The Sheikh's Destiny (Harlequin Romance) (16 page)

She ran to the door, yanked it open, and fled through into the main entrance, heading with unerring instinct for the nearest escape.

A burly guard blocked the way. ‘Miss al-Sud, my lord Sheikh has asked that you await him in his private chamber when your meeting was over.'

The look on the man's face—calm, implacable—told her there was no way out. Alim had anticipated her escape, and made certain she couldn't outrun her ghosts. She lifted her chin, nodded and followed the man to another room, knowing her family watched her through the open doors. She felt their hunger, their pain—the guilt eating at them.

Yet if it weren't for what had happened, she'd never have met Alim…

With all her heart she yearned to go back in that room, to tell them it was all right, she forgave them, would be part of the family circle again. But the circle had fractured five years before, and, even if she could make peace, the cracks in the join would always show.

The damage is done.

 

‘Welcome home, Alim,' Amber said in her quiet way. Alim felt the repressed emotion beneath. ‘It's good to have you back.'

Is it?
He smiled and played the game with his beautiful,
cold sister-in-law. Truth was vulgar. Sweep all the dirt under the carpet and believe it never happened. ‘Thank you, Amber.'

This room had been Fadi's reception room where he met foreign dignitaries. Alim had thought it would be too hard to be here, to see the reminders, but Hana's painful reunion had somehow changed things for him. He felt warm, comforted by the memories…and if he still hadn't forgiven himself for his part in Fadi's death, and maybe never would, he knew it was time to come back to stay—and Fadi wouldn't want it any other way. Fadi would always have wanted him to do his duty, and care for their people as they'd shared the care for their little brother…

He saw Harun watching his wife, cautious, reserved—his pride hiding the hunger only his big brother would know. Harun noticed Alim watching him, and said—they'd done the emotional thirty seconds when Sh'ellah released him—‘I've moved out of your room. It's ready for you, as is your office, as soon as you want to resume your duties.'

Alim felt the savagery repressed inside his brother, a seething cauldron of resentment beneath. ‘Let's not pretend. Don't talk as if I've been sick for a few weeks. I was gone for years, and left all the grief and duty to you. Harun…'

His brother shrugged with eloquent understatement. ‘It wasn't so bad.'

Wasn't it?
He saw the distance between husband and wife, lying there like all the arid wasteland of the Sahel. ‘I wanted to say, the choice is yours now. You've done a magnificent job of running the country, of picking up the pieces after Fadi's death and my disappearance. If you want to remain the sheikh—'

‘No.'

The snarl took him by surprise—because it came from both Harun and Amber. He took the easier option, looking at Amber. Sure that her reasons would be easier to hear than Harun's.

She flushed, and glanced at Harun; fiddled with her hands, shuffled a foot, and burst out, ‘I won't play sheikh's happy wife for anyone's sake. I'm tired of the pretence that everything's all right. I don't care what my father wants any more. I want a divorce.'

She turned and walked out of the room with regal grace, as if she hadn't just thrown a live bomb between the brothers.

Stunned, Alim could hardly bear to look at Harun, but when he did he saw Harun had been waiting for him to turn; his brother didn't even look surprised. ‘And that's why I said no,' he said quietly. ‘I'm also tired of pretending everything's all right. I've been standing in your place since long before Fadi died, helping him run the country while you were off playing the glamorous racing star, and again when you took off to play the hero. I've had ten years of living your life for you, Alim, including the wife who wanted you, not me. I've left everything you need to know in your office. I want my own life. The country's yours, brother.'

Harun followed in his wife's wake, leaving Alim to face the consequences of ten years of loving and respecting his brother without truly seeing him. ‘Fadi, where are you?' he muttered, and rubbed his temples. The welcome home for the prodigal brother was far from what he'd hoped.

 

As he entered his office where she waited for him, one look at Alim's face told Hana his meeting had been as devastating for him as hers had been for her. The blank, dark eyes, the lost misery melted her heart; his need was hers.

