Their Impossible Desert Match Read online

  ‘You’re saying he was supposed to marry someone else until that night?’

  ‘I’m saying within half an hour of meeting your mother he insisted the engagement agreement be set aside. They were inseparable.’ Ahmed sighed.

  Amir held his hand out, and Ahmed put the photo in it. The happiness in his parents’ eyes was palpable. Through the veil of time he could feel the joy that had been captured in this moment.

  ‘I know how happy they were,’ Amir agreed.

  ‘Yes. They were happy.’ Ahmed frowned, sighed heavily once more, so Amir looked towards the older man with a frown, wondering what was on his mind. ‘I often think about that. Would they have changed anything if they’d known what would happen?’

  Amir stiffened in his seat, replacing the photo on the edge of his desk with care. ‘It’s impossible to know.’

  ‘No.’ Ahmed’s smile was wistful. ‘It’s not. I believe that even if they’d been told on their wedding day what fate awaited them, they would not have shied away from it. Not when it brought you, and the time they had together.’

  Amir’s chest felt tight.

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty. At my age, the brain tends to become reflective.’

  Ahmed moved towards the door. Before he could open it, Amir said, ‘My mother paid a high price for that happiness.’

  Ahmed frowned. ‘I think if she was here she’d say it was worth it.’

  * * *

  Amir often dreamed of his parents. That they were drowning, or on fire, or falling from a cliff, and in every dream he reached for them, his fingertips brushing the cotton of his mother’s clothes, or the ends of her hair, grabbing without holding, so close but ultimately ineffectual.

  He knew what was at the root of the dreams: a disbelief that he hadn’t been able to save them. A desire to go back to that night and do something, anything, that would change the twist of fate that had taken them from him.

  His powerlessness had sat about his shoulders for a long time, and he’d never really accepted it.

  This dream was different. Johara, in a maze. Not like the maze in Taquul, this had white walls, and as she ran through it the corridors became narrower and narrower, so that he could never reach her. Whenever he got close, she’d slip away again, disappearing no matter how hard he looked.

  He woke with a start, his breath rushed, his forehead covered in perspiration.

  She’s getting married.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I want to stay here with you.’

  He swore. Anger flooded his body. He ached for her. He felt her everywhere he looked, but she was gone.

  He hadn’t been able to catch her; he’d failed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BEING BACK IN Manhattan was a balm. It was temporary, but it was enough. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, glad the evening—the launch of a new therapy space and classroom funded by her charity—had been a success. And for a brief moment, as she’d walked through the room and smiled and spoken to the assembled guests, she’d almost felt like herself again.

  Almost.

  It was impossible to forget. It was impossible to feel whole when so much of herself was locked away in a space she couldn’t access. She’d stopped counting the days since she’d left Ishkana. When it had passed ninety, she’d known: it was too long. He wasn’t going to change his mind—he was glad she’d left. He’d forgotten about her. He’d drawn boundaries for their relationship and he was sticking to them with a determination that was innate to him.

  Day by day she’d concentrated on Taquul, on taking on a role there, on seeming as though she were fine and focussed on a life that no longer held any appeal for her. She didn’t speak about Ishkana or Amir, not even with her brother, and Malik never asked. At least he’d dropped the matter of her marrying Paris—for now. She went through the motions, day in, day out, breathing, eating, sleeping, smiling, when inside she felt as though she were withering and dying.

  She used to try not to think of Amir but that was ludicrous—like trying to stop one’s heart from beating. It was something she did reflexively so now she didn’t even bother to fight it. She accepted that he would always be a part of her, even when he wasn’t. She accepted that she would always look for him, think of him, reach for him—and that she’d never again see him or touch him.

  Pain was her constant companion, but so what? She could live with it; she would live with it, because even pain was a reminder of him. And in the meantime, she could still make something of her life. She would always know that he was missing, but she refused to be cowed by that. In time, she’d grow strong again.

  Perhaps she was already strong? She’d refused Malik’s attempts to organise her marriage. She’d come to New York when he’d clearly wished her to stay. She was carving out the best life she could. And one day, she’d be happy again. Never complete, but content.

  She had to be. There had been too much loss, grief, sadness and death for her to waste her life. She wouldn’t allow herself to indulge in misery.

  Her car pulled to a stop outside the prestigious high rise she called home while in the States, her security guard coming to open her door. She ignored the overt presence of guards flanking the door—the apartment was home to many celebrities and powerful politicians; such security measures were normal. Her guards walked her through the lobby. She barely noticed them.

  Almost home now, she let the mask slip for a moment, allowing herself to feel her loneliness and solitude without judgement. The elevator doors pinged open and she stepped inside. One of her guards went with her, as was protocol, but before the doors closed another man entered. Unmistakably, he was of a security detail, but not hers.

