pang of surprise Lucy realised he hadn’t been back to England since his accident. Since their break-up. What did he think or feel, coming back here? Did the rain-slicked pavement and cold, damp air bring back a flood of memories of his time on the team, or his time with her? ‘I’m staying at a hotel,’ he continued. ‘I’ll give you all my contact information.’
They didn’t talk for the rest of the trip, which was just as well, as Lucy’s eyes were fluttering with exhaustion when the car pulled up to her house.
‘You don’t need to…’ she began, but Khaled had already opened his door and was striding around to open hers.
Lucy slipped out and fumbled for the keys in her handbag as the driver retrieved her luggage.
It felt awkward and strangely intimate to be standing in the moonlight outside her front door, Khaled gazing down at her with his usual, unfathomable expression. It felt, she thought with an amusement born from exhaustion, like a date.
‘You’re seeing me to my door?’ she asked, and Khaled frowned.
‘I have a responsibility to keep you safe.’
Since when? Lucy wanted to ask. When had she become his responsibility? She opened her mouth to make some querulous reply, then closed it again. What was the point? It was too late for arguments, in more than one respect, and she was too tired anyway.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, and Khaled thrust a stiff white card into her hand.
‘There is all my information. Call me any time, for any reason.’
Lucy raised her eyebrows as she glanced down at the impressive list of contacts: e-mail, mobile, hotel number, suite number. For once, she thought sardonically, Khaled wanted to be found.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and, with him still standing there on her front stoop, she slipped inside and closed the door.
* * *
She surprised herself by sleeping well and dreamlessly, waking only when pale January sunshine was streaming weakly through her bedroom window.
Sam. Today she would see him. Even though she had to travel all too frequently, Lucy had never got used to time away from her son. She was thankful for her mother’s glad readiness to take him, and Sam’s happiness in going.
Yet all that would change…
As she showered and dressed, Lucy forced herself to address the practicalities. The possibilities. Back in England, with a good night’s sleep behind her, she felt able to face the enormous changes that were in store for her and Sam, even if she didn’t know exactly what they were.
One thing she did know, and planned on telling Khaled, was that Sam would not be going to Biryal without her. Not until he was older, anyway. A lot older.
Lucy paused mid-stroke in brushing her hair and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were dark and wide. What if Khaled wanted Sam for weeks, months, at a time? Half the year? How could she have a life for herself in Biryal for that amount of time? How could Sam?
And how could she bear seeing Khaled day in and day out? Perhaps she would become used to it, she thought. Perhaps they would become familiar—friends, even.
The idea felt not only impossible, but unpleasant. She didn’t want to be friends with Khaled. She’d once wanted so much more.
Yet she didn’t any more.
Did she?
The question made Lucy close her eyes. No, no, no, no, no, no…
She couldn’t want that. Yes, she was still attracted to him; she was honest enough to admit that, and felt the electric tug of longing deep in her belly. But love? No. The man she’d loved didn’t exist. She’d thought he was caring, not just charming. She’d believed there was something deeper underneath that reckless, roguish charm, yet there hadn’t been.
Had there?
The Khaled she saw now was so different from the one she’d known, and yet she didn’t think she liked this version any better. At the core, he was still the same—arrogant, powerful, uncaring.
With a sigh Lucy turned away from her reflection. She wasn’t going to think about Khaled; now she only wanted to think about—and be with—Sam.
‘Mummy!’ He hurtled himself into her arms, his small, sturdy body warm and comforting against hers. Lucy buried her face in Sam’s soft hair for a moment, then pulled back to look at him.
‘Any new scrapes?’
Sam showed her a skinned elbow with pride, and Lucy smiled. ‘Doesn’t look fatal,’ she said, pretending to examine it with professional seriousness. ‘Do you think you’ll live?’
‘It’s just a scrape,’ Sam said scornfully, but he was grinning. He loved this game.
‘How was your trip?’ Dana Banks gave her daughter a quick hug before looking over her with critical concern. ‘Lucy, you look completely worn out.’
‘I feel it,’ Lucy replied with a wry smile. ‘It’s that jet lag.’
‘Is that all?’ Dana asked, eyebrows arched, and Lucy gave a small smile and shook her head, the understood signal that they were not to talk of this in front of Sam.
‘Mummy, did you bring me a present?’ Sam asked, pulling on her sleeve. Lucy looked down at her son with a jolt of sudden realisation. He had Khaled’s eyes—the long lashes, the almond shape, the darkly golden irises. How could she not have seen it before?
But of course she had; she’d just never acknowledged it, admitted it. She’d spent four years trying not to think of Khaled, and now she found he was constantly in her thoughts.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head even as he started squirming away. ‘There was no time. But I do have a present, of sorts. A surprise, at least.’ Lucy’s eyes met her mother’s over the top of Sam’s head. ‘A new friend is coming to visit tomorrow. He’s going to take us out.’
