No, she’d not tell Zahir. He would continue to despise her for her apparent disloyalty to Abduallah and for the lies she’d told to keep his secret, but she could bear it for the sake of Abduallah and the memories of her friend that lay deep within the heart of his family.
From her vantage point, tucked in a cave carved out of the sandstone escarpment high above the palace by one of the many springs, Anna watched Zahir’s convoy of four-wheel drives bump across the desert returning towards the palace.
For three days and three nights Zahir had been absent, out in the desert with his people. But now he was returning. She realized with sudden clarity that she’d missed him. He was so strong she wanted to cling to him; he was so inwardly vulnerable she wanted to fight for him; he was so infuriating she wanted to scream at him. He was everything that was contradictory and she’d missed him.
She wanted desperately to see him but knew it unlikely. He’d be busy. She closed her eyes and remembered how he looked at her, with the heat and intensity she’d become used to. At first it had been too fierce. But it had gentled, she realized, just as her own bitterness had faded. The heat was still left but all the destructive emotions had fallen away.
She took the necklace from her bag and held it up to the light that split into rainbows as it passed through the multi-faceted stones. She closed her eyes. But even then, closing her eyes, closing her heart, against such light failed to stop it from entering. What point was there in denying it then?
Zahir stopped on the threshold of the cave and looked down at Anna. Her lips were curved into a faint smile as if dreaming of something wonderful. Her face was lightly flushed, the soft sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose making her look ridiculously young. She looked well, better than when she’d arrived. The good food and rest had nourished her. He watched as her eyelids flickered lightly and drifted open.
“What were you dreaming of? You looked so peaceful.”
“Thinking I’m dreaming of you Zahir?” Her tone was gently teasing.
“No. I don’t wish to inspire such peace.”
She laughed. “And you don’t. Believe me.” She smiled up to him. “Come, lie here and I will tell you what I was dreaming of.”
He raised his eyebrows but to his own surprise found himself lying on his side, facing her.
“So obedient.” A smiled played on her lips.
“Only because it allows me to watch you more closely.”
“Close your eyes.”
“Now that I will not do.”
She sighed. “OK then, just listen. What do you hear?”
“Water.”
“Exactly. I was dreaming of rain. Not the thunderous sort, but really soft, gentle rain. The sort of rain that is scarcely stronger than mist but can penetrate hard-packed earth. That’s the kind of rain I was imagining.”
“We get rain here.”
“Yeh, right. When?”
“Soon. The rains will come soon. And then you will see miracles happen.”
They were only a foot away from each other, but neither came any closer.
“Miracles. Do they happen? I don’t think so.”
“Then you know very little. Miracles happen if you open your eyes and see.”
The humor fell away from her expression as she searched his eyes. “My eyes are open now.”
“And what do you see.”
“You.”
“And am I not a miracle?”
She raised an eyebrow. “In a way, yes. It’s a miracle that just one person can contain such conceit.”
“No,” his expression remained serious. “I mean it, Anna. You’ve performed a miracle on me. Without me knowing how you’ve done it, you’ve robbed me of my anger. That, is a miracle.”
“And what has replaced your anger?”
He reached out his hand then and gently touched her cheek with the tip of his index finger.
Anna closed her eyes involuntarily at his touch. It was the merest of brushes but it held the strength of a match lighting her skin and body with fire.
She pressed her eyes more firmly closed as his finger whispered a caress, tracing the line of her cheekbone and round beneath her ear, before the back of his fingers brushed lightly beneath her jaw. Time seemed to have slowed, allowing her mind and body to register each tiny movement against her skin. Physically it was as soft as a puff of warm wind against warm skin: no contrasts, scarcely any contact. But sensually his touch was like the caress of fire on ice that had kept itself frozen for too long.
It was only when she no longer felt the heat of his touch that she could gather enough control over her emotions to open her eyes. She didn’t want him to see what she was feeling. Not yet.