Marriage Behind the Fa?ade (14 page)

His expression grew chilly. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic? I said I love you and that’s dramatic?” Her eyes stung with emotion. With pain. He wanted to marginalize her feelings for him and she hated it.

He jerked his trousers closed. “Do you want me to say I love you, Sydney?” His eyes flashed, his chest heaving as he stared at her. “Would that make you happy?”

He leaned forward and caught her chin, forced her to look at him. “I love you,” he said, though it came out as a growl. “Is that what you want to hear?”

She pushed his hand away and huddled near the door as the sand pelted the SUV. “No,” she said to the glass. “Because you don’t mean it.”

His laugh was hollow. “And you said the words were important.”

The storm howled for several hours, and the temperature dropped so that it was no longer so hot inside the Land Rover. A battery-powered lantern burned softly in the dark. Sydney stole a glance at Malik. He lay back against the seat, his eyes closed. His chest was still bare. But then so was hers, with the exception of her bra. It had been too hot to remain wrapped in her clothes, so she’d slipped the garment off again.

It was growing more comfortable now. Almost chilly.

Sydney reached for the fabric she’d discarded and slipped into it. Malik stirred then, his dark eyes snapping open as if he’d not been sleeping. He took in her form, and then peered out the window. She tried to pretend the lack of emotion in his gaze didn’t bother her.

“The storm is nearly over,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “Soon, we may open the windows again.”

“That’s good,” Sydney replied crisply, though she wouldn’t feel any true relief until the air cleared and they could see the sky.

“You are okay?” Malik asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice a bit sharp.

He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

Sydney shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Malik.”

He subsided into silence again, and she felt hot and prickly all over. Not from heat, but from frustration and embarrassment. She’d confessed her stupid, naive feelings for him—and he’d thrown them back in her face. It mattered more than she would ever admit.

Sydney turned toward the window, pillowing her head on her hands, and closed her eyes. She hadn’t been able to sleep yet, but maybe she would if she kept trying. She didn’t feel like she had them closed for long before Malik spoke her name.

“Yes?” She blinked at him, yawning. Maybe she had slept after all.

“The storm has passed. I need to try your door, Sydney.”

“My door?”

“Mine will not open. The sand is holding it closed.” Her anxiety spiked. What if they were trapped? Oh, God …

“Let me,” she said firmly, needing to do something. “I’m right here.”

He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “You must be careful. First, let the window down very slowly, just a fraction.” He turned the key in the Land Rover, and she pressed the button. Thankfully, there was enough power to do the job. Sand flooded into the window the moment she had it open and she automatically pressed it back up again.

“No, let it down once more. If the sand lessens, that is a good sign.”

“And if it keeps pouring in?”

“Then we have a problem,” he told her. She liked that he didn’t lie, but at the same time, she’d almost rather not know.

She pressed her face to the glass, shading her eyes. “But I can see darkness out this window. I think. If it were covered in sand, wouldn’t I be able to see it?”

“Yes, but if the dune is unstable, it could collapse and send sand over us. What came in the window is from above. But I don’t know how much is on top of us.”

Great.

Sydney took a deep breath and tried the window again. The sand poured in once more, but it lessened very quickly until there was nothing more coming in. Though she was sitting, her knees wobbled.

“Roll it down farther and stick your hand out. Carefully. See if you can feel sand.”

She did as he asked, reaching down and trying to touch the ground with her fingertips. “I don’t feel anything.”

Malik let out a breath. “Good. Now let me try. My arms are longer.”

He leaned over her, his bare chest a fraction of an inch from her face. Sydney closed her eyes and tried not to breathe as Malik tested the sand. A moment later, he opened the door. Relief puddled inside her as it swung gently outward.

“We aren’t trapped,” she said. “But how is that possible when the sand was pouring in?”

“It came from the roof. Now climb out very carefully, then tell me what you see.”

Sydney slipped out of the SUV. The ground was a lot closer than it had been, and she stumbled when she hit. The cold air washed over her, sending goose bumps crawling across her skin. Above, the sky was clear, the stars winking down in the billions.

But the Land Rover …

She shivered. “It’s half-buried,” she said. “Your side.” And more than his side. Three quarters of it was hidden by sand, in fact. She could see where the sand had slid from the roof and into her window. It hadn’t been a whole lot, she realized now, but it had seemed like it at the time.

