Strangers in the Desert Read online

  He blew out a rough breath. “It’s not your fault, Isabella. Postnatal depression is a medical condition. There’s no way of knowing who will get it and who won’t.”

  He’d looked that up today when he’d had a chance. Aside from women with a history of depression in the family, one particular fact had leaped out at him: women who had stressful home lives and little or no support from their families were more susceptible than those who had more normal lives and relationships.

  “It’s terrifying to realize you weren’t in control of yourself.” She sucked in a breath. “I remembered when they handed him to me. I was overwhelmed, but not in a good way. He was like an alien to me, another being demanding my attention—someone else who wouldn’t give me anything in return.”

  His throat hurt. He wanted to reach for her, but he didn’t think she would appreciate it if he did. So he stood there with his hands hanging impotently at his sides.

  “I suppose that shocks you,” she said. “You’ll think you were right to question my ability to be a good mother.”

  “I think you were overwhelmed by hormones. And by the fact you were alone.”

  She gave her head a tiny shake. “Women give birth alone all the time, Adan. Husbands go out of town on business or can’t make it to the hospital in time. Those women don’t have a problem bonding with their babies.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say to you.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything you can say,” she replied.

  “I can say I’m sorry.”

  Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing. “For what? For not being there? Or for not caring enough to notice something was wrong?” She ground her teeth together. Swore. “My father noticed, and look what he decided to do about it. Because he thought you would commit me, Adan. Even my father could see you didn’t care about me.”

  He wanted to tell her she was wrong, of course he’d cared—but it wouldn’t be the truth. He’d thought of his wife as another possession, someone who would be there to fill his bed, bear his children and run his household. He’d cared the way he would care about any living thing he was responsible for.

  But that hadn’t been enough. And he couldn’t stand here and lie and say it was.

  “I can’t take back the past, Isabella. I can’t change what happened.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She angrily swiped it away. “I saw you today, Adan.”

  He blinked. “You came to see me?”

  “You were with a woman. You kissed her.”

  “I have kissed no woman but you,” he said.

  Rafiq kept zooming around the courtyard, squealing happily, but all Adan could see was the woman before him. The pain and anger on her face. The disenchantment.

  “My God, you are unbelievable,” she spat. “I saw you. And now I wonder if you lied to me at the Butterfly Palace, too. If you told me I was the only woman you’d been with in three years because you knew it would flatter me, make me more receptive—”

  She broke off then, swallowed, and he knew she was fighting her tears.

  “I did not lie, Isabella,” he said stiffly. Fury whipped through him in waves. “I told you the truth because it was the truth. And you wanted me as much as I wanted you, regardless of how many women I might have slept with.”

  She stiffened as if he’d insulted her. “Well, you can rest assured that’s not the case now. Because I don’t want you anymore, Adan. I don’t want you ever again.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HE was looking at her as if she’d grown two heads. But she’d been thinking a lot since she’d seen him with that woman today, and she’d come to a conclusion. She would not ever be pitiful again. She refused to love a man who couldn’t love her, a man who cared so little about her that he could push her from his bed as easily as changing his shirt.

  She was not a supplicant to the almighty King Adan ibn Najib Al Dhakir. She’d given up the job of supplication forever. She was the mother of his child, and she was going to be that for the rest of their lives.

  But she would not live with him. She couldn’t.

  She loved him, and though it hurt her to imagine her life separate from him, she would not be a second thought to him—or anyone else—ever again.

  “What do you want, then?” he asked, his jaw grinding.

  He was annoyed, then. Good. Because she didn’t need to be the only person affected, did she?

  “A house nearby with a pool for Rafiq, and a small yard where he can play. It doesn’t need to be anything grand.”

  “You want to live in a house near the palace?”

  “Yes. And I want joint custody, Adan. I want Rafiq to know, starting right now, that I am his mother.”

  He’d gone slightly pale beneath his tan. Or maybe she’d just imagined it. “You want the divorce to proceed.” It wasn’t a question.

  Her heart throbbed. Her breath sawed into her lungs painfully. “I think it’s probably best. You’ve a wedding planned anyway. I assume the woman today was your bride-to-be.”

  He didn’t answer at first. Then he nodded. “Jasmine. Yes.”

  Isabella was relieved that he was no longer denying he’d been with someone. At least he respected her enough to tell the truth now. Or maybe he just knew he’d been caught and saw no further need to prevaricate.

  “How soon can this be done?” Because she couldn’t stay here with him for a moment longer than she had to. She’d leave tonight if she could, but it was out of the question. Nothing could be accomplished that fast.

  His brows drew down. She knew then that he’d got over the surprise and moved on to cold fury. Good, because she could deal with that better. If he were angry, she could be angry, too. It was far better than feeling hurt and love and sadness all at once.

  “Do you truly want to do this to Rafiq?” he demanded. “Your parents were divorced, and you were torn between them.”

