“Now,” he continued, “tell me about the work you have been doing in Oxford.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d imagined he would begin the inquisition over her involvement with the Qur’an immediately. Still, it seemed he was employing his self-described ability to tread gently to get results. Whatever, she was relieved.
The miles melted away as she talked about her work, on familiar ground once more. Her passion, her life’s work. It wasn’t until they were approaching the desert castle that he did more than merely prompt her with questions.
“You say this is your life’s work.” He gestured all around. “All of this. And yet you choose to live away from it.”
The ease vanished instantly. She’d got carried away talking about her work and had fallen into his trap. “My work is academic, theoretical.”
He glanced at her. “No, it’s not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done what you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. You refuse to tell me the truth. But you will.”
She bit her lip. “And how will you make me do that?”
She could feel his gaze rest on her briefly although she didn’t meet it. She resolutely stared out the window at the castle, growing larger with each passing minute.
“I’ll remind you of something.”
“Remind?” she grunted. “That sounds very subtle.”
“I can be. You, of all people, should know that.” He paused. “Be quite sure, Gabrielle, you will tell me everything.”
She swallowed. She did not doubt that he’d get his way in the end, but she was damned if she’d make it easy for him.
“Everything?” She drew in a deep, strengthening breath and turned in her seat to face him. She needed him to know that she wasn’t afraid of him. “Everything could take us some time. Don’t you have a country to run?”
“I do. And I will continue to run it from a distance while I find answers.”
“Answers? To what questions.”
Again a flick of those disdainful eyes. “You don’t know?”
She shrugged. “Maybe one of the ‘stories’ you hired me to create?”
He didn’t deign to respond to her suggestion, merely kept his eye on the road and, overtaking a car, sped off into the shimmering mirage of the desert road. He channeled all his frustration into the accelerator as they approached the castle gates, which opened to allow them to enter.
They drew up in a cloud of dust, far ahead of anyone else. The desert castle appeared deserted. Silence descended when he turned off the car’s ignition.
“I want you to tell me why you took my father’s money,” Zavian said.
She hadn’t expected him to be so direct. “I…”
“Youwhat?” He sat forward. “Do you want to know whyIthink you took it?”
She shrugged stiffly. “I think that’s obvious. Why do people usually take money?” She gritted her teeth together to stop herself trembling.
“There are many reasons.” He jumped out of the car and walked around and opened the door for her. “The main reason is that they’re greedy,” he continued.
“Then that must be the reason here. Why wouldn’t it be? I had little to my name. A million dollars can change a life.”
He tilted his head to one side as if incredulous. “It can. But not yours.” He looked at her with an expression that took her breath away. “I remember that abaya from a year ago when I bought it for you. You were always hopeless with clothes, unaware of them. It was one of the first things that struck me about you—your lack of interest in outward show. And I’ve seen the clothes you wear beneath it. British high street stores, if I am not mistaken.”
She bridled with irritation. He’d always been such a snob. “And how would you know that? Do you shop there often yourself?”
He didn’t bother to respond. “So, I can only deduce that you didn’t want the money for designer fashions.”