“Getting involved with.”
“Why not?”
“Many reasons.”
“Samir, is this entire conversation going to be like pulling teeth? Or will you volunteer at least a little information without me interrogating you?”
Samir expelled an angry sigh. “She’s…not suitable.”
“So you’ve said.”
“She’s not from Al Medina, she’s divorced, she’s all over the internet in barely-there clothes. She drinks and parties and has friends who snort cocaine on mega yachts. She’s the kind of woman our media would tear to shreds if they knew I was seeing her.”
“So, you want to protect her from that?”
“Yes,” Samir agreed without hesitation. “I do. She’s had a bad experience with the press in the past.”
“She’s famous?”
“Notorious, could be a better word,” Samir said with a droll expression.
“Our mother would hate her?” Adan said after a pause, but he was smiling. Their mother was incredibly proud and protective of her two sons.
“Nobody could hate her,” Samir said, without thinking, and without seeing the analytical look that crossed Adan’s face. “And our mother would love anyone we were serious about. But I’m not serious about Cora. I simply want to see her again.”
“So? Why can’t you?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Isn’t it?”
“For a start, I don’t know if she would welcome that.”
“If only there was some way you could find out, like, I don’t know,” Adan clicked his fingers. “Asking her, perhaps?”
Samir sent his brother a scowl. “But there is still the issue of how the press would treat her.”
“Then do not advertise your relationship. Unlike me, you are not scrutinised for every moment of your life. Enjoy the perks of not being the ruling Sheikh, brother. Go and have fun with your life.”
Samir brought his horse to a stop, staring towards the palace. In the late afternoon sun, it shimmered as the rays bounced off the pure white walls. Two lines of palm trees formed a path towards the main gates, on one side there was a patch of almost impossibly green grass, on the other an oasis, crystal clear water with reeds forming a natural border.
“I imagine it would be short lived. A few more nights.”
“I don’t need the details,” Adan said with a rueful smile. “I know one thing for certain: you cannot concentrate on anything until you have dealt with this matter. So, go. Deal with it. You have the tools to protect her from the media’s attentions, so use them.”
Samir knew he should demur, he should close down this line of conversation, but his heart was already lifting with the possibilities before him. Adan was right. He could see her again. He could do it discreetly, privately, and he he knew, deep down, it was what they both wanted. And needed.
* * *
Cora didn’t payany attention to the purring of the motorbike outside her window. She was focussing on another report, her heart breaking as she read about the child’s family life, and the experiences that had brought them into the programme. She had an operating budget, in theory, but in practice, Cora frequently exceeded it, supplementing the grants given by the Xenakis Foundation with her own income. How could she not? The stories she read, each day, were enough to bring her to tears and she had money that could make a real difference.
The engine throttled and she looked towards the street as a tall rider disembarked, clad in black, with a dark black helmet. There was something in his bearing that was instantly familiar. His size, his obvious strength. He reminded her ofhim.
Her throat thickened and she blinked away, trying to quell the rapid racing of her heart. It wasnotSamir. Just as it hadn’t been Samir any other time she’d ‘seen’ him over this past fortnight.
She closed her eyes, just for a moment, remembering that last moment. The way he’d hesitated as he was saying goodbye and she’d held her breath, hoping, despite all the warnings she’d given herself, that he might stay another night. That he might ask to see her again.
He hadn’t. He’d stuck to their agreement, leaving without giving her his number or any promises to see her again. And that was for the best. With no way to contact each other, she had to be strong and resist temptation. Oh, she could have asked Leo or Tasso—and she’d thought about it many times. Mostly, at night, when she’d lain awake in bed, remembering his touch, fantasising about the way he’d kissed her, all over, sending her pulse rioting. In those moments, she’d reached for her phone, and had even drafted a text a couple of times, but then, she’d remembered. Not Samir, but Alf. She’d remembered her vulnerability to her ex-husband. How she’d trusted him. Come to need him. How she’d planned a life with him. How she’d been let down, hurt and discarded.