She walked into his arms, holding him close. ‘That bad?'

He nuzzled her hair with his lips. ‘Probably worse. You?'

‘Horrible,' she whispered, and shuddered.

‘Harun and Amber are separating. Harun expects me to begin my duties immediately.'

She hugged him, wordless comfort—what could she say? ‘My family wants me to move past it and forgive them, and be a family again.'

‘They expect us to behave as if all these years never happened.' There was a curious note in his voice. ‘For me, that's only what I deserve. But you…'

She held him closer. ‘I want to forgive them, Alim. I just can't look at them…'

Softly, he said, ‘Then maybe you should close your eyes and say it, really fast—and see how you feel when it's out.'

‘I—' Hana blinked and stared up at him, awed. ‘That just might work.' She grabbed him by the hand and strode into the room where her family still waited; they knew her, knew she couldn't hold out against them for long, no matter what they'd done.

‘Hana, my darling, if you'll just listen—'

She lifted a shaking hand to stop her mother's rush of words, trying to make better what would never be truly mended. She closed her eyes and said, hard and fast while clinging to Alim's hand, ‘I forgive you. I want to be part of the family again, but I don't want to be rushed. Don't crowd me and don't expect me to hug you and act like everything's fine.'

A stifled sound from her mother was drowned out by her father's voice. ‘We understand,
nuur il-'en
. If you will try to find true forgiveness in your heart one day, we can wait.'

Nuur il-'en
: light of my eyes. Her father hadn't called her that since the day Mukhtar—

Suddenly her breaths caught over and over until she was wheezing and hiccupping at once, and she couldn't do anything but gulp while tears flowed unchecked, and broken words poured from her. ‘You thought I could cheat on Latif within weeks of the engagement, hurt you all, and risk my little sister's future. You believed a stranger over your own
daughter. You sacrificed me for Fatima's sake, when I'd done nothing wrong. Why,
why
did you believe him,
why
?'

After a moment, her father said, simple and sad, ‘You have so much inside your heart to give,
nuur il-'en
. We always knew that when you gave your heart, it would be for life—but you didn't give your heart to Latif. You merely liked him. You only agreed to marry him to please everyone. Then Mukhtar came along, and he was ten years younger, handsome and charming. We didn't believe it at first—not until Latif said he'd always known you didn't love him, and you and Mukhtar seemed to get on so well, always laughing and joking.'

Hana stilled at the innate truth she hadn't wanted to hear.
She hadn't loved Latif
. She'd been willing to cheat him of a real, loving wife because she'd wanted to make everyone happy. And, yes, she had found Mukhtar a fun companion at first, until she saw the real person beneath the surface charm. That was why Mukhtar had been so convincing.

Then her father's words slammed inside her soul like iron doors clanging.
When you gave your heart, it would be for life.

Strong arms around her waist held her up when her knees shook. She turned into Alim's warm, strong body, trying to gain composure, but she couldn't stop crying. Since she'd met him all the emotion she'd stored deep inside her heart had begun flowing, and something deep inside told her she couldn't find that safe place of distance ever again. She'd given her heart to Alim and would never have it back. She'd spend her life yearning for a man she couldn't have…

‘My lord, you and our daughter seem very close,' Hana's mother said quietly.

Alim felt Amal al-Sud's gaze on him, searching. In fact all five members of Hana's family were staring at him. Hana moved as if to leave his arms, but he held her there. ‘Yes, we are.' He made no apology for it.

‘You both must have gone through a life-changing experience,' Hana's brother Khalid said in a thoughtful tone, ‘but, my lord, you know…'

‘You're aware we're ordinary people,' her father finished the sentence for his son, ‘and our daughter's happiness is more precious to us now than ever.'

‘I want her happiness, too, because that's what she's brought to me.' He thought of the meaning of her name, and smiled at Malik al-Sud. ‘I've already asked her to marry me, sir.'

‘Ordered me, you mean,' the cheeky mumble came from the depths of his chest, but loud enough to make the entire family gasp.

