It was as if she’d been struck. He was right. She wasn’t one of his people, she wasn’t of this country, but she felt like one. He leaned forward, with passion. They were close to each other.
“I ask you again, Gabrielle, why did you take my father’s money and spend it on this object if you are not one of us? If you’d simply wanted to rid yourself of the money you could have donated it to any number of charities, but you didn’t. You spent it on an object of national significance to the country.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. He was asking too much of her; he was asking her questions that she’d never dared ask herself.
“You’re right. It was stupid of me.”
He sat back, defeated. “You’re not stupid.”
“Then what am I?”
“Misguided. Ignorant of the fact that you belong to this country as much as anyone. You are one of us, whether you like it, or believe it, or not.” He sighed and looked at the floor for a few moments, and when he looked back up at her, his eyes had lost their autocratic air. It was like a shell had been cracked, revealing their inner liquid warmth.
She shook her head. “You of all people should know I’m not one of you.”
“Do not tell me what I know or don’t know.” He sat back, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are one of us. What puzzles me is why you refuse to see it.”
She shrugged facetiously. “Maybe because my father was English, my mother and grandfather, French. I think that probably explains why I’m not one of your people.”
He rose and came closer to her. “You know it is nothing to do with genetics.” He took her hand and slapped it against her heart. “It is here where your identity lies, it is here, in your heart, that dictates your nationality, your people, where you belong, your home. And I won’t stop untilyouknow this, too.”
She tugged her hand away and stumbled back. “Why are you torturing me? Why are you doing this? Trying to punish me for rejecting you, hey?” She stepped back further.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “What makes you run from happiness,habibti? But why do I ask, when I doubt you know.”
“Don’t play games with me, Zavian!” she warned, walking quickly toward the door.
“I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you see.”
She paused with her hand on the door handle. “What if I don’t want to see?”
“You are afraid. That, I had not imagined.”
She shook her head and opened the door. “You can play your games if you like, Zavian. But the end result will be the same. You need to marry someone who your countrymen approve of. Without that, you won’t have a country.”
She slipped out the door without waiting for an answer. She knew where her bags would have been taken and quickly ran up the back stairs to the guest wing, only stopping when she knew she wasn’t being followed.
She flung the windows open wide and gulped in the hot, fragrant air. Far overhead, a falcon cried out. She looked up to see the bird call again as it flew past. The light was harsh, the landscape stunning, and she felt her connection to it at a vital level.
She had a vivid recollection of when Zavian’s father had offered her the money to leave, a chance to run from commitment, and she’d taken it. At first she’d believed that she was doing it for him and the country. It was only later that she realized that there was something else—something deep-seated within her, a scared child at her center who was terrified of committing to a person who had never spoken of love. From an early age, her grandfather had ingrained on her how love was the only thing to be trusted in this world. Everything else was ephemeral—here one moment, and the next, turned to dust. Only love continued, and there was no substitute, no second best. There hadn’t been for him—he’d loved her grandmother until her premature death—and there wouldn’t be for her, either.
A shiver ran through her, but it had nothing to do with the breeze that came from the open window. Zavian was right. Shewasafraid. She was scared of falling for Zavian’s magnetism again and then being cast adrift after he’d tired of her—either before or after he made an arranged marriage. And she was worth more—her grandfather had shown her that.
Chapter 5
Zavian knew her secret now, Gabrielle thought, as she descended the stairs to attend the breakfast she’d been summoned to. There was nothing else he could do other than accept her reasoning. It sounded simple in her head, but as Zavian rose to greet her, alone once more, she knew it would be anything but simple.
“You slept well, I trust?”
She nodded warily. “Yes, thank you.”
He indicated she should take the seat opposite him. “Then why do you look so tired?”
She shot him an annoyed look. “No more than you.”
He didn’t appear perturbed by her response. He’d seemed to have shed his kingship the moment he’d set foot inside the desert castle. “I had things on my mind, as I’m sure did you.” He beckoned staff to step forward to serve them breakfast.
As the head steward exchanged a few words with Zavian, Gabrielle looked around. It hadn’t changed at all since she was last here. Then there’d been only Zavian and herself, which was just as well as neither of them had any thought for anyone else.