Heart of the Desert

‘Goodnight,’ she said, and as he headed out, she watched the people part, watched heads turn to this beautiful man and then back to her, curious eyes watching, because even that short contact with him, in this superficial setting, rendered her someone. Especially, when all of a sudden he changed his mind, when he left his date and strode back towards her. It was almost the same as it had once been, this charge, this pull, that propelled him to her, and she wanted to give in and run, to cross the club and just run to him, but instead she stood there, shivering inside as he came back to her, rare tears in her eyes as he bent his head and offered words she’d neither expected nor sought.

‘I apologise.’

And she couldn’t say anything, because she’d have wept or, worse, she’d have turned to him, to the mouth that she’d craved for so long now.

‘Not for all of it, but for some if the things I said. You’re not …’ His voice was husky. He did not have to repeat it, the word had been ringing in her ears for months now. ‘I apologise.’

‘Thank you.’ Somehow she found her voice. ‘I’m sorry too.’

She was.

Every day.

Every hour.

She was sorry.

And then he turned away and she could not stand to watch him leave a second time so she took her seat instead.

‘Who,’ Abby demanded as Georgie sat down, ‘was that?’

Georgie didn’t answer. Instead she took a sip of her champagne, except it didn’t quench her thirst, so she took another and then looked over to the man who never usually looked back. But in the early hours of this morning he did—and so potent was his effect, so renewed was her longing that had he even crooked his finger, had he so much as beckoned with his head, she would have gone to him.

It was a relief when the door closed on him but it took a moment for normality to return—to be back in the world without him.

‘Georgie?’ Abby was growing impatient.

‘You know my sister Felicity, who lives in Zaraq?’ Georgie watched Abby’s mouth gape. ‘That’s her husband’s brother.’

‘He’s a prince?’

Georgie attempted nonchalant. ‘Well, as Karim is, I guess he must be.’

‘You never said he was so …’ Abby’s voice trailed off, but Georgie knew what she meant. Even though Georgie’s sister had married into royalty, even though Felicity had gone to Zaraq as a nurse and married a prince, Georgie had played it down to her friends—as if Zaraq was some dot, as if royals were ten a penny there. She had not told them the details of this stunning land, the endless desert she had flown over, the markets and deep traditions in the countryside, contrasting with the glittering, luxurious city, with seven-star resorts and designer boutiques.

And certainly she had not told her friends about him.

‘What happened when you were there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were different when you got back. You hardly ever spoke about it.’

‘It was just a wedding.’

‘Oh, come on, Georgie—look at him, I’ve never see a more beautiful man. You didn’t even show me the wedding photos …’

‘Nothing happened,’ Georgie answered, because what had happened between Ibrahim and herself had never been shared, even though she thought about it every day.

‘Three times a bridesmaid!’ Georgie could still hear her mother making the little joke as they stood waiting for the service to start. ‘It’s a saying we have. If you’re a bridesmaid three times, then you’ll never …’ Her mother had given up trying to explain then. The Zaraquians were not interested in nervous chatter and they certainly did not make small talk—all they were focussed on was the wedding that was about to take place. Despite all the pomp and glamour, it wasn’t even the real wedding—that had taken place a few weeks ago in front of a judge—but now that the king had recovered from a serious operation, and Felicity deemed a suitable bride for Karim, the official celebration was taking place before her pregnancy became too obvious. Still, even if no one was listening, Georgie’s cheeks burnt as her mother chatted on, shame whooshing up inside her. She closed her eyes for a dizzy second, because if her mother only knew the truth … There was no reason for her to know, Georgie told herself, calmed herself, reassured herself, and then her mind was thrown into turmoil again because she opened her eyes to a long, appraising stare from an incredibly imposing man. He was dressed like his father and brothers in military uniform, but surely never had a man worn it so well. She swung between relief and regret because had they been in England she’d have got to dance with the best man.

She expected him to flick his eyes away, to be embarrassed at being caught staring, but, no, he continued to look on till it was Georgie who looked away, embarrassed. She’d had no say whatsoever in her bridesmaid outfit and stood, awkward in apricot, her thick blonde hair tightly braided so it hung over her shoulder and her make-up, which had been done for her, far too heavy for such pale skin. It was just so not how you wanted to first be seen by a man so divine. She felt his eyes on her all through the wedding and after, even when he wasn’t looking, somehow she was aware of his warm attention.