  She crossed her arms, as if it would somehow help to ward off the doubts that kept assailing her. “My mother went back to America. I’m not going anywhere. Besides, listening to them argue while they were still together didn’t help much, either. It’s better if we split, Adan, because there won’t be any bitter feelings then. You can marry your new queen, and I can be our son’s mother. When you have more children with her, you’ll be grateful that I’m around to care for Rafiq.”

  “You’ve thought this all out, I see.” His voice was so cold. So remote. If she touched him, would he feel like ice?

  But no, she wasn’t going to touch him. Not ever again. Her heart wept at the thought, but she stamped the feeling down deep. Rafiq was what mattered. She would endure what she had to for her son.

  Seeing Adan with his new wife would kill her, but she would survive. In the long run, it would be better for her anyway. She could stop loving him and find someone who would really be good for her. Someone who loved her as much as she loved him.

  And then, maybe, she would risk another child. If she knew her husband had her back no matter what happened, she would take the risk.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think today.”

  “Is this because of your memories? Or because of Jasmine?”

  “It’s everything, Adan. If you hadn’t found me two weeks ago, we’d still be going on with our lives as they were. I’m grateful you found me, for Rafiq’s sake, but everything else has been so hard to deal with. I don’t think it does either of us any good to try and rebuild what was never really there in the first place.”

  He took a step closer to her then. Heat radiated from him in waves. “And what about the nights, Isabella? Can you so easily dismiss those, too?”

  She moved a few steps away. He messed with her head, her heart, and she had to put distance between them or be pulled to him like filings to a magnet. She would be strong. She would not give in.

  “The nights were amazing, Adan. You know that. And maybe they were necessary, in a way, though I don’t know how you’re going to explain them to you
r fiancée.” She laughed then, the sound bordering on hysterical. “Of course you aren’t going to explain them. Silly me. And she won’t question you, because she’s probably a perfect Jahfaran bride. Something I can never be again.”

  “You seem to know me so well,” he said, his voice like ice chips pelting into her bruised heart. “Tell me—what else am I going to do? I’d like to know. It would make life so much easier.”

  “Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” she said.

  “Why is it hard, Isabella? You’ve decreed this is the wisest, best outcome for everyone involved. So why is it difficult?”

  Tears filled her eyes, made her vision swim. Damn it, she would not cry. “You know why,” she declared. “I was starting to care for you again, Adan. But you’ve killed that, so don’t worry that I’ll change my mind. This is what’s best for all of us. So divorce me and be done with it.”

  He looked so remote, so tall and handsome and regal as he stared at her with dark, glittering eyes. So alone. But he wasn’t alone, not really. He never had been. She was the one who’d needed him, not the other way around.

  But she was finished needing him. Whether it killed her or not, she was finished needing him.

  “You have only to agree to it and we will be divorced.”

  Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Me? Why do I need to do anything?”

  “Because we had a contract, Isabella, and I cannot set you aside without your agreement.”

  Her blood froze in her veins. “Is that why you took me to the Butterfly Palace? To get me to agree to a divorce?”

  He bared his teeth in a cruel smile. “Precisely.”

  She could only gape at him. When she’d thought of a divorce as something only he could do, she’d felt as if it was out of her hands. As if there was nothing she could do or say to either proceed with or prevent it from happening. In a way, that had been a comfort.

  But now? Now the responsibility was hers. The dissolution of their marriage lay on her shoulders. With a simple yes, the process would begin.

  “You are despicable,” she growled. “You didn’t want to give me time with our son because it was the right thing to do. You wanted me to fail, and you wanted me to agree to divorce you once I had.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “That was my intention, yes.”

  “And if it didn’t happen the way you thought? What then?”

  “Your agreement was meant to speed up the process. It would not have prevented it.”

  She could only stare at him, her heart breaking again and again. “And then you slept with me. My God, how could you do it? How could you be so cruel?”

  “It wasn’t my intention. It just happened.”

  She would have walked over and slapped him if not for their son still happily playing in the courtyard.

  She would never, ever let her child see how much she despised his father at that moment.

  “But I changed my mind about divorcing you, Isabella,” he said. “Does that count for anything in this perfect little world you’ve devised?”

  A tear spilled down her cheek in spite of her wish not to cry in front of him. He looked anguished, but she shook her head, certain it was a trick of her blurry vision. “No, not really. Because I’m sure it was for logical reasons that had nothing to do with what was best for me, and everything to do with what you thought best for you and Rafiq.”

  He swore softly in Arabic then. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

  “Does it matter what I think, Adan? Do you really care?”

  “Tell me you want the divorce, Isabella. Tell me, and it will be done.”

  She sucked in a trembling breath. Bowed her head. Swore six ways to Sunday that she wouldn’t cry. That she would be strong and do this. “Yes,” she managed. “I want a divorce.”

  He stood very, very still. And then he said, so quietly that she had to strain to hear it, “Then it will be done.”