Malik crawled out to join her. He studied the scene for a long moment. The Land Rover looked like one of those Michelangelo sculptures, the ones that were never finished and looked as if they were trying to break free of the rock. Only a portion of it showed—the passenger side—while the rest was buried beneath tons of sand.

“We were lucky,
habibti,”
Malik said quietly.

She wrapped her arms around her body. “We could have died, couldn’t we? If it had lasted just a while longer …”

He turned to her, his expression fierce. “It did not. And we are well.”

“The power of it,” she marvelled. It was staggering. She was trapped in the middle of a vast desert with Malik. They were so small, so inconsequential. Their problems were nothing out here.

“The desert is not a place for amateurs.”

She huffed in a breath. “Doesn’t it bother you at all? That we could have died?”

“We did not,” he said roughly. “And we will not. I promised you that.”

“Don’t you
feel
anything?” Angry tears sprang into her eyes and she dashed them away with the back of her hand.

He was looking at her, his expression sadder than she’d ever seen it. “Yes. I feel regret, Sydney.”

Her blood slowed in her veins. “Regret?”

“I should never have brought you to Jahfar.”

Inexplicably, his words pricked her. “You had to. We have to be together until we can get the … the divorce,” she finished, stumbling over the words.

He shook his head. His jaw was hard, his eyes bright. “I’m letting you go.”

She was confused. “But the forty days—”

“A lie.”

She looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “A lie?”

“An exaggeration,” he said. “The law was a real one, but Adan and his government changed it in their reforms. It was written at a time when our society was more feudal, and it was intended to give some protections to women. A former queen talked her husband into writing the law when her sister was wedded, bedded and repudiated in the space of two days. I believe there was a war over the incident, in fact.”

“Why?” she asked. She was beginning to tremble, but whether from the cold or from anger he couldn’t say. “Why did you do it?”

He slashed a hand through the air. “Because I had to,” he said. “Because you walked out on me and I was angry.”

“You lied to get revenge?”

No, that was not at all what he’d done. But he couldn’t say the words, no matter how he tried. He couldn’t tell her that he’d needed her to come back to him. That he’d needed
her.

Because it was dangerous to need people. If you needed people, they could wound you. Stab you in the heart.

“No, it was not revenge.” He reached into the Land Rover to retrieve the satellite phone. It should work now that the storm had passed.

“I don’t understand you,” she said.

He turned to her. “I believe we have already established that we do not understand one another.”

Her stormy eyes flashed. “I had to rearrange my entire life to come to Jahfar.”

“You are my wife, Sydney. You agreed to do this when you wed me.”

It wasn’t a good enough reason, but nothing of what he’d done when he’d gone to Los Angeles had made sense to him at the time. He’d gone because he’d known she was meeting with an attorney.

But he had not known what he would do when he went to the house in Malibu that night.

“Yes, but that was before you called me a mistake! Before I knew that you wished you had not married me.”

Malik hissed. Of all the stupid things he could have done, that had been right at the top, regardless that she’d never been meant to hear it. Because he knew she was the youngest child, that she felt like an underachiever next to her sister, and that she didn’t believe in herself as much as she should. He’d known it all because she’d told him, whether she’d intended to or not.

She was strong and beautiful and loyal, and she usually put her family’s needs and feelings before her own. She hadn’t been accustomed to doing something solely for herself. He was convinced that marrying him in Paris had been the most rebellious thing she’d ever done.

Not that her parents had objected to that event. When they’d discovered their daughter had married a foreign prince, they’d been enthusiastic.

Too enthusiastic. He’d never told her, but they’d wanted to throw a huge party for her and Malik when they returned to California—and invite all their firm’s clients. He’d put an end to that scheme, determined they would not use their daughter’s marriage as an opportunity to pump up their business. If the party wasn’t to celebrate Sydney’s happiness, then it wasn’t happening under his watch.

“I have explained this to you,” he said stiffly. “I will not do so again.”

Because it made him angry to think of it. Of what he’d said, of her listening outside the office door. It had not been his finest moment, even if his intentions had not been bad.

