Lucy and the Sheikh(60)

Lucy huffed and shook her head. “I don’t know how she could live like that.” She shrugged. “But she seems happy and,” she smiled, “Noor’s thriving.”

“Good.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her but she fixed her gaze on the desk, as if fascinated by the back of his computer.

“Well,” she sighed, “I’m here to say goodbye.”

Razeen’s heart sank. “So soon?”

“May as well. Get back to my life.”

His happiness at seeing her here, evaporated instantly, replaced by irritation. How could she not see what was so patently obvious to him and to Maia. She belonged here with him. “And what life is that exactly?”

She looked at him with a sadness that immediately cut through his anger. “My life, that’s what. Moving on, taking the next job and then the next.”

“You can’t go on forever like that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Why not stop here, in Sitra? You love your sister, you’ll see Noor grow up. I hear you haven’t visited the clinic yet, despite numerous invitations. You could spend time with Aakifar and her family and friends.”

Her face relaxed as she thought of her new friends. “Thanks for giving Aakifar such a great reference by the way. She loves her work at the clinic. They’re great people and I hear the clinic is doing some really interesting work around diet and supplements. But—”

“Then, stay.”

“They don’t need me.”

“Maybe, but I do.”

She held his gaze. They were silent for long minutes. “What, are you talking about?”

“I want you to marry me, Lucy. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, as you emerged from the sea, and it grows stronger all the time, whether you’re here with me or not. I feel you here,” he slammed his fist against his heart, “and I want you with me.”

A sad smile spread over her face. “I’ve become acceptable, have I, with my interest in the clinic, with my rapport with the women? Is that it? Lucy Gee has suddenly become acceptable. Well, Razeen,” she shook her head, “you’re mistaken. I’m not acceptable, to me or to you.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Lucy?”

“I have to tell you something.” She looked down at her tightly clenched hands. “Something about me. It may help you understand.” She shrugged. “Personally I don’t think it will, but Maia has told me I have to tell you.”

He frowned. “Go on.”

“I have to keep moving, I simply have to. I don’t stay in one place for long. I can’t.”

“I know, you’ve said that you’re determined to experience everything, to enjoy life to its fullest. But I was hoping your recent experience might have changed things. That you may see that living here, staying in one place here, with me, could bring you happiness.”

“You need a wife who will be happy staying in one place, a wife who wants children. I am not that wife and I never intend to have children.”

“That will change.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Lucy,” he reached out and grabbed her shaking hands. She slid them away from him.

“I was fifteen years old when I had a baby.”

Pain sliced into his gut. So this was at the root of it. He swallowed dryly, dredging up the self-control he needed not to leap around the desk and take her in his arms. That wouldn’t help her. Only talking would. “Go on.”

“It was an easy birth.” She didn’t look up at him, just kept talking to the desk. “Not like Maia’s.” She half-laughed. “No, it was afterwards that things went from bad to worse. I didn’t want to see the baby, rejected it outright. And, because of my age, the doctors, social workers and Maia, agreed to my demands to adopt the child out. It was only much later that I was diagnosed with postnatal depression.” She still didn’t look into his eyes, as if she was scared what she’d find there. “So, you see, I’m not fit to be a mother. Children, marriage, that’s for other people, that’s what people do who live life the right way. Not me. I don’t know how to do anything other than hurt people and keep on moving.” His eyes followed the agitated movements of her hands as she sunk her fingernails hard into the palm of the other hand, as if to replace the pain she was feeling inside with physical pain. She cleared her throat. “Haven’t you got anything to say?”

“What happened to the child?”

“He died. Young. A preventable ailment—dietary deficiency—I won’t go into details but it turned out the people who adopted him had less of a clue how to bring up a child than I did. If I’d kept him with me he would have lived.”