Chapter Eight
Looking back the next morning, Laurel decided that the night had passed oddly. There was nothing wrong about it, nothing at all, and she was suspicious about the part of her that wanted to focus on everything that had gone right.
The pizza had come, and though the sauce was spicier and the crust thinner than she was used to, it was quite good. She surprised herself by how hungry she turned out to be, and with the ravenous hunger of a still growing boy, Ben had attacked the pizza with ferocity. Bassam, after his sojourn in the desert, was equally starved, and she smiled as the two talked between bites.
It was startling how much a sheikh and a ten year old boy had in common, but apparently, there was no end of movies that they could speak about. Ben was fascinated by the fact that Bassam had actually driven in some of the vehicles that were used in his favorite movies, and for his part, Bassam treated him with a kind of grave courtesy that the young boy soaked up.
She offered the occasional insight, but for the most part, Laurel allowed the two of them to do most of the talking. Her mind was still overwhelmed by everything that had happened. So she was to stay in Shajae? She was supposed to be good? A part of her boiled at that. She couldn't stand the idea of having her story taken away from her. She hated the idea of doing silly little puff pieces when there were still stories out there that needed to be told.
Still, she was surprised when a part of her wistfully thought how nice this was. The penthouse was an amazingly beautiful place, and she could not remember the last time she and Ben had had any real company. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad?
While eating the excellent pizza, she struggled with the thought. If she was going to be true to her calling and to her mission, she should be banging on the rails, trying to make sure she could get her job back, to get back on the road.
The only reason she could be in the Middle East at all was because it was Ben's summer break. When September rolled around, they would have to return for Ben's schooling. She refused to allow him to miss class on her account. She knew she could not instruct him herself. It was the only way to do this thing she was trying. If the job had panned out, she would be in a better position to get a job with more money, and then perhaps tutors could be arranged...
But that didn't happen, did it? she asked herself angrily. That plan was dead and gone. She had to think of something else.
She set down her pizza to yawn.
Laurel decided she could think about it tomorrow. Tonight, she was exhausted, and she and Ben and even Bassam deserved a night off. When Ben started yawning too, she stood.
"All right, time to wind down," she said.
Bassam raised his eyebrow. "Wind down?"
"I get to read or do something else quiet in my room for half an hour," said Ben. "After that, I have to go to sleep."
"I do it too," Laurel said with a shrug. "It's good for maintaining a schedule and making sure that everything is in good working order."
She felt oddly defensive, as if her customs were quaint or endearing, but Bassam nodded.
"Clever. Not a bad idea at all. You two can use either of the bathrooms off the hall. I have my own, so we shouldn't get in each other's way all that much."
Laurel shepherded Ben through his wind down ritual, and though a year ago he had slightly cracked her heart by telling her he was too old for a tuck-in, he still let her turn off his main light after he had turned on the lamp by the bed. Growing or not, he still looked ridiculously small in the adult-sized bed he had chosen for himself.
"Mom?"
"Yes, love?"
"Are we going to be here for a while?" he asked, and she bit her lip. The answer not if I have anything to do with it appeared on her lips, but she brushed it away. That would result in far more need for explanation than she was really comfortable getting into.
"We will," she said finally. "It's a little hard to say how long, but yes."
"Good," Ben said, pulling out his phone to play with. "It's been boring being on the bus and in the cars all the time."
"Duly noted," she said, trying to smile, but a part of her heart ached because she’d had no idea. She had asked Ben throughout the trip how he felt about things, but he had always answered her with an upbeat grin. She’d had no idea that he might have been suffering or bored.
They wished each other a good night. She would peek in in a half an hour to make sure he had kept his word and gone to sleep, but other than that, she could relax for a short while.
Laurel took her own bag and after an uneasy glance at Bassam's closed bedroom door, she chose her own bedroom. It was the one that she had seen was clearly designed or at one time inhabited by a woman. It had a slightly antique air with its pale green furnishings, brass fittings and softer light, and even though it was clear that no one had lived in it for quite some time, she smiled at the sachets in the closet and dresser. Her own bag looked small and puny in all that space, but she removed her nightgown and toiletries, telling herself it didn't matter. They might be staying for a short while, but it wouldn't be long enough for her to start to fill anything.
The hot shower in the bathroom felt like pure luxury, and by the time she emerged, her hair falling around her shoulders and truly clean for the first time in what felt like ages, Ben's half hour was up. She put on her nightgown and padded to his room, cracking the door just enough to look in. The light was still on, but he had burrowed under the covers, fast asleep. That was unusual. Usually she had to tell him to go to sleep. She crossed the dark room and, unable to help herself, she kissed the top of his head before hitting the switch. She crossed the room slowly and without hurting herself or awakening him, so she was ready to call it a win for the moment.
Once she was back in her room, however, Laurel found that she could not sleep. The elegant bed called to her, but instead she felt as if her entire body was filled with nervous energy. She didn’t think that her nap earlier in the day could have made her feel like this, but who knew? Her schedule had been shot for so long, and she had been so nervous and excited about the interview that she didn't know whether she was coming or going.
Maybe we both need a break, she thought, and then for some reason, she thought about her kiss in Bassam's bed just a few short hours ago. Maybe he had a different idea of what a break meant than she did...
Almost as if her thoughts had summoned him, there was a knock on the door. Somehow, she knew instinctively that it wasn't Ben, and she had a moment to glance down at her flannel nightgown and despair. Laurel told herself to stop being silly and to get the door. Who cared whether she wore flannel instead of satin to bed anyway.