‘Where?’ Sam asked eagerly. ‘To the zoo?’
‘Haven’t you just been to the zoo?’
‘I want to go again!’
Lucy chuckled and released Sam, who began racing around the room. He had so much energy, her boy. ‘Perhaps. We’ll have to see.’
Sam peppered her with more questions until, bored, he finally went out to the garden. Dana took the opportunity to put the kettle on and ask Lucy a few questions herself.
‘A new friend?’ she repeated, handing Lucy a mug of tea. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Lucy sighed. ‘Yes. Khaled came back to England with me. Or, rather, I came with him on the Biryali royal jet. He wants to be involved in Sam’s life.’
‘Oh, Lucy.’ Dana’s eyes widened with concern. ‘You didn’t expect that, did you?’
‘No,’ Lucy admitted ruefully. ‘I didn’t. But I should have.’ She took a sip of tea, shaking her head. ‘I think I believed that telling Khaled about Sam would give me some kind of closure. Pitiful, I know, that after four years I still need it.’
‘You never had it,’ Dana interjected quietly.
‘And I’m not getting it now.’ Lucy smiled bleakly at her mother. ‘Khaled’s indicated that he won’t settle for a few trips to the zoo. He doesn’t just want to be in Sam’s life. He wants to be Sam’s father.’
Dana looked sceptical. ‘And you think he’ll keep feeling that way, once the novelty has worn off? He hasn’t given you any reason to trust him in the past.’
‘I know.’ Lucy gazed out of the kitchen window. Sam was doing laps of the garden, absolutely fizzing with energy. ‘He’s a different man now,’ she said slowly. ‘Or at least he seems like it. He isn’t carefree any more. Life seems to…weigh him down. And he takes his responsibilities very seriously.’
‘He’s grown up, then,’ Dana said with an edge to her voice, and Lucy smiled wryly.
‘Maybe.’ Her mother had every right to be wary. Khaled hadn’t proved himself reliable four years ago, just as Dana’s own husband, Tom Banks, hadn’t when Lucy was a child. Her memories of her dad were vague at best—a few treats, a few hugs, standing at the window waiting for him to fetch her…
And then one day he never came.
Lucy swallowed, surprised that such an old, faded memory still had the power to hurt. Khaled’s re-entry into her life had brought up too many ghosts, too many scars. Too much fear.
‘And how do you feel about all this, Lucy?’ Dana asked gently. ‘You could fight him, you know.’
‘The Crown Prince of Biryal?’ Lucy raised her eyebrows. ‘If we ever took this to court, Khaled could wipe the floor with me, Mum. I haven’t got the resources he has, and he told me as much.’
‘He threatened you?’
‘No.’ Lucy let out a breath. ‘Although it felt like a threat at the time. But I was telling him I didn’t want him in Sam’s life.’
‘And now?’
Lucy sighed. Her thoughts and feelings were still so hopelessly tangled. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted after a moment. ‘I honestly don’t know what I want. I thought I didn’t want anything from Khaled, or to see him again, but then why did I tell him about Sam?’
‘Because you’re a good person,’ Dana returned robustly. ‘And you felt he had a right to know.’
‘But, if he has a right to know, then he also has a right to be part of Sam’s life,’ Lucy countered. ‘And I think part of me knew that all along. I think part of me—even if I’ve been trying to deny it to myself—wants Khaled in Sam’s life.’
Dana’s eyes were shrewd, even though her voice was gentle. ‘And what about in your life?’
Lucy swallowed and looked away. That, she realised despondently, was a question she wasn’t ready to answer.
Sam was up early the next morning, eager for his surprise friend. Khaled had rung last night, and they’d agreed on a day’s outing to the zoo followed by a children’s tea back at Lucy’s house.
A whole day with Khaled. A whole day, Lucy thought with a sense of disbelief, as a family.
Even though Khaled wasn’t due until nine o’clock, she kept glancing out of the window all morning. Sam was perched on the sofa, informing her in a piping voice of every car that came crawling down the street.
Lucy’s nerves were taut, ready to break, and Khaled hadn’t even arrived yet.
She checked her appearance in the mirror once more, nervously smoothing her hair behind her ears, making sure that her pale pink V-neck jumper didn’t have any stains from breakfast.
Sam turned to watch her. ‘You look nice, Mummy.’
‘Thanks, darling.’ Lucy gave her son a quick, distracted smile. Why was she so nervous? Why had she spent twenty minutes deciding what to wear, how much make-up to put on?
Why did she care?
She didn’t want to care. She wanted to be cool, composed. In control.
All those things she’d told herself she would be when she went to Biryal, when she saw Khaled again.
Now she felt them hopelessly, helplessly, slipping away.