He chuckled, and caressed her hair. ‘She's right, I did—and I will marry her.' He smiled down at Hana, knowing the effect it had on her. ‘Just as soon as she says yes.'

‘Y
OU
can't marry her,' Malik al-Sud said, his tone deferential yet firm. It reminded Alim of Hana. ‘This is impossible—it's a fantasy based on her saving your life, my lord. The country won't accept her as your wife.'

‘That's what I've been telling him,' Hana said, for once in sync with her father.

‘It's only been a few weeks. You can't know if it's real, what you want, what you're feeling,' her mother added.

Her brother and sisters nodded in agreement. Alim saw the same disbelief in six pairs of eyes…especially in Hana's. Fury filled him at her lack of faith in him, but he controlled it. ‘If you won't believe in us, Sahar Thurayya, then I'll have to believe for both of us—because I am going to marry you.' He bent and kissed her, feeling the little catch of breath in reaction, the tiny purr in her throat.

He lifted his head and smiled at Malik al-Sud, seeing the fire in the older man's eyes.

He frowned and shook his head, an infinitesimal movement Hana wouldn't feel. He wasn't going to answer the unasked suspicion, and hurt Hana over again. Even now, her family should know her better.

‘You've raised a fine, principled woman, sir,' he said
quietly, ‘a woman who's a queen in every way but birth…and if she doesn't marry me, the people will have to be content with my brother as my heir, because I won't marry.'

Dead silence met his pronouncement—then Hana moved out of his arms. ‘I told you, Alim, this is ridiculous. You think you love me, but you haven't been home a day. And I—I told you what kind of man I wanted…' But the telltale hiccup gave her away.

He shook his head. ‘When you gave your heart, it would be for life,' he repeated her father's words in strong deliberation. ‘You gave it to me, Hana. You said the words.'

Her eyes were cold, bleak. ‘That was before we arrived here.' She waved at all the opulence he took for granted after all these years, because this was home. ‘I grew up in a house the size of this room. I caught buses and trains when I wanted to go somewhere. I'm more Australian than Arabic in many ways. It isn't just about the people's reaction, Alim, or the press. I—I do care for you, but this life isn't what I want!'

Looking in her eyes, he saw the absolute sincerity—and something died inside him. ‘You mean that.'

He heard the doors closing behind her family.

Hana's eyes were drenched in tears, lovely pools of green-brown finality. ‘I've spent five years in huts and camps, working with people who have nothing. This—' She shook her head. ‘I can't be what I'm not, Alim. I couldn't live this way, not when friends, people I love…'

Strange, but coming here today, he hadn't thought about how his childhood home would affect a woman who'd lived with death by starvation every day of the past five years. He'd been too busy thinking of their families, of making her see they were meant to be together. Coming here, he'd finally made peace with Fadi's death, come to terms with his future,
and the only question that remained in his mind had been when Hana would marry him.

Now, without even looking around, he saw the palace through Hana's eyes—the gold lining the walls, the knickknacks worth thousands and millions, meant to impress dignitaries who'd been there, done that a hundred times, in every other nation—

He saw in his mind's eye the multimillion-dollar cheques for racing a million-dollar car around a circuit…the oil that had turned his country from a rural backwater barely known outside the emirates to a world player. Riches, power, and the trappings of wealth everywhere…he saw all his life's achievements through her eyes.

Then he saw the people of Shellah-Akbar risking their lives to save him, people lean with hunger and bent with long hours of hard physical labour every day. He saw Hana in her burq'a, her capable hands saving his life, her sacrifices for his sake.

He was trapped here, unless he lumbered everything back on Harun's shoulders—and as Hana had said, he'd had one shot at disappearing. He couldn't do it again. He could offer to give it all away to please her, to save others, and still it wouldn't be enough.

For the first time in his life, Alim was speechless.

‘I think it's best if I go to my sister's house,' she said quietly, breaking into his inner darkness, but not lightening it as she'd always done before. She knew.

