‘Did you understand what was being said?’ He glanced over at his own image on the screen.
‘Not really.’
‘Things are improving.’
‘That’s good.’ She could feel his fingers on her skin, feel the pull to join him, to sit, but she stood. ‘I saw the news earlier.’ She still couldn’t look at him. ‘There were subtitles…they were talking about the young prince, what a magnificent job you were doing…’ She watched her tears fall on his fingers. ‘There was talk of a bride…’
‘There is always talk of marriage,’ Ibrahim started, but the plight was real, he could not lie. ‘If I am here as a prince, if I stay…’
‘There’s no if.’ Georgie was angry. ‘You’ve had your taste of power and now you want more.’
‘No.’ He wished it was that simple. ‘It is not about power, it is not about want. I am their prince. The people have been patient while I grew up, but now it is time to accept the responsibility, all of it…’ He looked at the television screen, the arguments, the raised voices. ‘Do you understand what is being said?’
‘No.’
‘That is one of the elders. He asks if our rulers do care, why is there no hospital on the west side? Why does it take five days to get aid? Zaraq is rich, yet its people suffer.’
‘It’s changing, though.’ Georgie swallowed. ‘There are outreach programmes, there is a hospital—’
‘That they cannot access.’ Ibrahim looked at her. ‘They choose to be isolated—that is what the journalist is saying now. They make us promise not to invade their desert, not to take away their ways… It is complicated.’
‘There’s no easy solution,’ Georgie attempted, and then she saw his face, saw the worry and the lines and the pressure on him. ‘Is there?’
‘No easy one,’ Ibrahim said. ‘There is a need for more infrastructure. I told you my father tried once. He brought in experts but they do not understand our people’s ways. There was a road planned, just in from the coastline, but it meant bridges. There were arguments…’ And she started to understand. She felt it in her stomach, in her throat.
‘You do, though?’
He nodded.
‘I sit in London and I design elevators and pools that stretch from high-rise to high-rise and I focus on the skyline, but I have not forgotten the ground. I understand some of the magic and the science. I can see bridges that can negotiate the canyons. I can see how it can be done, in ways the people would allow, ways that would benefit them yet uphold their desire to live freely…’ She watched as his analytical mind started to dream, then she turned her attention back to the screen, listened and read the subtitles as the interviewer asked if the prince would oversee the changes.
‘For now,’ Ibrahim had answered, ‘we deal with the current issue. Then we move to ensure it never happens again.’
She looked at him, at a face that she could read, an expression that was suddenly familiar—even though he wasn’t asleep, it was the face she had seen on the plane, a troubled face that spoke of inner torment.
‘What’s wrong, Ibrahim?’ He closed his eyes to her question. ‘I did see you when you stepped on the plane and you were nothing like the man that stepped off. Is this where you want to be?’
‘Honestly?’ Ibrahim said, and she nodded. ‘I don’t know. This is where I am needed.’ He opened his eyes and looked to her and he was grateful that she stayed silent, that she didn’t point out that she needed him too, didn’t fight for her corner of his torn heart.
‘When this is over,’ Ibrahim said, ‘when I get back…’
‘You belong here.’ Georgie said, because over the last days it had become clear that he did. He stood up and headed out, but as he got to the door he changed his mind. As he had in the club, he turned round and walked back to where she was still standing.
‘What I said, about damaged goods…’
‘Please don’t say sorry,’ Georgie said. ‘Because I’d hate myself if I forgave you.’
‘I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t expect you to understand—just know that by saying what I did, I had hoped to hurt you less in the long term.’
‘Well, it didn’t work,’ Georgie said. ‘It can never work.’
And somehow, to live the rest of her life, she had to accept that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘IT’S not long now.’ Georgie tried to soothe the little girl, but she missed her mother. ‘Mummy will be home soon,’ Georgie said, and instantly regretted it, because just the mention of her mother and Azizah’s screams seemed to quadruple. ‘Come on,’ Georgie said, tired of pacing the luxurious nursery. Feeling the heat from her niece’s cheeks, she unlocked the French windows and stepped out onto the balcony. The cool night air surprised Azizah into silence. ‘I’ll take you down to the beach tomorrow,’ Georgie promised and stared into the black eyes of her niece for a moment, but she tore her gaze away, because Azizah had inherited Zaraq eyes.