  It took another two days before the papers were in his hands. Adan stared at the legal documents the solicitor had sent over, the words flowing together as nonsensically as if they were written in another language. He blinked, focused, and they coalesced again.

  Divorce.

  It was all there. All he had to do was sign it and then have it sent to Isabella for her signature. They would no longer be married, and he could proceed with the wedding to Jasmine.

  Except that he’d spoken with Jasmine two days ago when she’d come to the palace and told her that he’d decided not to divorce Isabella after all. She’d seemed so happy for him, smiling and giving him a big hug.

  “I knew it would work out.”

  “You were right, as always,” he’d said. And then he’d walked her down the hall to the entry, where he’d given her a kiss on the cheek and told her that she was a very special woman who deserved to find love rather than marry an old friend in order to help him out.

  He’d said those words to her, but now, if he granted Isabella’s wish, he would have to ask for Jasmine’s help once more. At least until he was crowned next week.

  He threw down the pen that he’d been holding. It had hovered over the line requiring his signature, but he’d been unable to form the words.

  He wanted Isabella, and not simply because it would be easier.

  He didn’t want Jasmine, or any other woman. He wanted his wife. The woman who’d given him a son.

  He wanted the woman he loved. Adan propped his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands. He deserved everything that had happened.

  Because as he’d stood there listening to her calmly telling him she didn’t want him, that she wanted to live separately from him because he’d killed whatever feelings she’d had for him, he’d realized that his skin felt as if it had been turned inside out so that all his nerves were exposed. His heart pounded in his head, his throat, his stomach, until he felt sick with the throbbing, until he realized why it wasn’t going away.

  Why it would never go away.

  He was in love with his wife. He’d wanted nothing more than to gather her to him and hold her tight, to tell her he loved her not only with words, but also with his body, with every breath he ever took.

  But she hated him. In that moment, she hated him, and he’d known there was nothing he could do about it.

  He deserved it. He’d taken her for granted when they’d wed. He’d ignored her, discounted her and failed her when she’d needed him the most. He didn’t deserve her love then or now.

  So he’d stood there and let her censure rain down on him. And when the first lone tear slid down her cheek, he’d hated himself for making her cry. He’d given her the truth because it was the only thing she’d wanted from him then, though it hurt her and made her think worse of him than she already did.

  Adan shoved back from the desk and snatched up the divorce papers. He would not be a coward. He would give her what she wanted. But he wasn’t going to be the first one to sign.

  He strode out of his office, ignoring Mahmoud’s surprised expression. There was an ambassador waiting, and a trade agreement on the line, but he didn’t care right now. He would fix everything later. First he had to see Isabella.

  He stalked down the hallway, took a shortcut through another wing to the royal apartments and burst through the door. He knew he would find her here because he’d not yet managed to locate a suitable house in town.

  In truth, he hadn’t tried very hard. He would, but he just hadn’t wanted to let her go yet.

  She shot to her feet as he entered her room without knocking. She was dressed in a pair of her Hawaiian shorts and a tank top, and his groin tightened at the display of so much gorgeous skin. Skin he wanted to worship.

  Her hair was wild, as always. God, how he loved her hair. It suited her so much more than the sleek, false style she’d once worn to please him ever had.

  She looked vulnerable, but then her expression hardened as she crossed her arms and leveled him with a green stare.

>   “Since when is it okay to burst into someone’s room without knocking?”

  He thrust the papers at her. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, keeping his anguish tightly leashed. His voice sounded hard, cold, but he couldn’t help it. It was the only way he could do this.

  She held out her hand and took the papers. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were huge in her face. A tiny flame of hope kindled in his belly. He snuffed it out again. He would not seek hope where there was none.

  She hated him. She would be glad to be rid of him. But she was going to sign first. She would be the one who ended it, not him.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked. She bit her bottom lip and he nearly groaned.

  “Sign it. It’s what you wanted.”

  She looked down at the papers in her hand again. “You haven’t signed.”

  “You first.”

  She walked over to a table and laid the papers down, smoothing them. “I need a pen,” she said, not looking at him.

  He growled as he spun and went into another room. He snatched a pen from a desk in the living area, then returned and held it out to her.

  She hesitated, but then took it. Their skin brushed and he felt the jolt to his toes.

  She uncapped the pen, then poised it over the paper. He could see her chest rising and falling, could see how the tempo increased as she stood there, hesitating.

  Then the pen touched the paper. With a growl, he snatched the documents away. She squeaked as he ripped them in two.

  Then he tossed them on the floor and grabbed her by the arms. “I don’t want this,” he said. The words felt as if they’d been ripped from his chest. “I don’t deserve you, I know I don’t—but I want you, Isabella. I need you.”

  She blinked. And then she shuddered in his grip. “I can’t do this, Adan. Please don’t keep touching me.”

  “I know you hate me. I know I deserve it. But give me a chance, Isabella. Give me a chance …”