‘You're running again.' He felt his jaw tightening. ‘You can go anywhere in the world, you can escape again, do the noble thing and return to the life we lived before. But it will always be running away from the hard option.'

Her gaze turned from him. ‘I know,' she mumbled.

He brought her back to face him. ‘I might not have a choice any more, but inside I'm still the guy in the truck. This isn't
the life you think it is. Yes, I live in luxury, but being the leader of any country is as hard as anything you've done in the Sahel in many ways—and from now on, it'll be harder, Hana. I'll be working for those I now know.'

Her eyes glimmered softly, tears and pride combined. ‘I know that, Alim. You're a truly good man.'

It was a farewell he refused to believe. ‘My job would be easier if I had someone beside me. A woman who knows and understands the common people—who's lived the life of those who suffer the most. A permanent reminder for me never to forget, or to become arrogant.' He kissed her again. ‘You can take the hard option or the easy one, Hana. Save a few with your hands, or save hundreds of thousands with your courage and great heart. You can take on a new job with a real challenge, working night and day for the good of so many more at a time than one village alone.'

He saw the doubt in her heart, the uncertainty in her eyes, and had to be satisfied with that. ‘I'll be here, waiting,' he said, a soft growl.

‘Don't. Don't wait for me, Alim.' Her voice cracked. ‘Thanks for the escape kit. Thank you—for everything.'

And she was gone.

‘Thank you,' he said softly to the air she'd left behind. He breathed in lavender—she must have put on some from the bottle he'd given her—and felt aching loss.

 

As she'd predicted, the world media didn't take long to dig up her story—and Hana became a celebrity and disgrace at once.

Sheikh's Saviour is a Drug Runner's Ex-wife!

She didn't have to read the papers to know that all she'd done through the years counted for nothing. Even saving Alim's life meant less than the scandal they could create to sell papers. They found Mukhtar and called the prison for his
point of view. They found out about Latif, and, though Latif refused to comment, they ran the whole sordid story as they saw it, and speculated on her relationship with Alim.

Sex sells
.

She wanted to laugh and cry at once. Such exquisite irony: the virgin who'd slept with two brothers at once, and seduced a sheikh. What would she do next?

Alim had taken up his duties with a vengeance. According to the papers, he'd had the villagers resettled in the countryside west of Sar Abbas, the capital, and gave them land with water and all they needed to restart their lives. He'd given a speech on his life the past three years. The passion in his words as he spoke of life in the Sahel, as relayed on TV, brought such longing to her heart she couldn't speak, couldn't move. Oh, how she loved him…

He was creating a foundation for the forgotten people, calling for funds to send engineers and geologists to find water, to buy generators and pumps so every village could have a water source. He talked about his time in captivity, and how he hated that his ransom would create a further cycle of misery for the innocent.

Alim was as good as his word. He was using his position to help others. Taking the hard road and making something of it in a way one single nurse in a village never could.

For the first time in years Hana knew how it felt to be trapped physically. She was holed up in her sister's house with hundreds of people outside, and she couldn't hide. She couldn't run to the next place, and put her fears and her misery behind her. She couldn't run from her family when they wanted to talk, to get close, to ask her about Alim.

For the first time in years, she had to deal with her feelings instead of hiding behind others' problems, using them to ignore her own, or to feel good about herself and her sacrifices.
My
Hana, always needing to be the strong one, the clever one, the fastest and the best. When will you learn to love yourself, and know that all you need to be loved is just to be yourself?

Fourteen-year-old words of wisdom had finally caught up with her. Stuck in Tanihah's house there were no excuses any more. She couldn't hide behind her grades or her job or her burq'a, her family's betrayal or her lower position in life. The mirror she'd outrun for so many years was being held right up to her face, and she was the one holding it.

Alim was right: she was a coward, and no matter how dangerous a place she went to next or how many lives she saved, she was still a frightened child trying to prove she was strong. She'd chosen Latif for safety; she'd run from Mukhtar—and she was running from Alim, using birth and a lie to keep herself at a safe distance from him. But this time it hadn't helped; she loved him more every day, ached for him, and struggled against the knowledge that the only thing keeping them apart was her fear.

