Chapter Four
Two weeks later, the royal palace at Sakhi was on tenterhooks. The palace, dubbed The Gleaming Gem some centuries ago, had always been a place of intrigue and glamor, but for the servants who actually made it function, it was always meant to be a good place to work. That had changed ever since Sheikh Adil had returned from his sojourn to the United States.
Only a select senior staff members were clued into the fact that he had suffered an injury while he was away, but everyone who lived and worked in the palace was aware that there was a tension in the air. They wondered if they meant that there was some kind of change going on in the mind of Sheikh Adil, and they wondered what it would mean for them. The uncertainty made them nervous, and it was clear that the sheikh himself was not going to set their minds at ease.
He had always been a man who was much given to laughter and fun. He might suddenly demand a week-long gala on a month's notice, or he might invite an entire dance troupe to stay at the palace while they were in the capitol. One thing that no one would ever call Sheikh Adil was quiet, however, and that was what he had become.
One laundress spoke in shock of seeing him wandering the servants' hallways around 4 AM, when the only people around were the staff. One of the grooms spoke of finding him sleeping on a dusty cot at the back of the stables. When the groom had asked him in shock what he was doing, the sheikh only muttered something about wanting to be close to those loyal to him before turning over and snoring again.
The palace staff were tense, as if there was a storm coming, and no one knew when it was going to break.
For his own part, Adil could tell that the people around him were tense, and even if he was inclined to talk to them, he had no idea what he would tell them.
He had breathed a sigh of relief when his private jet ascended into the air a few days after his unfortunate visit with Annabel. At that point, he had felt that he was leaving behind his American misadventure with nothing more than a small scar to show for it. The doctor said that it would heal cleanly and that within a few years, it would be nearly invisible.
It was already well on its way to healing, but Adil found that he could not keep his hand from touching it at strange points. It didn't ache at all, and even the healing itch was well on its way to ending, but still he found that touching it triggered a memory. It was of a dark-haired woman standing on her step, looking at him with fury. Well, angry women were a thing that he had some experience with, but it was more than that. There was also a look in her eyes when he had handed her the money, when he had simply grabbed a wad of cash out his wallet and given it to her. He hadn't counted it; at first he had thought that the look on her face was because he had given her so little. Then he realized that it was because he had given it at all.
She had been disappointed in him.
When he had realized this, Adil's first thought had been one of anger. She was a frowsy, frowning woman of no account at all living in a rather shabby neighborhood in a country that he didn't know if he cared to visit again. It shouldn't have mattered in the least what she thought of him, and in all frankness he was well within his rights to be insulted that she had even had the thought of putting herself in a position of moral superiority.
Somehow, though, something had seeped in. Something about the way she had looked at him had gotten to him, and if he were frank with himself, it was more than that.
Adil was a man who considered himself something of a connoisseur of female beauty and good looks. He had been with many women, charmed them, lavished them with attention and gifts, became intimate with them, and in general, he found them interchangeable. He never really missed them when they were gone, and he had always assumed that that was the way it was going to be.
He found himself missing Annabel.
From the first, there had been some kind of spark between them. There was something that had drawn her to him, like the point of a compass seeking true north. He was compelled by her in a way that he couldn't understand, and Adil wondered if, after a few truly uncomfortable weeks spent frustrating and frightening his palace staff, he was beginning to get the shape of it.
He touched the scar, the one that so easily could have snuffed out his life.
"This time in my life should be over," he said out loud. He stood in the north tower, the highest point of the palace. It had more windows than walls, and all around him, the night sky shimmered. It was the same night sky that Annabel slept underneath, an ocean away, and that gave him more comfort than he thought it would.
"Things must change," he continued. "I need to return to America."
That was just the start of it. Adil had always considered himself a quick study as things went, and now he could see the beginning of what he needed to do, and the sheer amount of it would have been daunting to a lesser man. He was himself however, the son of a long line of men who would never give up as long as there was life in them. He would figure this out, and the first, last and most essential piece to all of this was a woman in the United States who was furious with him....
***
Across an ocean and unaware that she had caused so much furor in the life of the Sheikh of Sakhi, Annabel was getting worried. The six hundred dollars that she had wanted to scorn had gone so quickly, and Marissa seemed no better at all. The formerly active four-year-old had lost even the last reserve of energy she had for running around the apartment, let alone wandering around the city with Annabel, and most of her days were spent playing games in bed.
Where once upon a time she might have watched television or puzzle her way through books that were far too advanced for her, the truth was now, she was mostly sleeping. It frightened Annabel badly, and late at night, when she knew her daughter was deeply asleep, Annabel cried in her own bed out of fear and anger.