She swallowed hard and he knew she was determined not to cry. He did not make the mistake of thinking that she cried out of weakness. It was anger, pure and simple.

“You brought me out here for nothing,” she said. “And worse, you made me—”

She pressed a hand over her mouth, turned away from him. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear that he’d upset her. He grasped her shoulders, turned her into his arms. She balled up her fist and hit him in the chest, but it wasn’t hard and he didn’t let her go.

She hit him again, and he only held her tighter. She wasn’t trying to hurt him. She was furious, hurt. And he deserved it. He deserved everything she did to him.

Her voice drifted up to him, muffled from where she’d pressed her face against his clothing. “You made me love you again, Malik. I would have been fine if you’d just given me a divorce and left me alone, but you had to drag me into your life again. I was almost free of you.”

He stroked her hair, held her against his heart. “I am going to let you free. If it’s what you still want.”

Perversely, he hoped she would say no—but he’d given her no reason to do so. Even now, he couldn’t seem to find the words to tell her he wanted her to stay.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Yes,” she said, so softly he had to strain to hear. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LOS Angeles was a whirlwind of color, light and sound compared to the desert of Jahfar. She dreamed of the Maktal Desert sometimes, of the deep umber sand, sky like the finest sapphires and the blinding white sun.

But mostly she dreamed of a man. Sydney stood at her kitchen counter after a long day at work, eating takeout from a container and trying not to think about Malik. It wasn’t working. She set the container down and put her head in her hands.

Why did she dream of Malik after all he’d done? It had been a month since she’d left Jahfar. He had called her once. They’d spoken for a few minutes, but the conversation was stiff and uncomfortable for them both.

When it had ended, she knew he wouldn’t call again. She stared at her cell phone lying on the counter, considered calling him instead. She missed him, missed his smile, his seriousness, the way he held her and caressed her while they made love. The way he looked at her when he told her that happiness was being with her.

Sydney sniffed. She felt tight inside, as if she’d swallowed too many emotions that were fighting to get out. But she had to shut them down, didn’t she? Because if she let herself feel the pain, she might lie in bed for the rest of her life.

It was going to take time. A lot of time.

She thought wistfully of the small artist set she’d bought in an art store over the weekend. She’d been too embarrassed to ask for help, as if she were doing something elicit, so she’d bought a kit that promised it contained all the paints and brushes she needed to get started.

She had yet to open it. It was tucked away in her guest room, her own guilty little secret.

Tonight. Tonight she would open it. She might not remember how to paint a tree or a flower, but she would try. At least she would try.

Art and work could coexist. Malik had been right that she needed to do something for her. That she needed to put herself first sometimes.

She’d done that when she’d left Jahfar, though it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

She’d had no idea how quickly it would happen, but as soon as their rescuers had arrived in the desert, Malik had put her in one of the four cars and told the driver to take her to his home in Al Na’ir. She could still see his dark eyes, the way he’d looked at her when she’d climbed into the car that would take her away from him. He’d seemed resigned.

A second car had followed, but Malik stayed behind with the others. It was the last time she’d seen him. She’d bathed and changed in Al Na’ir, and then she was on a plane to Port Jahfar. Once there, Malik’s private jet had whisked her out of the country before she could even catch her breath.

Her doorbell rang. The sound made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat.

Malik.

Was it possible? Had he come for her this time? She pushed her hair from her face, straightened her skirt and hurried to the door, her heart pounding a million miles a minute.

But when she looked through the peephole, it wasn’t Malik. Her sister stood on the other side, her head down so that Sydney couldn’t see her face. Sydney undid the locks, disappointment spiraling inside her. She didn’t really want to talk to anyone just now, especially not someone in a happy relationship.

But she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t home when it was her sister standing there. It wouldn’t be right.

“Thank God you’re here,” Alicia said when Sydney pulled the door open.

Sydney blinked. Alicia was a mess. Her mascara ran down her face, her hair uncharacteristically mussed. Her entire body trembled, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her fingers. “Oh, my God, what happened?” Sydney exclaimed.

Alicia’s lip quivered. “I—I just need to come in for a while. Can I?”

“Of course!” Sydney stepped back and let her sister in, then slotted the locks back into place. She hadn’t been thinking straight since the moment she’d thought it might be Malik.