When you give your heart, it will be for life…

Almost two weeks after the story hit the news she sat in her niece's room, on the bed she shared with Atiya, needing space and quiet. When night fell, and they'd finished prayer—Ramadan had begun, and eating in the hours of sunlight was forbidden unless you were a child—she came to eat with the family, and answered their questions at random, giving them stark honesty but not even knowing she did. The doorbell had stopped ringing at last, but the sharks were surrounding the house still, hoping for some juicy gossip. Hana barely noticed that either. Totally lost in the self-knowledge she'd avoided all her life. Thin delusions, as she'd said to Alim, were stripped away and she saw the person she was.

To her shock, she didn't hate herself as much as she'd feared. She was a coward, but one who'd saved lives. Yes, she
ran from emotion when it became too hard, but now she was facing the hardest emotions of her life, she was okay. She hid behind her position, behind Alim's position so she didn't have to say,
Yes, I'll stop running and I'll marry you—

And to change that one, she'd have to face Alim again.

And do what? she asked herself wearily. There was no getting around the facts as presented by the media—her birth wasn't and never would be good enough, her fake marriage put Alim way out of her reach—unless she could make the changes herself.

If you won't marry me, I'll live alone.

I'm thirty-seven, not a boy. I know what I want. I want you.

I'll be here waiting.

It came to this: she could be a safe, lonely coward for the rest of her life, or she could finally
live
. Live with the man she loved, and make a difference to the world.

She waited for a lull in the family dinner conversation, and threw her bomb. ‘I want to tell the media the truth. All of it, about Mukhtar and why I was in the Sahel.'

They all turned to stare at her, even the children at the small table.

She held her father's unfathomable gaze with one of her own. ‘I love Alim,' she said, and it felt amazingly good to have it out there. ‘I want a future with him.'

‘It won't happen while the people believe the worst,' her father agreed, still with that Sphinx-like face.

Her mother said in a muffled voice, ‘Many don't believe the worst, Hana. The letters to the editor are overwhelmingly in your favour.'

She hesitated, but decided to say it. ‘It will embarrass the family, make you look bad.'

Her dad's eyes swept the table and everyone on it. ‘I made choices I believe others will understand—and if they don't,
then it's a judgement I deserve.' He pushed back his chair. ‘This is my responsibility.'

‘Dad…' she mumbled, using the loving title for the first time since returning.

He smiled at her. ‘You need to find that man of yours and tell him how you feel. Leave the story to me. Trust me,
nuur il-'en
. I won't let you down this time.'

With tears in her eyes, she too stood, walked around to her father and touched his arm: the closest she'd voluntarily come to him in five years. ‘Thank you, Dad.'

There was only one way. She called the number on the card Alim's driver had given her—Alim's private number. ‘Hi. It's me. I'm stuck in my sister's house, surrounded by the media. Can you send a car for me, with some men to help me through the crowd?'

‘Of course.' Alim's voice was reserved, so tired. ‘Do you need anything more?'

‘I need to see you. We need to talk.' She gulped and coughed to clear the thickness in her throat. ‘Can I come to you?'

‘I'll come to you.'

‘The house is surrounded, Alim. In the palace they can't get to us, or put cameras through the windows. Tell the guards to come to the back door and knock four times.'

‘All right, then. I'll be waiting for you in my private study.' He sounded so neutral…

What more did she deserve? But now, this night, she wasn't giving in to fear again. This wasn't about protecting herself from pain. She'd done that for too many years, and had only emptiness as her reward. She hung up and raced for the shower…

Fifteen minutes later, she was ready when a knock came at the back door. She opened it, and two burly, exquisitely dressed guards ushered her down the stairs and around the front. The press, all avidly listening to her father, made a dash
for her as she ran to the saloon car, but the guards yelled, ‘Miss al-Sud has no comment,' and elbowed any intrepid reporter out of the way.