She closed her eyes, wanting to relive everything they had done here since they’d come. She’d always led a sheltered life. Holidays were caravan parks and then, later, a rush of adrenaline when she’d gone on a ski holiday with her class to France. Then, in the blink of an eye, she and Martin were planning a future, heads in the clouds, and holidays were something not even on the agenda because they’d both been young and too broke to even buy a place to live.
She’d rushed headlong from that broken relationship to running her own business and trying to build it into something and, during those years, the very thought of a holiday was a joke.
So now? Overload. She’d managed to pack into a handful of days an entire lifetime’s worth of gaping tourism.
They’d dined in a restaurant many floors up in their hotel and, sitting on beaded cushions, she had looked out through elegant arches to the stunning Burj Khalifa, which rose like a needle piercing the velvet sky. She’d been taken for a personal visit to a top falconer and seen how the birds were trained and watched as Leandro had handled one with unexpected expertise. She’d experienced the glitz and glamour of the Dubai Mall and been impressed by the architectural magnificence of the Burj Al Arab, a breathtaking testament to the bold contrasts that characterised the vibrant, bustling city. Everywhere was a fascinating mix of old and new, where the vibrancy of concrete, glass and stone nudged the stillness of the sand and sea.
Celia half guessed where they might be going but she was still impressed to death when they left the bright lights of the city behind and were driven out towards the open desert, an ocean of dark shapes and shadows, interrupted here and there with occasional bursts of bushes and trees.
Their driver played proud tour guide, told them about the history of Bedouin nomads who once called the land their home. All the while her eyes darted greedily out, shivering at the dark swirls and swells of sand while, next to her, Leandro’s fingers curled into hers, setting alight all those forbidden emotions within her.
The utterly private Bedouin camp that greeted them took Celia’s breath away. They were ushered into an enclosed area, which was incredible—with colourful rugs and lanterns and huge, hand-woven cushions and adorned with traditional relics.
‘We could have spent the night here,’ Leandro told her over the delicious hand-prepared meal that was brought in to them with a lot of pomp and ceremony, in various stages. ‘There’s a very nice and very small boutique hotel just a camel ride away. In fact, we’ll go there before we head back so that we can freshen up and you can have a look at the pool. It’s quite something. Fashioned to resemble an oasis. That said, I wanted to spend the last night here in our own bed with no one around...’
The lanterns flickered, creating a seductive, mellow atmosphere. The daytime heat had subsided and here, in the ornate tent, the air was fragrant with delicate incense and just the right side of warm. Celia had worn a floaty dress, perfectly buttoned up and respectful of all the dress codes of the country, but underneath the silk and cotton she felt the wetness pool between her legs and she pressed them together. Her mouth parted and Leandro fluttered his finger across her lips, touching her in a way that sent her pulses racing.
‘We still have to finish the dessert course,’ Celia breathed. ‘And we can’t leave without sampling the coffee. You know how proud they are of their coffee here...’
‘Sadly you have a point, even though I’d like nothing more than to take that dress off you, button by button. Another time and another place...’ He sat back with an elaborate sigh of resignation. ‘We need to change the subject and urgently or else I’m going to have to make some kind of excuse and skip the dessert and coffee.’
Celia laughed. ‘Okay. Tell me about Julie’s dad and what’s happening now that he’s out of hospital... I had an email from Dan and apparently Julie’s dad is over the moon at the upcoming wedding.’
‘Yes.’ Leandro grimaced. ‘Julie and I decided that honesty was the best policy. We told him about the reason for the engagement. I’d half expected him to hit the roof, if I’m honest, but she knows her father better than I do and she was right in guessing that, with his finances now in order and presented with a fait accompli, his pride wouldn’t be a problem. He’s also over the moon that his daughter has found true love, given the horror story of her first marriage.’
Celia looked down and squashed a sudden sharp pang of envy. She’d smiled at many a radiant bride-to-be, twisting and turning and beaming at a fitting, waxing lyrical about The Big Day, but this was the first time she’d ever felt envious at someone else’s dream wedding. She knew why. This was the first time she was in the position of knowing that her own dream would never come true even though, cruelly, she was just so close. The baby...the wedding plans...the man of her dreams...Just so happened that she wasn’t the woman of his...
For the rest of the night, while they finished their lavish meal, they skimmed the surface, chatting about all sorts of things. When Celia thought back to the arrogant guy who had shown up at her shop, setting her teeth on edge, she almost couldn’t believe that they were here now.
Was he equally aware of how far they’d come?
There was a familiarity between them that said so much. Did he recognise that as well? Or was he so embedded behind the walls he had built around himself that this was all just part and parcel of the friendship angle he felt they needed to cultivate? There waslustin one box andfriendshipin another box but there was no box forlovebecause, for Leandro, that didn’t exist.
Lust and friendship didn’t add up, for him, the way they did for her to anything more than two separate emotions and the friendship element, she recognised, was only there at all because of the situation in which they found themselves.
For what they had to work, they had to get along. That was the practical approach and Leandro was practical and solution based.
If she had dug her heels in and refused to marry him because she wanted to be with someone who loved her, then she wondered if he might have been tempted to simply approach it from the solution-based angle that marriage would still be a good thing because a child needed two parents. So what was needed? A wife even if that wife wasn’t the birth mother.
Celia didn’t like thinking like that, but she knew that she had to protect herself somehow and being realistic was as good a protection as any. She wouldn’t beat herself up if sometimes, in her quiet moments or when she was just lying in his arms, she hoped for more. She was only human, after all! She just wouldn’t lethoping for moreovertakehaving her eyes wide open.
‘You’ve gone quiet.’ This as they were back in the four-wheel drive and bumping away from the mysterious shape-shifting dunes, back to the bright twinkling lights of the city.
‘Have I?’ Celia plastered a bright smile on her face but it felt a little strained.
‘Tired?’
‘And very, very full.’
‘Not too tired and full, I hope...?’
Sex was uppermost on his mind, she thought, and, while it thrilled her, for once she would have liked to have told him how she was really feeling and the doubts that were crawling through her like bothersome insects that wouldn’t go away.
She pictured his face closing up and the shutters being pulled down. They had an arrangement and, without anything in writing, the terms and conditions of their arrangement were clear.
‘It’s being pregnant.’ She yawned, veering away from the powerful tug of honesty. ‘Something to do with the hormones, I guess.’
‘Celia, my apologies. It never occurred to me...’