As the sedan pulled to a stop in front of the small terraced house, so like the dozen others on the narrow, suburban street, Khaled felt his heart leap in his chest.
Today he would meet his son. What would he look like? Sound like? Be like?
His mind whirled and wondered at the possibilities.
Sam.
Lucy.
She crept into his thoughts, slipped under the mental defences he’d erected over the years.
Lucy.
She was so much the same, he thought. She looked the same, with that luxuriant sweep of hair that made him itch to tangle his fingers in its richness, draw its silkiness against his lips as he’d once done with such casual, easy liberty. Now it was forbidden, and all the more tempting.
He loved the way she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, unafraid and defiant. The way sparks shot from her eyes, the colour of dark chocolate.
He loved the feel of her body, soft and pliant, against his—and he hadn’t felt that in four years. Yet now the memory tormented him, and he wanted to feel it again. ‘Wanted’ wasn’t even a strong enough word; he craved it. Needed it as much as a man needed a drug—or other medication.
Touching Lucy would be the most powerful prescription of all.
His knee ached, a cruel reminder of his own limitations, his weaknesses, and worst of all his inevitable decline. Lucy, he told himself yet again, was off-limits. She had to be, for Sam’s sake, for his own.
For hers.
He’d hurt her, Khaled knew. He’d seen it in her eyes, heard it in the jagged edge of her voice, and he realised he hadn’t let himself consider how much before. He’d thought only of what he’d spared her, spared himself.
Yet now she seemed determined to put the feelings she’d had for him aside, relics of an irrelevant history. He’d intended on doing the same, yet now he felt himself craving more. Of Lucy.
He hadn’t expected the intensity of need, of desire, when he’d seen her. He hadn’t expected to feel unmanned, weak and desperate for her touch, her smile.
Her love.
Like Lucy, he’d wanted to put their relationship behind them, relegate it to ‘pleasant anecdote’ status. He wanted to forget how much he’d loved her.
Yet now he was afraid he couldn’t.
His knee throbbed again; he’d refused painkillers that morning as they tended to make him drowsy. He wanted to be at full capacity for Sam. For his son.
As he exited the sedan and walked up to Lucy’s door, he heard a sudden squeal from the front window. Khaled saw a dark tousled head disappear behind a sofa before he heard the impatient rattling of the doorknob.
‘He’s here!’
Smiling, his heart expanding with joy, Khaled prepared to meet his son.
Her fingers fumbling on the lock, Lucy hastened to answer the door. She opened it, and there he was—Khaled.
Why did it feel so different now, so much more intimate? Perhaps it was Sam’s presence; perhaps it was simply because something had shifted or settled.
He’d been accepted.
She smiled and said quietly, ‘Hello, Khaled.’
‘Hello, Lucy.’
Sam’s earlier excitement had suddenly turned into shyness, and he now hid behind Lucy, one arm wound around her leg.
Lucy was afraid Khaled would be displeased by their son’s reticence, but he merely crouched down so he was eye-level with Sam.
‘Hello, Sam. My name is Khaled, and I’m a friend of your mother’s.’
Sam’s eyes were dark and wide, as dark and wide as Khaled’s, and he popped a thumb in his mouth, sucking industriously for a moment before he removed it and said, ‘That’s a funny sort of name.’
‘Sam!’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Khaled agreed. ‘It’s an Arabic name. I come from an island country on the other side of the world. It’s called Biryal.’
Lucy tensed, waiting, but Khaled said no more. Shrugging in acceptance, Sam asked, ‘How did you know my name?’
‘Your mother told me. She’s told me a bit about you.’
‘And we’re going to the zoo?’
‘Yes, if you’d like to.’
Sam nodded vigorously, and, smiling, Khaled stood up. Lucy caught a whiff of aftershave, that familiar cedar scent mingled with the musk that was just him, and her breath caught in her throat.
‘Would you like a coffee first?’ she asked. She tucked her hair behind her ears once more, a nervous gesture if there ever was one, and strove to find the composure that had been her armour, her defence, for so long.
‘That would be lovely, if Sam doesn’t mind postponing our trip for a few minutes?’
Sam looked ready to pout, and Lucy said quickly, ‘Of course he won’t. Sam, why don’t you show Khaled the zoo you made out of Lego yesterday? I’m sure he’d love to see it.’
‘I would,’ Khaled said gravely, and, his shyness abandoning him, Sam tugged on Khaled’s hand and led him to the lounge.
Lucy watched Khaled’s long fingers curl around her son’s, his eyes suspiciously bright, and something inside her broke. It was a good break, a healing one.
How could she ever have fought this? How could she have ever thought Sam and Khaled didn’t need this?
That she didn’t?
She swallowed the lump in her throat, annoyed by her own heightened emotions, and hurried to make the coffee.