And seeing Alicia looking so upset had temporarily stunned her. Alicia was never anything less than poised.

Alicia went and sat on the couch. Then she doubled over and began to sob. Alarm raised the hairs on the back of Sydney’s neck. She rushed to her sister’s side and hugged her close.

“My God, Alicia, what is it? Did something happen to Jeffrey?”

That only made Alicia sob harder. Then she looked up and Sydney noticed it for the first time: Alicia’s eye was red, as if someone had hit her. Soon, it would turn black and blue, but for now it was a blazing, ugly red.

A sharp feeling of panic sliced into her, turned her into a babbling idiot. “Honey, were you attacked? Should we call the police? Where’s Jeffrey?”

Stop,
a little voice said.
She needs you to be calm.

It was shocking to think that Alicia needed her. But she did. Somehow Sydney managed to stop gibbering and simply hugged her tighter. “Just tell me when you’re ready, okay?”

“It’s Jeffrey,” Alicia whispered a few moments later, her lip trembling. “He hit me.”

The bottom fell out of Sydney’s stomach. “He hit you? But he loves you so much!”

Alicia flinched. “He doesn’t, Syd. He really doesn’t. Jeffrey only loves himself.” She stood and began to pace the room, shredding the tissue she’d dragged from her purse.

Sydney was having trouble processing everything—Alicia’s eye, the ugly things her sister was saying—but she knew one thing for certain. “We need to call the police,” she said firmly. Because no way in hell was that bastard getting away with this.

No way in hell!

“I can’t,” Alicia said, halting. Her eyes were wide, her lip trembling anew. “I can’t. Everyone will think I’m so stupid. Mom and Dad will be so disappointed in me—”

Sydney shot to her feet and went to put an arm around her sister. “It’s okay, Alicia. No one will think that. Everyone knows how smart you are.”

Alicia’s laugh contained a note of hysteria. “Sydney. Smart women don’t stay with men who beat them.”

Ice settled in the pit of her stomach. “This wasn’t the first time?”

Alicia shook her head. “No.”

“Sit down, tell me everything.” Sydney guided Alicia to the couch and went to get her a cold drink from the refrigerator. Alicia was a health nut, but Sydney settled on a syrupy sweet soft drink with a slice of lemon anyway. Because sometimes you needed something sweet.

Alicia took the drink and sipped at it. They spent the next hour talking before Sydney persuaded her to go to the police. First she’d had to convince Alicia that she wasn’t stupid, that men like Jeffrey were insidious. They took control subtly, and then not so subtly.

Sydney finally got Alicia down to the car and drove her to the police station.

It turned into a long night: the police interviewed Alicia, took her statement and swore out a warrant for Jeffrey’s arrest. When it was done, Sydney brought Alicia back to her apartment and tucked her up in the guest room.

Sydney poured a glass of wine and sat on the couch. She was numb, absolutely numb. She’d been so wrong. About everything. She’d thought that Jeffrey was in love with Alicia, that the reason her sister never had time for lunches or girls’ nights out or anything else was because she was so happy. But instead, Jeffrey had been controlling her. He flew into rages when she wasn’t available to him. He had to know where she was at all times. He didn’t want her to talk to anyone, not even her family. He was jealous of her time with anyone else.

And then he hit her. When his rage subsided, he cried and swore he would never do it again, that he loved her so much and would never hurt her.

Jeffrey spoke the words, but he did not mean them.

Words mean nothing. Actions do.
That’s what Malik had told her, what he believed.

Her heart throbbed with feeling. Maybe she’d been too stupid to see the truth. She’d been so focused on the words that she’d not paid as much attention as she should to the actions. Why had he taken her to Jahfar when it wasn’t necessary in the first place?

She was still angry over that. Angry that he’d manipulated her. If he’d wanted to try to fix their relationship, why hadn’t he just said so?

Sydney rubbed the back of her neck to try and ease the tension.
Had
he wanted to fix the relationship? Was that why he’d dragged her to Jahfar? Taken her out to the oasis?

Malik was an amazing man. Confident and sure, with the looks and the money to do whatever he wanted in life. Was he truly that insecure that he couldn’t come out and say what he wanted from her?

Or maybe it wasn’t insecurity. She thought of the night she’d gone to dinner at the palace. How formal and distant Malik and his brother were, like business associates rather than family.