She’d had no idea what to expect from this wedding and certainly it hadn’t been to have fun, but after the speeches, the formalities, the endless photographs she began to glimpse the real people and place that her sister loved. There was a brief lull in proceedings when the king and the brothers disappeared and returned out of uniform: dark men in dark suits. There was the thud of music and stamping and clapping, a sexy parade dancing the bride and groom down palace stairs to a ballroom that was waiting, lit only by candles, and Georgie watched as Karim stood as his bride danced towards him. She saw her sister dancing, usually so rigid and uptight, now sensual and smiling, and it was a woman Georgie hardly recognised.

As the guests circled the couple the atmosphere was infectious but Georgie was nervous to join in. Then there was a warm hand on her back guiding her, and the scent of Ibrahim close up, his low voice in her ear. ‘You must join in the zeffa.’ She didn’t know how to. Didn’t know how to dance freely, even on the sidelines, but with him beside her, tentatively she tried.

She could feel the beat in her stomach and it moved through her thighs and to her toes, but more than that she could feel the moment, feel the rush and the energy, taste the love in the air—and it was potent. ‘The zeffa usually takes place before the wedding, but we make our traditions to accommodate the needs of our people ….’ He did not leave her side, even when the music slowed and she found herself dancing with him. ‘Today, yesterday, we do all the formalities expected of royals, but now, amongst friends and family, it is for the couple.’

They shared one dance and even if it was for duty, it felt like something else. To be held by someone so strong, so commanding, was confusing, and to be aware of his observation was dizzying by the end of the evening.

‘Are you okay?’ He must have followed her outside once they had bade farewell to the happy couple and she stood in the hallway, accepting a glass of water from a waitress.

‘It was so …’ She shook her head to clear it, the music still reaching them in the hall. ‘I’m fine. I’m exhausted and not just from the wedding—it’s been a busy few days. I never knew there would be so many things to get through before the wedding.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I thought Felicity and I would be spending some time together, I was hoping to see the desert …’

‘There are too many duties,’ Ibrahim said. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the desert now.’ He had nodded to the stairs and Georgie climbed them. They walked along the corridor, past her bedroom till they came to a balcony door, which Ibrahim opened—and there was the desert, spread out before them. ‘There,’ he drawled. ‘Now you’ve seen it.’

Georgie laughed. She had heard about the rebel prince who loathed the endless desert plains, who would, Karim had said with an edge to his voice, rather sit in crowded bars than find the peace only isolation could bring.

‘You prefer cities, then?’ She had made light of it, but his dark eyes were black as they roamed the shadows and when he didn’t answer, Georgie looked out again. ‘It looks like the ocean,’ she said, because it did in the moonlight.

‘It once was the ocean,’ Ibrahim said. ‘And it will be again.’ He glanced over at her. ‘Or so they say.’

‘They?’

‘The tales we are told.’ He gave a shrug. ‘I prefer science. The desert is not for me.’

‘But it’s fascinating.’ Georgie said, and they stood silent as she looked out some more. ‘Daunting,’ she said to the silence, and even if she shouldn’t have said any more, after a while Georgie admitted a truth. ‘I worry about Felicity.’

‘Your sister is happy.’

Georgie said nothing. Felicity certainly seemed happy—she had fallen in love with a dashing surgeon, not knowing at the time he was a prince. They were clearly deeply in love and thrilled there was a baby soon on the way, but Felicity did still miss home and struggled sometimes to adjust to all her new family’s ways.

‘She wants me to come and live here—to help with the baby and things.’

‘She can afford a nanny!’ Ibrahim said, and Georgie gave a tight smile, because she had privately thought the same. Still, in fairness to Felicity it wasn’t the only reason that she wanted her sister close. ‘She wants to …’ Georgie swallowed. Even though conversation came easily there were certain things she did not want to admit—and that her sister wanted to take care of her was one of them.

‘She wants to be able to look out for you,’ Ibrahim said, because he had heard about the troubled sister. One who had often run away, her teen years spent in and out of rehab for an eating disorder. Georgie was trouble, Karim had sagely warned.

Ibrahim chose to decide things for himself.

And, anyway, he liked trouble.

‘Felicity worries about you.’

‘Well, she has no need to.’ Georgie’s cheeks burnt, wondering how much he knew.

‘She had reason for a while, though. You were very sick. It’s only natural she should be concerned.’ He was direct and for a moment she was defensive, embarrassed, but there was no judgement in his voice, which was rare.