The doctors' wait lists were long, and it had taken months for Marissa's referral to go through. How much longer would it take for the doctors to find out what was wrong? When they found the solution, would it even be something that they could afford on her miniscule salary? Annabel would have sold her soul to make her daughter well again, but it seemed that very few people were in the soul-buying business. One dark night, she wondered how much money she could get for her hair. Black and thick, it tumbled down to her waist. She usually kept it in a bun, but after a few internet searches, she found that most of the places that bought hair for wigs paid very little indeed.
It didn't help that her mind kept wandering to the man she had saved. It would have been easy if she had just resented him. That would have made sense. He was rich, he was lucky, and he likely couldn't even understand her problems. They would never have happened to him. He had the feel of a man born rich. However, Annabel didn't think of him with anger. God, that would have much easier.
Instead, she thought about the scar on his chest. Was it very terrible? Would it pain him in the time to come? She thought of the smile on his face. What would it look like if it were a little more sincere, if she could be convinced that he was looking at her and not the next conquest?
She remembered the bare moment they had touched, and how it had felt as if electricity had leaped from his skin to hers. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Perhaps it was something that he felt all the time. Maybe it was something that even knew how to produce. It was ridiculous, but it was better than believing that it was something that was singular and unique.
Somewhere, deep within herself, Annabel still had the ability to dream. Her dreams in that deep place were towering and immense, wild and exotic, and she knew better than to waste a single moment chasing them, but they were there, and there was a man who called himself Sheikh Adil who seemed to have taken up residence.
Things were going from bad to worse. She had taken too many days off of work, and though people wanted to help her, there was nothing they could do. They said their hands were tied. They were cutting her hours, and when she was already desperately trying to find a food bank that would help them, they cut them again. Marissa was a smart girl, and after one question about why dinner was cheap macaroni and water again that had caused Annabel to tear up, she never asked about the food again.
Annabel thought that she could feel her heart break when her poor brave daughter talked about their dull small portions as if they were Arctic explorers or runaways, and it only made her resolve to do better. She did her best to keep looking for jobs, she all but begged for leniency from their landlord, and she kept looking for food banks and charities that might help, but it was shaping up to be a bad winter, and everyone else was looking out for themselves.
She was just coming back from another measly two hour shift when she realized that someone had fallen into step next to her. Annabel tensed because she was used to the kind of New York creep who did that, but then a tingle up her spine told her that this was something different. She knew who it was before she even looked up at him, and she felt some small satisfaction at denying him her surprise.
"So you're back again," she said casually.
Adil raised an eyebrow at her.
"That's all you have?" he asked, his voice teasing. "No rejoinders about my morals or about how a good man should or should not behave?"
"Did you do anything that would deserve that?" she retorted, and then she could have slapped herself.
What the hell are you doing? This is a rich man, and you live in New York. You should know by this point that rich men can do as they like, and that insulting them can be disastrous.
Instead of taking offense at her words, he chuckled instead, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
He looked a little different, she noticed suddenly. She wondered for a moment if it was because he had lost weight, but then she decided that he looked a little harder, a little sterner. When she had met him a short while ago, there was something softer in his face, for all that she would guess that he was older than she was. There was something more grown-up about him now.
"As far as I know, I have not done anything to deserve your ire," he said gravely, "but the truth has become apparent to me that I do not know all that much about how I should properly comport myself. That is in fact what I would like to speak with you about. May I ask a moment of your time?"
She looked up at him, realizing all at once how much she wanted to say yes. She was intensely curious about what he had to say, but more than that, there was a small part of her that wanted nothing more than to spend time with him, this man with the charming smile and the dark eyes she could drown in.
She was also tired and desperate, and with a feeling that she should be blushing down to her heels, Annabel lifted her chin at him.
"How much will you give me for it?" she asked. She refused to feel the shame that was gnawing at her heels. She was a mother with a daughter to care for, and shame was not something she could afford.
He looked startled at that, and she hastened to correct the assumption that she could see brewing in his eyes.
"Just talk," she said. "I'm not inviting you up for anything but a sit on my couch and maybe some tea if I've still got some. Not... not for whatever you might be thinking of."
She had expected him to be at least a little amused, but instead, he only nodded.
"I would rather not be seen accosting an innocent woman and then handing her money. Perhaps if we could step into your building at least?"
She nodded, and as she led him back to her apartment, Annabel wondered all over again what she was getting in to.