  A second later, the walls seemed to be closing in on her as a second man entered the elevator. Johara couldn’t breathe. Her eyes had stars in them. She pressed her back to the wall of the elevator, sure she was seeing things, or that she’d passed out and conjured Amir from the relics of her soul, because he couldn’t possibly be right in front of her, inside the elevator, here in Manhattan?

  His dark eyes glowed with intent, his face a forbidding mask that made her knees tremble and her stomach tighten. She opened her mouth to ask him something—to ask if it was really him—but she couldn’t. No words would form.

  ‘I’d like a meeting with Her Highness.’ He addressed his comment to her guard.

  Her stomach flipped.

  The guard looked to her. She could see his doubts—the peace was new. He didn’t want to offend this powerful sheikh, but nor could he consent to this highly improper request.

  She had to say something. A thousand questions flooded her. Anger, too. What was he doing here? Why had he come? It had been too long. Too long! Didn’t he see how she’d changed? Couldn’t he tell that inside, behind the beautiful dress and the make-up and the hair, she was like a cut flower left in the sun too long? She angled her face away from his. In the circumstances, his handsome appearance was an insult. How dared he look so good? So virile? So strong and healthy, as though he hadn’t missed a moment’s sleep since she left?

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said—the words ringing with honesty because they were accurate. She was exhausted.

  ‘Yes.’ It was quiet. Sympathetic. He could see what she hid from the rest of the world. He could see inside her heart and recognise its brokenness.

  She swallowed, hurting so much more now that he was here. The elevator doors closed but the carriage didn’t move. Not until Amir reached across and pressed a button.

  ‘This is important.’

  Resistance fired through her. What she’d said to him, the night she’d left, had been important too. He hadn’t listened. He’d made up his own mind and nothing she’d said could change it. She’d told him she loved him and he’d turned his back on her as though she meant nothing.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said
again, shaking her head. Her guard moved closer, as though to protect her. Amir stiffened and waved away his own guard. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but she was attuned to every movement he made. She saw the tiny shift of his body, the strengthening of every muscle he possessed.

  His gaze bore into hers; she knew he registered everything she felt, and she didn’t try to hide it. She returned his stare unflinchingly, because she wanted him to feel what he’d done to her. It was petty but necessary.

  A muscle jerked in his jaw and a moment later he nodded, a look of acceptance on his features. ‘Tomorrow, then.’

  Her stomach squeezed. Tomorrow felt like a year away. She’d never sleep if she knew he wanted to speak to her. What could he possibly have to say?

  It had been too long.

  She bit down on her lip and damn it! Tears filled her eyes. She blinked rapidly, clearing them as best she could.

  ‘We don’t have any business together, Your Majesty.’ The words were shaky. ‘If it’s a state concern, there are more appropriate channels—’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  She had to press her back to the wall, needing its support. The elevator stopped moving and Amir’s guard stepped out, keeping one hand pressed to hold the doors open.

  ‘This is a private matter.’ His eyes didn’t leave her face. ‘This level is my apartment. Here is the key to my room. I’ll stay until five p.m. tomorrow. If you find you would like to hear what I have to say, then come to me. Any time, Johara. I will wait.’

  She stared at the key as though it were a poisonous snake, her fingertips twitching, her heart aching, her brain hurting.

  ‘It’s your decision,’ he said quietly, and the gentleness of the promise had her reaching for the key.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t promise anything. She couldn’t. She felt blindsided, utterly and completely.

  He turned and swept out of the elevator, but he was still there, even as the doors closed and it crested one level higher. She could smell him. She could feel him. Just knowing he was in the same building was filling her body with an ancient pounding of a drum, or the rolling in of the sea, waves crashing against her, making her throb with awareness, need, hurt, pain, love, and everything in between.

  * * *

  At three in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep. She pushed out of bed and walked towards the window, staring out at the glistening lights of New York. Even at this hour, the city exuded a vibrancy she’d always found intoxicating. But not now.

  She barely saw the lights. All she could think about was Amir. Was he staring out at the same view? Thinking about her? Why was he here?

  This is a private matter.

  What could that mean?

  Her heart slammed into her ribs—hard—then she turned back to the bed, looking at the table beside it. His key sat there, staring right back at her.

  Her heart flipped.

  What was she doing?

  Instead of standing here asking an empty bedroom why he was there and what he wanted, she could go down and demand he tell her. That made more sense.

  Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her silken robe and wrapped it around herself, cinching it at the waist, then reached for the key. There was no risk of being seen by a nosy guest or paparazzi; she had the whole level of the building.

  At his door, she hesitated for the briefest moment. She lifted a hand to knock, then shook her head, pressing the key to the door, pushing it inwards as she heard the buzz.

  It was immediately obvious that he wasn’t asleep. The lounge area was dimly lit. He sat in an armchair, elbows pressed to his knees, face looking straight ahead. The moment she entered, he stood, his body tense, his expression dark.

  He wasn’t surprised though. He’d been waiting for her. The realisation made her stomach clench.

