“You need,” repeated Roshan sarcastically. “Whatever you call it, you’re off the market, and so it falls to me.” He swore under his breath.
“I can hardly remonstrate when I, myself, have done the same thing,” said Amir. “Roshan? What do you think?”
“What do I think?” he said with bitter emphasis. He shook his head and sighed. “I think that you have both lost your minds. That you have both put your personal happiness ahead of our three countries which comprise this land of ours.” He rose and gripped the table, his tall frame looming over them both. “I think that it is as well that I, with all my reputation as a womanizer, set the least store by love. Because, Zavian, whatever you wish to call your requirement to wed this, whoever she is, don’t fool yourself it isn’t love.” He sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself off the table. “Luckily for us all, I am immune to such feelings. I adore women—plural—but fortunately, I don’t love any particular one of them. The Sheikha of Tawazun will be as good as any to be my wife.”
Zavian hadn’t realized until that moment how afraid he’d been that Roshan would refuse, as he had every right to. Zavian had volunteered to marry the Tawazun sheikha to ensure ongoing peace for their worlds, and he was now reneging on the deal. With Amir also married, that left only Roshan to do the deed.
“Thank you, Roshan. And I am sorry it has come to this, but there is nothing I can do about it.”
Roshan looked from Amir to Zavian and shook his head in mock despair. “For all your alpha male machismo, you two are like putty in a woman’s hand.”
Zavian and Amir exchanged insulted looks, but both their responses were brought to an abrupt halt when Roshan muttered an oath. “Luckily for us all, while I might look like pretty putty on the outside, my strength is a steel heart. I know how to have fun, and I know how to keep myself safe.” He looked from one to the other. “Leave it with me.”
They all rose and shook hands, but it was Roshan who left first.
Zavian and Amir watched Roshan jump into the waiting helicopter and turn east into the bright blue sky.
Zavian was both relieved that his way was now clear and concerned about the pressure which was now sitting on Roshan’s shoulders.
“It’s down to him now,” said Amir, his eyes watching the dwindling dot in the sky, the hum growing ever fainter. He looked at Zavian. “I hope he’s right.”
“In what?”
“That the link we thought to be the weakest in our armor will turn out to be the strongest.”
It hadn’t taken longfor Gabrielle to convert her words around the story of the Khasham Qur’an into a multi-media presentation that could be used online and in the museum itself. Despite pressure from the director, she refused to front the video. She felt that job should go to a citizen of Gharb Havilah—not a foreigner like her. However, she didn’t mind describing to camera how the Qur’an had been found and her grandfather’s part in it. She’d omitted the exact location of the find. From there, she’d described what had followed—the theft of the piece and its ultimate surfacing, years later, in a London auction house. She’d also omitted her part in its repatriation. The story appeared complete. Only she and one other person knew it wasn’t.
She turned and smiled at the team as the lights went on. “You’ve done a fabulous job!”
“We had great material,” commented the museum director, rising from his chair. “But Gabrielle is right. Well done, everyone. It’s been a long day, and we haven’t stopped, so take a break. And as soon as we receive official approval, you can all go home.”
Gabrielle walked up to the piece itself, in pride of place, and then looked up at the screen where her passion for the piece had been captured and overlaid with the images of the land and peoples from whence it had come. “They edited it so well,” she said to the director, who came to stand beside her.
“They’re the best, and work hard. And you haven’t stopped either. You should take a break, too.”
“I’m fine.” Then she looked up and suddenly realized the director also needed to take a break. “But you go. You haven’t stopped either.”
“I will. But there’s one thing I need to know. When will His Majesty approve this display?”
She frowned but didn’t look at him directly. “You need his approval?”
“Yes. The instructions are clear. But I’m not receiving a direct answer from his office. I need to know when he’ll approve it. No one seems to know where he is. Do you?”
She bit her lip and turned to face the director. He knew. He must have heard that she’d spent the night together, or at the very least, that there was some link between them. “No. I’m afraid I don’t know where he is or when he will approve it.”
He nodded. “Okay. I’ll have my team stay around for the evening. Hopefully, we’ll hear something soon. We’ll talk later.”
Gabrielle followed him outside and waited while he secured the room. Together they walked back to the main public area of the palace where they would go their separate ways—Gabrielle to the private wing of the palace, and the director to the public, where he and his team were staying while they worked there.
“Look, I’m sorry I can’t help.” She hesitated as she tried to figure out a way of saying that she’d do what she could, without admitting to any close relationship. “But if I hear anything about, or from, the king, I’ll be sure to let you know. And,” she relented, “if I see him, I’ll be sure to ask him to approve it as soon as possible.”
She turned as the blush threatened to give her relationship away and walked without turning back toward the guarded entrance. Even her staying here betrayed that she was someone special. But what the director didn’t know was that he wasn’t the only one puzzled. As she walked through and the door clanged shut, and an automatic bolt slid into place, she thought she also had no idea what she was to the king anymore.
Apart from a briefonline meeting with the museum staff, where it was confirmed that everyone would have to stay in the palace another night until the exhibit was approved, Gabrielle spent the rest of the evening alone in her room.
She was killing time, she knew. First, she’d had a bath, then checked her social media, not that it was very social. She opened a novel on her e-reader, which she’d been meaning to read for months. She managed two pages before tossing the tablet onto the bed. Her own life was too much like a novel for the ebook to provide an escape.
Instead, she undressed, slipped on a gown, and sat in the easy chair in front of the open French windows, which looked out over the gardens. The scent of mimosa and lemons rose on the cooler night air. She breathed deeply of it and closed her eyes. It smelled of heaven. She rose and stepped onto the paved area immediately outside her window. She was drawn further by the scents and sounds of the night, so calming after a day of bright lights, technology and intense thought.