"Bassam," she said, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
"May I come in?"
"Your penthouse," she said, stepping back. "I'm surprised you bothered to ask."
"I do like to maintain the civilities. I was taught that a man who barged into a woman's bedroom without being expressly invited was someone who should be shot on sight."
"As you can see, I am unarmed," Laurel said. "But sure, come in."
Once she had shut the door behind them, Bassam wasted no time in stating what he had come for.
"I will take your notes right now," he said, and even as tired and wary as she was, Laurel could hear her temper start to spark.
"Oh really? Just like that?"
"As we agreed," was his cool response. "You are certainly not going to need them as you are simply not going to write that article."
"Of course not," she said sarcastically. "Because it might give everyone the wrong idea of who they are dealing with."
His eyes narrowed, and she got the idea that he might want nothing more than to shake a little sense into her.
"Because the situation is more delicate than almost anyone could believe, and I do not need a foreigner making things more muddled," he snapped.
"Even if a foreigner could offer a new perspective that you might need? Even if I had information that you didn’t?"
"Your help is not required," he responded stiffly. "Give me the notes. I have no intention of asking again.”
There was something in his voice that told her things would go very badly for her if he had to ask again, and reluctantly Laurel gave in. Avoiding his eyes, she went to her suitcase where she found the notebook she had been using. She slid it out of its hiding place and handed it to him.
"Just a notebook? What about your phone?"
She unlocked her phone and handed it to him. "He refused to let me use a recording device. You can see what I've got there. It’s all just pictures of Ben and interesting animals and stores we've seen."
He flipped through the phone quickly, and then to her irritation, he flipped through the notebook. She was grimly certain that he would get nothing from it, but he frowned.
"You're using your father's code," he said, and she blinked.
"How did you know about it?"
"I saw it on your father's desk once and asked him about it. We were never close, but he was always very giving with his information, something that I respected him for a great deal. Is he well these days?"
"He died," Laurel said, her voice clipped even in her own ears. She had found that it was the best way to get information of this nature across. "Just a year after Ben was born. It was an embolism that none of us saw coming at all."
Bassam flinched, and there was real sorrow in his eyes when he reached for her. His hand was warm around hers, and she looked up into his dark eyes.
"I am sorry. He was a fine man, and I held him in high esteem."
"Well, that certainly makes two of us," she said with a sigh, pulling away to sit on the short couch at the end of the elegant bed. She guessed it was for people to sit on when they were taking off their shoes, but now she was glad for its presence. It meant that she could get off of her sore feet without climbing into the bed, something that would have felt more like an invitation than she wanted.
Really? More than you wanted? That sounds like an overstatement... She told that sly voice in her head to hush. She wasn't sure whether she was getting better about silencing it, but she was at least getting a lot of practice.
Bassam stood facing her, his expression grave. She suspected he was simply going to turn and walk out of the room, as polite as ever, and even if she wasn't sure that she wanted him to tumble her into the bed, she knew she didn't want him to leave. She couldn't very well drag him into the bed to make him stay, no matter how good an idea that actually sounded like. What came out of her mouth, however, startled her.
"So whatever happened to you?" she asked, her voice soft. "What...what happened to us?"
Laurel wasn't sure what she expected, but it was not the raw slash of agony that ripped across his face. Then it was gone, leaving behind a mask that was so blank and bland that she had no idea what she was seeing instead.
"I thought of you," he said, his voice perfectly flat. "Often. I wanted nothing more than to stay in the United States or, in my madder moments, to take you with me."
He seemed to know that was really no answer, and he shook his head slightly.
"There was an accident. That was what I was told. An accident that claimed both my father and my brother. I was told there was a chance that I might see either of them alive one last time if I hurried back to Shajae, but that turned out...not to be the case."
Laurel shivered at his tone. The words had the polished form of a man who had been telling them to himself for a long time, but she knew that wasn't the whole story.
"Not the case?"
He glanced at her, and at least there was a little bit of amusement in that glance instead of anger or frustration.
"I have read your file, you know," he said. "If I tell you that it is none of your business, would you try to question around it and get it out of me anyway?"
"No," she said instantly. "I liked you too much for that."
Did he flinch a little at her use of the past tense? Surely it was her imagination.
"Then I will tell you. There was a quarrel. My brother struck my father, or perhaps it was the other way around. Both men had fierce tempers, but they had never gotten so far before. They were fighting in the library at the manor close to the edge of the city. The fight was vicious enough that it knocked an enormously heavy shelf down on them. It was bad enough to kill them both, even with the fastest medical help."
He took a deep breath. "And that is the true story."
"Bassam... I am so sorry."
His look was wry. "So am I. I was ill-prepared to become sheikh, but I was forced into it anyway. And, well, here I am. And here you are."
"Thank you for telling me that." Abruptly, she realized that he was still standing, and she scooted aside to make room for him on the bench. When he sat down next to her, his knee was pressed against hers, making her flush a little.
"So what do I get for telling you that story?" he teased.
"For telling me a story that I cannot sell? Not much, I would think."
He looked surprised. "You would have sold it?"
"Well, I can't and won't sell it because it is yours." She shrugged. "I mean, there's a code of ethics that I wish to subscribe to, of course, but it’s more than that. I wouldn't tell a story like that unless you had given me permission to do so."
"Thank you."
There was something strange in his voice. She didn't know what it was, and when she glanced up to look, he startled her by cupping his hand along her face and kissing her.