Georgie felt the air still in her chest as she caught sight of Ibrahim walking on the beach, and when he looked up this time he did not dismiss her; this time he did not look away. She just stood and stared down at him. She could not see for sure, but thought he was looking right at her, unashamedly staring, as was she. She stared, not just at him but at a memory, and she knew they were both reliving the desert.
She did not move, tasted his lips in her mind as he walked slowly on, and she knew what to do.
Georgie put the sleeping babe in her cot, locked the French windows and headed back to her own room.
She did not need to turn the key in the lock—she knew he would never come to her. He had ended it, and would not be so cruel as to revoke it, no matter how much he wanted her this night.
This long night, before tomorrow, before normality returned.
Georgie knew it was their last chance to be alone, their last chance for a goodbye, but not in words.
Her last chance to thank him because, despite his cruel words, he had changed her, had shown her the beauty of her body, had taken her to a very different place.
He would be prince, so she must kiss him goodbye.
He found her in his bed and didn’t humble her with questions.
He kissed her warmly along her neck down to her shoulder and then back to her neck. Then he spoke about that which was so painful they hadn’t been able to speak of it before. ‘I wish you had told me.’
‘Why?’ Georgie asked. He had thought it obvious, but as he went to answer he checked himself and Georgie answered for him. ‘So you could have avoided me, so that it would never have happened.’ And she felt his lips back on her neck and his strong body pressing into hers and she understood why she had chosen to keep quiet. ‘So we could never have known this.’
‘How do we go on now?’ He turned her onto her back, made her look at him. ‘Next time you are here visiting your sister and I am with my bride…’ He was so cross with her, so cross because accepting his father’s choice of bride might not have been great but it would have been bearable. Now, though, it would kill him.
‘We’ll come separately,’ Georgie replied.
‘Weddings, births and funerals generally only have one sitting, which means we will both be there, but separate and somehow denying this.’ He could feel every inch of her skin beneath his, feel the body that belonged to him in every way but by law, and even if he wanted her, he was still angry. ‘Am I to shake hands with your future husband, admire you children?’ He could not, just could not envision it. ‘Or are the next fifty years to be spent slipping out after the meal, hoping we meet in the gardens…’ She shook her head.
‘No.’ Georgie said, because she couldn’t live like that. And Ibrahim recalled something then. ‘Was that why you stopped me? Not guilt about your sister?’
‘My divorce wasn’t through then. It just seemed wrong.’
‘She’s got a conscience too.’ He spoke to the devil on his shoulder with a mixture of regret and wry humour. ‘So that rules out a mistress.’
So, this was the last time. He climbed off her and then walked over and turned on every light, and she lay there as he walked back to the bed and pulled off the heavy silk sheet. Her hand moved to grab it, but then she let it go. She lay silent as his eyes roamed her body and she was shaking on the bed as she let him look, but she was shaking with desire rather than shame.
He looked at her toes and the fading henna flowers that climbed up her feet. He looked at knees and thighs till they felt like water, to her place that tomorrow would become private, to her stomach and then breasts he had tasted. Without him voicing his request, she heard it and turned round, and she felt like crying as his eyes swept her. Then she let healing tears come as he loved every fault, every bit that made Georgie.
She felt the heat from his gaze linger on her spine, then find a birthmark beneath her ribcage, and the little cluster of faded stretch marks on her hips. He etched his memories in his mind and then climbed into bed and made them with his mouth—touching her everywhere his eyes had been. She could feel his lips on her skin, her calves, her toes and back up again. He turned her over and she felt them rest on her stomach, where she had stopped him once. He took for ever, which was what they didn’t have, but his mouth worked down and he explored her very slowly, till she pleaded with him to stop. She pulsed in his mouth and couldn’t give any more, but still he would not relent, coaxing an orgasm so deep and intense she was scared to go there, and she knew what he was doing. Heard her voice shouting his name, as was his intention—a subliminal branding as he married her with his mouth, because as he took her over the edge, as she sobbed his name, Georgie knew she could never now go there again and not think of him. She would always hold back for fear of calling out the wrong name.