  ‘Why are you here?’ It was the question she most desperately needed an answer to.

  ‘To see you.’

  It was the answer she wanted and yet it wasn’t. It gave her so little.

  She moved deeper into the apartment, the similarities to hers in its layout disorientating at first.

  ‘Why?’

  More was needed. More information. More everything.

  ‘Please, sit down.’

  She eyed the armchair warily, shaking her head. She felt better standing.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  She made a groaning noise of impatience. ‘Amir, tell me...’

  He nodded. He understood. He crossed to her, but didn’t touch her. She could sense the care he took with that, keeping himself far enough away that there was no risk of their fingers brushing by mistake.

  ‘I came to New York because it was the easiest way to see you.’

  She frowned.

  ‘Your brother would not send you back to Ishkana.’

  She swallowed.

  ‘You invited me?’

  ‘No. But after he lied about your marriage to Paris, I read between the lines. You told him about us.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘He what?’

  ‘He told me you were to be married. At first I believed it to be true.’

  She shook her head. ‘He was wrong to do that. I never agreed. I would never agree.’

  ‘I know.’ His tone was gentle, calming. But she didn’t feel calm. Frustration slammed through her.

  ‘You told him about us, and he doesn’t approve.’

  She ground her teeth together. ‘Whether he does or doesn’t is beside the point. Malik has nothing to do with us.’

  He studied her for several long seconds.

  ‘He’s your brother,’ Amir said quietly.

  ‘Yes. But I’m a big girl and this is my life. I make my own decisions.’

  ‘I wanted to see you,’ Malik said quietly. ‘But arranging a visit to Taquul and coinciding our schedules proved difficult. Particularly without alerting anyone to the purpose of my visit.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that.’ She frowned.

  ‘When I heard you were coming to New York, I followed.’

  I followed. Such sweet words; she couldn’t let them go to her head.

  ‘Why?’

  His smile was a ghost on his face. His eyes traced a line from the corner of her eye to the edge of her lips and she felt almost as though he were touching her. She trembled.

  ‘Before you left Ishkana, I should have explained everything better. Only I didn’t understand myself then. I couldn’t see why I acted as I did. It took losing you, missing you, hearing that you were to marry someone else and knowing myself to be at the lowest ebb of my life only to pass through sheer euphoria at the discovery that you were not married. It took all these things for me to understand myself. I couldn’t explain to you that night, because I didn’t know.’

  She swayed a little, her knees unsteady.

  ‘I didn’t ever decide to push you away. I never consciously made that decision, but it’s what I’ve been doing all my life, or since my parents died at least. I have many people that consider me a friend yet I do not rely on anyone. Not because I don’t trust them but because I don’t trust life.’ His smile was hollow. ‘I lost my parents and I have been permanently bracing to experience that grief all over again. Until I met you, I shielded myself the only way I knew how—I made sure I never cared about anyone enough to truly feel their absence.’

  Her stomach felt as though it had dropped right to the ground outside. Sadness welled up inside her. ‘That sounds very lonely.’

  ‘Loneliness is not the worst thing.’ He brushed her sympathy aside. ‘But you made it impossible to not care. I tried so hard not to love you, and yet you became a part of me.’ He stopped talking abruptly, the words surprising both of them. ‘Losing you would have been almost the worst thing that could happen to me—feeling that pain again wou
ld have been crippling. But so much worse if it were my fault. When you told me you wanted to stay with me, as my wife, I wanted to hold you so close and never let you go—but what if? What if something happened to you, and all because of my selfishness?’

  Her heart was splintering apart for him. His fears were so understandable, but all this heartbreak...

  ‘And I’m a Qadir,’ she said quietly, trying to hold onto a hint of the bitterness that had been their stock in trade for generations.

  He returned her stare unflinchingly. ‘You’re the woman I love.’

  Her breath caught.

  ‘And I am still half terrified that my love will ruin you, but I have realised something very important in the long months since you left the palace.’

  She waited, impatient, desperate.

  ‘You were right that night. This should have been your decision. You know what the risks are to our marriage, and you know that it will change many things for you, including, perhaps, your relationship with your brother. But these are your choices to make, not mine. I pushed you away, as I push everyone away, because that seemed better than taking this gamble. Yet it isn’t mine to take.’

  His voice was deep, gravelled.

  ‘Only let me assure you that if you wish to make your life with me, I will do everything within my power to keep you safe and make you happy.’

  She was silent. Dumbfounded.

  ‘I know I hurt you.’ Now, finally, he touched her. The lightest brush of his fingertips to hers. ‘It was something I swore I wouldn’t do yet in trying to protect you that’s exactly what happened.’

  She tilted her face away, tears stinging her eyes. ‘You did hurt me,’ she agreed softly. ‘You pushed me away at a time when you could have used my support. You made me irrelevant. You’re not the first person to do that, but it hurt the worst with you because I expected so much more.’

  He groaned. ‘I acted on instinct.’