He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the silky hold of Fern’s body, though, or the clinging limbs that had clawed with passion for his.
“Goodbye, Miss Davenport,” he managed to say when Fern brought one of her bags to the camel keepers. He wanted to ask where she was in her cycle, but they weren’t alone.
She wore sunglasses and her mouth pouted sexily—from sadness? Or his insatiable kisses last night?
“Thank you, abu Tariq,” she said. Their use of more formal names reset their relationship to where it ought to be. Her pale face colored with a pretty shade of pink as she added, “For making it possible for me to visit such a remarkable place.” Her voice wavered and color came up in her cheeks like a thermometer in the sun.
His heart twisted. It had been extraordinary for him, too.
“Bissalama” was all he said. Have a safe journey. It made him feel small until she replied in her quiet voice.
“You, too. Always.”
He took a breath that he wished could knock the weight off his heart, nodded and moved to take the reins of his camel.
CHAPTER SIX
FERN MIGHT HAVE pined away her life if she hadn’t been so distracted, but within a few weeks of returning to the palace, the entire family was packed up to attend a wedding of Ra’id’s cousin in the south.
Ra’id’s country was quite conservative, but this new state was even more so. Fern had to relinquish her passport at the airport and was given a room in a modern-day harem. The annexed compound was a collection of bungalows around a courtyard with an opulent pool, fountains and bronze statues. One passageway led to the main palace.
Her rooms were very nice, but few people bothered to speak to her—just the other foreigners, one a Malaysian nanny and another the wife of a pastry chef flown in from Paris. The rest of the women were family from both sides of the wedding party and came and went, keeping to themselves.
Fern didn’t mind. She was slipping quietly into a state of terror as she awaited proof she and Zafir hadn’t cashed in on the gamble they’d taken that last night. Unfortunately, her cycle grew later by the hour, making her certain they had.
Impossible, she thought. They’d only made love the once. Loads of women took years of active trying to get pregnant. How could she wind up pregnant after one time?
She wrung her hands as she waited for Amineh to collect the girls one afternoon. The girls had another dress-fitting today, but Amineh was adamant that they keep as much to routine as possible. Jumanah was mixing up the direction of her letters, which wasn’t uncommon at this age, but Amineh wanted Fern to stay on top of it to ensure it wasn’t a more serious concern.
“I kept putting off starting Bashira’s schooling because we had so many other commitments and now she’s six and will fall behind her peers if I don’t make their education a priority,” Amineh had said when asking Fern to accompany them on this trip. “I know it won’t be ideal, but will you come?”
Fern hadn’t been able to say no. Teaching the girls was what she was contracted to do. Plus, she enjoyed the distraction of learning every nuance and aspect of this culture she was immersed in. Welcomed it.
Her mind kept screaming, it was one time. Completely the wrong time in her cycle, too. She didn’t understand it.