With one swift movement he push aside the curtains and stepped out, expecting to see nothing but the emptiness of the desert to soothe his soul. Instead, he was confronted with the ruins of the Roman spa and the beauty of the oasis which was engraved on his mind. It had once been a favorite escape for the royal family and their closest friends. And so it had been on that night when his parents and beloved friend were killed before him and Roshan. The night his life had ended. The night his new life, without emotion, had begun.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“What is it?” Ela asked. “What’s wrong.”
He didn’t turn to her but continued to look, unseeing, at the beauty and the pain that lay before him. It was as if the shroud which had enveloped his fear and sadness had suddenly dissolved, leaving nothing but the pulsating beat of a bleeding heart—a bleeding heart through which he felt two things.
One the sadness had not lessened over time, but, if anything, had become more painful. And two, his need for this woman—this infuriating, opinionated, arrogant woman—had become more acute. And both were now inextricably linked together. It seemed he couldn’t have the one without acknowledging the other. And he knew the reason why. Because they both probed and prodded that poor thing he’d used to call his heart.
He had a choice. He could ignore both, or embrace both. And, at that moment he had no idea what to do.
Then he felt her hand touch his. He closed his eyes in response, as if trying not to allow anyone to see into his eyes where the feelings might be seen. He bit his lip and kept his eyes closed and didn’t respond to her hand. But it curled around his anyway. If she’d done anything else—spoken again, put her arms around him, demanded a hungry kiss—he thought he could have refused. He’d have been able to meet her energy with a heavy dose of his own. But she didn’t.
“Xander.” She spoke his name in a whisper, like the wind through the trees. He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, as he felt the pull of her voice through his body. He couldn’t let her affect him. He couldn’t. That way led madness. “Xander.” The word came again, slightly stronger, but with doubt this time. It was the doubt that did it. He fluttered open his eyes and turned to look at her.
She looked different—stripped bare, literally, but not just her body, whose petite curves were heightened by the shadows shimmering through the palm trees. But in her eyes, too. As if their lovemaking had stripped her of her coverings, leaving the real Ela naked and bare before him. He frowned, and brushed her hair from her face.
“You are so beautiful.”
She gave a small smile. She looked so young. He smiled back and kissed her gently on the lips. Not in the hot, sensuous way they had been kissing but with tenderness. He suddenly realized that everything had changed with that one act. He frowned.
She frowned back. “Is something the matter?”
He had to talk. He had to be honest with her, he knew that much. “It would have been all right if we hadn’t come here.” He gestured outside the door to the beautiful oasis full of memories.
“I’m sorry, I was selfish, I wanted to come so much. It’s so beautiful. I… didn’t think you’d mind once you’d seen it.”
He grimaced, but his hand didn’t leave her face, his fingers pushed through her hair, holding her steady as his thumb swept her cheek. “It’s not that.” He glanced outside, seeing its beauty but not appreciating it. How could he, when all he could see was the dark spreading stains of the blood shed by his parents and beloved on the white sand?
“What is it, Xander?” she asked “What’s wrong…?”
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of images ingrained in his mind and heart, images he’d thought he’d forgotten. “It holds memories—bad ones.”
“Tell me.”
He swallowed as he tried to form the pain into words which wouldn’t hurt.
“It was here that my parents died. It was here that they were killed. And, alongside them, the girl I’d loved since I was a child, the girl I was to marry.” He turned to her. “They died instantly. They did not suffer.”
She reached out to touch him, to reassure him with instinctive sympathy.
“Unlike you and Roshan,” said Ela gently.
“Roshan was tougher than me. He took it on the chin. He internalized it and it made him stronger. But me”—he gave a rueful smile—“I’m not made of such stern stuff and ran away as soon as I could. I couldn’t wait to leave Sharq Havilah, but it seems, my love for my country cannot be avoided. I thought I’d managed to escape its clutches for a while, but it was stronger than I imagined.”
“You were younger, he spent less time with your family. You were more lost than Roshan.”
Xander shrugged. “Whatever, that’s the past. I’d rather talk about the present.”
“It’s not the past,” said Ela, shaking her head. “It’s still very much part of your present, and by the looks of things, influencing your future.”
Xander flicked his hand and looked away uncomfortably. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. For one thing I don’t need it, and for another you know nothing about my past.”
“I know enough to understand that you are still hurting.”
“Of course I am. And I always will. The only girl I loved, or ever will love, died that day, and so did my heart.” He took a deep breath. “I think it’s time to leave, Elaheh.”
Silence filled the tent. For once, it seemed, Ela had nothing to say. Which was good. Because neither had he. What he’d said he’d always believed. And he still did, didn’t he? But as the seconds passed, as Ela withdrew her hand from him, leaving the loneliness of his pain even emptier, the doubt crept in, swiftly quashed by the cool rigor of his will, just as he’d been doing ever since that fatal night. No, it was best like this. He remained where he was, even as he heard Ela move around the tent behind him, getting dressed, hiding the passion of their night together.