The whispering of the wind, fast and insistent, melodious as it passed through the windows of this carved building; the desert animals – tigers sprinting and calling to one another, birds flying overhead, their songs filled with the magic of this ancient land.
She pressed her cheek to his chest and danced with him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
His body moved and hers responded; a silent call they answered together, in perfect unison.
“Why haven’t you ever asked me any of this before?” She murmured, the words adding to the sense of music surrounding them.
“When would I have had time?”
She exhaled once more, pressed her cheek to his chest, and shifted as the rhythm of his body dictated.
“You make it sound as though you were burning up with curiosity. Until a week ago, you didn’t even recognize I existed.”
“That’s definitely not true.”
“You didn’t recognize me as a woman.”
“No. You were my wife.”
She rolled her eyes, leaning back a little so she could see his face more clearly. “An odd distinction.” The moon shifted from behind a cloud, highlighting his face in silver light, making shadows and planes of his features. “Did you want to marry her?”
“Who?”
“Elena.” His grip around her waist loosened for a moment but when her eyes flew to his face, there was nothing there to suggest he was emotionally disturbed by her question. “Amit’s mother,” she explained. As though he could have forgotten who she was referring to.
“No.”
Chloe frowned. “You loved her?”
Raffa stopped moving his hips, standing still, holding Chloe to him. “I thought we just discussed this.”
Chloe frowned, her lack of comprehension obvious.
“I do not believe in love, Sheikha. It’s a drug, an addiction that drives people crazy.”
Chloe thought of the rumours about Elena and winced. Was it possible the other woman had lost her mind? That Raffa’s harsh refusal to accept love, even after Elena had borne him a child; his refusal to admit to feeling love, had taken her sanity?
Chloe could almost understand how that might feel.
Were it not for an inner-strength forged by the irons of rejection, she too might have found her husband’s ability to ignore her too painful to bear.
“She loved you,” Chloe said softly.
He stepped away from her, returning to the table. When he reached for his wine, she saw his fingers weren’t quite steady and his jaw was clenched as though he was grinding his teeth together. “Yes,” he said finally, the word spoken as though it were a hoarse expletive. His eyes latched to hers and there was anger and blame in them. “She loved me.”
“You’re angry.”
With an effort, he schooled his face into a mask of disinterest. “I am not interested in having this discussion,” he corrected. “It serves no purpose to rehash the past.”
“But the past is still in the present,” she said with impeccable logic. “She bore you a son and he lives within the palace walls. He is a young man now, and he needs a father to be a part of his life. How is Amit going to feel when we have a baby? When he is usurped by a child you will acknowledge?”
A muscle jerked in Raffa’s cheek and he spun away, striding to the edge of the parapet, propping his elbows against the wall there, and staring out at the crisp night sky. The moon was splitting the clouds like a beam, and it caused the sand to shimmer like diamonds beneath them.
“Amit is my son,” he said after several beats. “But he will never be Sheikh. He knows this. He understands my need for a legitimate heir.”
Chloe let the words sink in, her mind trying to digest the ramifications of this. “You’ve told him about me, about us?”
“He was at our wedding.”