Chapter Nine
“How long will you be gone?” she asked, trying to hold back the tears.
“No longer than I have to.” Arran’s face was dark and troubled.
“Is there anything I can do?” Gabrielle didn’t want to be left alone, but Arran had gotten a text from his family that required an immediate trip back home. Gabrielle’s passport hadn’t come through yet so she wouldn’t be permitted to accompany him.
“Yes, there is. Miss me,” he requested and smiled to cheer her up. “Serra will look after you, and of course the remainder of the staff. You can sit by the pool and do your nails all day.”
“I would rather come with you,” she whined a bit and this made his heart warm.
“I would, too. We’ll do something special when I return,” he promised.
The Rolls was waiting to take him to the airport. He pulled Gabrielle into his arms and gave her a hard kiss. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away and she nodded in return, her heart singing.
She watched the car roll down the drive and through the gates. Her heart sank and she turned to go back into the house. Putting on her suit, she took a swim in the pool, but even swimming the laps caused her to miss Arran. It was as if the air was thinner; his powerful personality was not there to add the electricity that kept everyone on their toes and gave color to an otherwise bland landscape.
She sat in the home theatre and watched every movie she’d never seen, or so it seemed. She went to town with Serra and shopped, even stopping by the casino to say hello to Ben and see if anything had changed. The casino never changed; it had perpetual life twenty-four hours a day. It was predictable and that was the secret of its success.
Gabrielle had never learned to cook – never having a complete kitchen or the opportunity to be at home for her meals. The chef at the compound knew all of Arran’s favorite recipes and he agreed to teach Gabrielle how to prepare them. These were all new and strange tastes for her to get used to. On one hand, it was exciting to learn about his world and on the other hand, if frightened her. She didn’t want to leave the U.S. and live anywhere else. She knew he was a powerful man in his country and had serious responsibilities. His family was deeply embedded in the economy there and he was in charge of all of that. She wasn’t sure what the future held for her, but she hoped that no matter how much they might travel to conduct his business, that they would always come home to the U.S.
There was only silence from Arran and this concerned her. She knew he’d arrived safely; bad news always finds wings. It was the idea that she couldn’t just reach out and talk to him that bothered her the most.
As the days passed, Gabrielle grew listless and bored. She bought books on the world’s religions and cultures and studied these, hoping to get closer to Arran. She even took up painting watercolors, setting up her easel and paints by the pool where the light was unparalleled. Although her talent was limited, there was a sense of peace and creativity in what she did.
She experimented with the grand piano in the sitting room. At one point in her childhood she’d lived with a family whose mother was a piano teacher. Students came and went throughout the day and although the woman never offered to teach Gabrielle, she was smart enough to listen and often sneaked in to practice what she’d heard when the house was empty.
I have a life of half-filled dreams, she realized. This bothered her considerably. She badly wanted roots – family, children, and a sense of belonging to someone. It was an elusive goal, however, even with Arran. He belonged somewhere she could not, and did not want to go.
She was painting by the pool one afternoon when Serra came out to stand next to her, waiting to be recognized.
“Did you need something, Serra?” she asked.
“A phone call has come through. It was not directly from Sheikh Muhalla, but he sent a message to be relayed to you. I’ve written it here for you,” she said, handing Gabrielle a piece of paper.
Gabrielle accepted the note, wondering why in this age of technology, Arran hadn’t called or texted or sent an email. Now, he was sending a message by way of other people and it was delivered on a slip of paper.
Then she understood.
Sheikh Muhalla has wed. Coming home.
Gabrielle grew woozy and slid onto a patio chair. Arran had married someone else? How could this happen? Was this the emergency he had to return so quickly to resolve? Why did he profess his love for her before he left? Did he think she would remain his mistress on the side while his wife took her place with him at formal functions? Was that how it worked?
Her heart was breaking and her mind was seething with rage at being lied to and used, once again. She had finally decided to open herself to a bit of trust and this was her reward? To be used and promised to be taken care of and then dumped into the desert? She didn’t even have a job now. There was no way Ben would take her back at the Bellagio. Surely he’d replaced her by now, and there was no way she would subject herself to the humiliation of working for the man who had broken her heart.
She didn’t know when Arran was due in, but she certainly wasn’t going to be on hand when he and his new wife arrived. She went into her bedroom and pulled out a case, angrily pitting in the clothes she’d come with. She’d telephoned a taxi and told it to wait outside the compound gates. She met it there, bag in hand and a very upset Serra waving goodbye. Gabrielle felt badly for leaving Serra in a precarious position, but there was nothing to be done about it. It was Arran’s treacherous doing – not her own.
The only thing Gabrielle kept from Arran was the salary he’d paid her. She had no option to do otherwise as there was no paycheck waiting for her at the Bellagio, they’d gotten rid of her old car and her apartment was rented out to someone else. Once she got back on her feet, she’d send the money back.
The taxi dropped her in at the train station where she put her luggage in a locker and went in search of a car dealership. She hated to be walking in, it made her a target, but there was nothing else she could do. Used cars were plentiful in a town where tourists were caught up in the gambling flu.
She bought a mini-van, thinking she could sleep in it if she needed to. She picked up her bag from the station and then headed east out of town. She couldn’t get far enough away from Vegas.