Their innocence about the world, the contentment she had seen in their eyes for their lives, fueled her own resentment in a way she had never expected, filling her with a restless energy.
She had never been like that, innocent or carefree or just plain happy.
She had always worried about her mother’s health, worried about her sisters, worried about what trouble Amira would get into, worried about whether she would be allowed to pursue her dream and for how long. Despite her growing attachment to Azeez and the shock of his love for her, through it all, she had worried what the future would hold for her.
But in the end, her worrying, her cautious nature, had never helped her.
Until Richard had pursued her relentlessly for three years, she had let herself consider happiness again. She had revealed her condition, believed him when he said that he would be happy only with her. And yet, for all her worrying, his rejection had come, because suddenly he had realized he did want children, and she had been heartbroken.
Wasn’t that what she had been doing since she had returned, too?
Worrying about her clinic, worrying about her sisters, worrying about the pulse of attraction between her and Azeez…
For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to think of the future, or the consequences of the decisions she made today. She didn’t want to be the responsible one. She wanted to be selfish, she wanted to be carefree.
She wanted to live in the moment. She was in the most beautiful place she had ever seen with the one man who had always ensnared her senses with one look, one touch.
And still did.
Her fingers fluttering, she ran them over her mouth, remembering his kiss, remembering the pleasure she found in her own body, the power that had flown through her when he had shuddered.
The palm trees swayed stiffly in the breeze. Dusk painted the horizon orange, casting a reddish-golden glow over everything around her. And suddenly the evening was awash with possibilities, as though for this night, she could be anything she wanted.
She had wanted to be worthy of Azeez Al Sharif, the magnificent Prince of Dahaar. And she had accepted that she never would be.
But tonight, she would be everything that she wanted to be.
* * *
A few hours later, Nikhat waited in the moonlit courtyard, standing out among the lit-up walkways.
Lamb curry and pilaf, date cakes and sherbet made of the finest grapes—a feast fit for a prince—had been prepared at her command. She didn’t care what the servants inside that bustling kitchen thought of her. Only focused on the little tidbit that she and her sisters were the only outsiders to have ever stepped foot in here.
Her heavy hair hung loose around her face, her lips painted pink, her eyes lined with kohl. And she was dressed in a caftan made of the brightest red, made of the sheerest silk, that she had begged Naima to lend her. A cashmere shawl lay around her shoulders to shield her from the cold.
She couldn’t believe her own daring in inviting the prince to dinner so boldly. But she was past caring about her reputation, past suffering through punishments without actually committing the deed.
She refused to even indulge the prospect that he was somewhere laughing that she dared summon him.
She had waited maybe ten or fifteen minutes, when her skin prickled with awareness, when it felt as if even the air around her had come to a standstill.