And the next morning, when his mother had been in the dining room, berating him for marrying a foreigner. There’d been no feeling there, no connection other than a bloodline and the tolerance that went with that relationship. Malik did not like his mother as a person, though Sydney thought that he must be fond of her in some way. He’d defended her treatment of him as a child by pointing out that she’d been a child herself. A naive, lonely child who’d turned into a shallow and bitter woman.

Malik wasn’t insecure. But he had, Sydney was certain, lacked love in his life. His mother was not the sort to hug her children and tell them she loved them.

Shame flooded her. What an idiot she’d been. She was too stubborn, too insistent on playing the wounded party. She ran away and then waited for a call that never came, convincing herself that she wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t important or special or loved. She was making it all about her when in fact it was about them as a couple. How they dealt with each other. How they understood—or failed to understand—each other.

She was behaving like a child, as Malik had accused her of doing. And she’d done it again that day in the desert when he’d told her he’d lied about the law. She’d been so hurt and betrayed that when he’d asked if she wanted to leave, she’d said yes. She’d paid no attention to the way he was holding her, to the fact he was actually admitting what he’d done and offering her freedom if that’s what she wanted.

She still wasn’t sure that meant he loved her, but it might be a start. And she was a fool for sitting here and nursing her wounded feelings when she should be calling him and trying to see if there was any way they could build something lasting together.

She loved him, damn it, and you didn’t abandon the people you loved. Even when you thought they were abandoning you.

Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.

Shakespeare had been a wise, wise man.

Sydney snatched up her phone and found Malik’s number. Her finger trembled as it hovered over the call button. But then she punched it and waited as the connection was made, her heart hammering in her chest, her throat, her temples.

Please be there. Please.

But he wasn’t. The phone rang several times before going to voice mail. Sydney hesitated, not knowing what to say. In the end, she clicked off the line without saying >a word. Disappointment gnawed at her. She would call back. She would leave a message. But first she tried to compose what she should say, what sort of message she should leave for him.

The words wouldn’t come.

Words mean nothing.

Sydney groaned. Just when they meant everything, at least to her, she couldn’t find the right ones to save her life. Maybe Malik was right. Actions were more important.

The next few days were a blur. Sydney tried Malik a few more times, when she had a spare moment, but he never answered. Panic began to coil inside her. What if he was finished with her forever? What if his silence was deliberate?

Fortunately, her sister was doing better. Alicia had gone to their parents’ home, more because they’d insisted than because she’d wanted to, and she’d gotten a restraining order against Jeffrey. Work was crazy without Alicia and their mother, who had stayed at home to dote on her daughter twenty-four hours a day.

Sydney’s father was handling it well, but he’d been shell-shocked by the news. He still came to the office, but he seemed to need her to handle many more things than she ever had before. It was both surprising and frustrating. Surprising because she’d never realized how much he trusted her, and frustrating because she’d bought a ticket to Jahfar.

A ticket she was never going to use at this rate.

But within a week, Alicia and their mother were both back at work. Alicia’s eye was covered with heavy makeup, but she moved as briskly and efficiently through her tasks as always. No one said anything about Jeffrey.

Sydney sat at her desk and clicked on an email from her mother. A potential new listing in Malibu. Her heart skipped a beat, but the address wasn’t the same one as the home she’d sold to Malik. It was two doors down. She thought about going to her mother’s office and asking if someone else could take the appointment, but she decided against it. She would get through today, and then she would catch the late flight to Jahfar.

She simply couldn’t put it off another minute. The Reed Team was a well-oiled machine, even if they’d had a hiccup recently. Her father had relied on her, and she was grateful, but it hadn’t been necessary. The other agents and lawyers took up the slack and made everything run efficiently. She could escape for a few days at least.

When she told Alicia what she was planning, her sister merely hugged her and wished her good luck.

“You don’t mind if I go?” Sydney asked.

“Of course not.” Alicia squeezed her hand. “I’m fine, and I want you to go. Go get that prince of yours before some other woman snaps him up.”

Sydney shuddered at the thought.

“But you are going out to Malibu later, right?” Alicia asked from the door of Sydney’s office. “I don’t think anyone else is available, and Mom says it’s an important listing.”