“Yes, a subject dear to your heart, I believe. Maybe the only one.”
The barb found its target, but she couldn’t respond because he’d always known if she’d tried to lie, which left silence the only option.
“And once you’ve uncovered the story behind its repatriation, then, Dr. Taylor”—he continued—“you may find you have to re-think your assertion that nothing has changed.” He dropped her hand. “Enjoy the evening.”
He nodded coolly and walked past her before she could respond. Not that she could. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of that warm, crowded reception room, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think. But she could feel. And she wished she couldn’t.
He hated her. And she hadn’t realized how this knowledge could destroy her. She looked around for an escape, unaware of people talking to her, needing to get away.
Zavian left the room immediately.He’d organized the reception with only one purpose in mind, and now he’d seen and spoken with her he had no further interest in it. He dismissed his attendants and watched her from behind the one-way mirror. She hadn’t changed at all. He suddenly realized that he’d hoped she had. But she hadn’t. She shimmered in the traditional abaya—understated and elegant—eclipsing all others as the moon banished the sun, casting a heart-stopping glow over the desert, creating magic where none before existed. Even now, while she twisted and turned, moving around people, seeking out the exit, she outshone everyone.
He’d created a trap for her which she’d had no choice but enter, circling into its center until he had her secure. Then why did he feel it was the other way around?
Chapter 2
Nothing’s changed.
Her words repeated in his mind as he stared at the papers which littered his desk—confidential bank statements, bills of lading, insurances—all designed to conceal the truth.
She was wrong. If what he suspected was true, then everything had changed. But there was only one way to know for sure because she’d tied up the truth behind a veil of paperwork and privacy screens which even he didn’t have the power to uncover. His only hope of knowing the truth was for her to tell him.
The draft from the overhead fan lifted the pages through which Zavian sifted as if they were light things of no importance. But they were of the utmost importance, Zavian thought. They had the power to change his life. He placed a heavy glass paperweight on the pile with careful deliberation. If only he could contain his thoughts as easily. He sat back and let his head rest against the leather of the office chair.
The whirr of the fan and the splash of water from the fountain outside his office should have had a soothing effect. But they did nothing to ease the tension which gnawed at his temples. Nothing to pacify the roaring sound in his brain that had sprung up at the sight of the signature on the museum’s ownership records of the prize of its collection. It wasn’t that it was her name, it was that everyone who’d been traced who bore that name had had nothing to do with the purchase and donation of the piece back to his country. Someone wanted to be anonymous. And who else but Gabrielle would have both the knowledge, the money, and a reason?
He took a deep breath, pushed the chair away from the table and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked the city’s old quarter. At that moment, the sun rose behind the soft-edged minarets and mosques of a city steeped in its medieval origins. His grandfather had preferred this office, and when Zavian succeeded his father to the throne, he’d immediately made it his.
And somehow, the setting was an appropriate one for what he believed he’d uncovered. The museum—whose outline he could see facing one side of the civic square, hidden by palm trees—had acquired the jewel in its crown of antiquities when the Khasham Qur’an had been anonymously donated.
He sighed and closed his eyes.Gabrielle. The name escaped his lips like a puff of warm desert wind, like a memory of a kiss. Only Gabrielle would believe that she could trick him. Nowhere else in this city would anyone have dared, or have imagined it were possible to—what was that quaint English expression?—pull the wool over the eyes of their sheikh and king. But Gabrielle had. He’d underestimated her. It seemedthatwas mutual.
There was a subdued knock at the door, followed by his vizier’s entrance. Naseer was the only person allowed to enter his rooms without awaiting his response.
The elderly vizier gave a slight bow and approached him. “Your Majesty.”
Zavian turned his back on the rising sun, which cast a long shadow across the room. “Naseer, did you check with the museum?”
“I did. Although the museum’s director was confused as to why you’d want to know this before sunrise.”
Zavian glared at Naseer. He could hardly tell him that his obsession with Gabrielle was only increasing over time. While he managed to push her to the shadowy recesses of his mind during the day, she always emerged fully formed in his imagination at night. “And what did he say?”
“The piece was purchased from the dealer for a rumored one million dollars, and has been donated to the museum. He wanted to assure you that it was all above board, that everything has been done legally.”
Zavian looked out at the museum, its honey-colored stone warming now under the slowly moving finger of sunlight. “And the paper trail your source provided”—he nodded to the pile of papers on his desk—“is genuine?”
Naseer gave a slight bow, which was for form only. “I am assured it is.”
Zavian let the remaining doubt burn away just as the sun burned away the shreds of mist that lingered along the coast, leaving the full form of his golden city revealed. Its domed minarets thrust up into the pale gold-gray sky, the warmth of its umber tones deepening, minute by minute, in the early morning light.
Naseer sniffed with disapproval. “Although I haven’t seen the papers myself, as you instructed.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you care to tell me what this is about?” his vizier asked. “The museum director isn’t the only one who’s curious.”
Zavian shook his head. “It’s of no consequence.” Not to his vizier, anyway. But to Zavian? It had the power to change his world.
“I hadn’t realized you were so interested in the museum’s acquisition process.”