She couldn’t keep herself from eavesdropping on Sam and Khaled’s conversation as she spooned the coffee into the cafetière. Sam was chattering away, completely comfortable now, pointing out all the little plastic animals he’d placed carefully on the floor, each one in its own little Lego pen. It had taken most of the afternoon yesterday, and Lucy had already heard the very detailed explanations of his architectural design.
‘And that’s a zebra…they’re stripy. Have you seen one before? Do you know what they look like?’
‘Yes, I have. You’re right; they are stripy.’
Lucy smiled to herself, amazed and gratified that Khaled was humouring her son, that he knew how to. That he wanted to.
She poured the coffee and entered the lounge, stopping at the sight of Khaled stretched out beside Sam on the carpet, studying the Lego zoo with intent seriousness.
‘Here’s your coffee.’ She held the mug out awkwardly, still not used to the enforced intimacy of their situation. She wondered if she ever would be.
‘Thanks.’ Khaled stood up—stiffly, Lucy noticed. She almost asked about his knee, but then decided not to. Khaled had made it clear that he didn’t like talking about his injury.
‘Can we go now?’ Sam asked, and Lucy smiled.
‘I’ve just given Khaled his coffee, sweetheart. Why don’t you play for a few minutes and then we’ll go?’
Sam started to pout—three-year-olds, Lucy had noticed, were so good at that—but Khaled rescued the moment by picking up a discarded giraffe. ‘I think this one needs a pen.’
Sam hesitated, and then took the plastic animal from Khaled and began to construct a pen out of Lego.
Lucy cradled her mug between her hands and watched Khaled covertly over the rim.
Sleep had restored him, as it had her, and he looked awake and relaxed. He looked good, Lucy admitted, letting her gaze become bolder, sweeping over his familiar features that still somehow seemed so strange.
‘You cut your hair.’ The words popped out, and Lucy bit her lip. Khaled gave a wry smile.
‘The son of a king must have a different appearance from a rugby player.’
‘I never thought of you as the son of a king,’ Lucy admitted. ‘You were just Khaled, rugby star.’
‘Yes, I was, wasn’t I?’ There was a faint edge to his voice that Lucy couldn’t understand. ‘I never thought of myself as the son of a king either,’ Khaled added, and took a sip of coffee.
Lucy frowned. ‘But surely you knew you’d have to return to Biryal? You’ve been the heir your whole life.’
Khaled paused, his expression both shadowed and thoughtful. ‘In a manner of speaking. My family has always been royal, but Biryal was a British protectorate until the early 1960s. Then they gave us back our independence, and my father was poised to become king in the true sense. Unfortunately, his cousin Ghassan seized the throne while my father was travelling from Yemen to take it himself. The British supported Ghassan because it was easier and they didn’t want a civil war. They’d just withdrawn all their troops, after all. My father fled back to Yemen, where I was born and grew up.’
It was like something out of a history book or even a film, Lucy thought. ‘How long was Ghassan king?’
‘Twenty years, until he died without heirs. Then my father finally gained his throne.’ Khaled shook his head. ‘By that time he was bitter and suspicious of everyone.’ He paused, his gaze sliding away from hers to a dark memory. ‘Even me.’
‘You mean he was afraid that you would seize the throne?’
‘Or that rebel insurgents would use me as a puppet.’ Khaled shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what my father was thinking, but he wanted me out of the picture—which is why he sent me to boarding school in England when I was seven. Then university, and then I played rugby, which he encouraged. Anything to keep me from home.’ He spoke flatly, but Lucy still sensed the bitterness underneath.
‘So why did you go back?’ Lucy whispered. She was appalled by what sounded like a loveless childhood.
‘I knew I would have to go back eventually. And when I was injured it seemed like the time had finally come.’ He paused, taking another sip of coffee. When he spoke again, his voice was careful, deliberate. ‘A few weeks after my return, my father had a heart attack—a minor one, but it made him realise his own mortality, and he realised I was his heir, not a usurper. So he made a place for me, albeit a small one, and I accepted my royal duties.’ He put his empty mug on the coffee table and smiled at Sam. ‘Shall we go?’
Lucy was still mulling over all that Khaled had told her as they headed outside to the waiting sedan. It was more than she’d ever known before, more than he’d ever told her before. More than she’d ever asked.
The knowledge—and her own previous ignorance of it—unsettled her. Made her wonder.
She glanced over at Khaled; his face was averted from hers as he looked out of the window. She let her gaze rove over his strong profile, the hard lines of his cheek and jaw, and felt a pang of sorrowful curiosity.
Who are you ?
Sam, sandwiched between them, started to wriggle, and she spent the rest of the trip distracting him. Yet, even so, her mind and eyes would wander back to Khaled and she realised she wanted to know the answer to that question.
