she tells you she’s pregnant and you’re even more scared. Because this is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it means you can be together legitimately without having to delve too deeply into your own emotions. Yet on the other...’
‘Gabe!’ Her anger forgotten now, she leaned forward—wondering what on earth could have put such a haunted expression on his face. ‘Will you please stop talking in riddles? The fact is that you lied about seeing your father and nothing can change that.’
‘No. Nothing can change that. But what if I told you there was a reason why my mother kept his identity from me?’ He raked his fingers back through his plastered hair and his fingertips came away wet. For a moment he just stared at them, as if he might find some kind of answer gleaming back at him from that damp, cold skin.
‘After she died, I felt angry and bitter—and guilty too. But I went to London and I started working and, as I told you, success came pretty quickly.’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘You told me.’
‘I embraced my new role as a successful businessman but sometimes—not often—I would think about my father. I couldn’t eradicate the curiosity which still niggled away at me. I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. I wanted to confront him. I wanted to know why he’d abdicated all his responsibilities towards me. I wanted to tell him that a woman had died sooner than reveal his identity.’ He clenched his fist, as if he wanted to hit something. Or someone. ‘I guess I was looking for someone to blame for her death. Someone who wasn’t me.’
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘I was rich by this point. Rich enough to find anyone I wanted and it didn’t take long to track my father down in Marseilles, which is where he’d moved to when he’d left Provence. And suddenly I understood my mother’s behaviour. I understood why she’d wanted to protect me from him. Why she’d feared his influence on me...’
His words tailed off as if he couldn’t bear to say them but Leila leaned forward, her wet hair falling over her shoulders as she peered into his face. ‘What, Gabe? What?’
‘Which particular title shall I give him? Gangster or hoodlum?’ he questioned bitterly. ‘Because he answered to both. He was an underworld figure, Leila. A powerful and ruthless individual. I discovered that he had killed. Yes, killed. I discovered this when we met in Paris and not long afterwards he was gunned down in some gangland shootout himself. That photo was taken by one of his associates and it’s the only one of us together. Time after time I went to burn it, but something always stopped me and I still don’t know what that something is.’
‘Oh, Gabe,’ she whispered, her voice distorted with shock and pain. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I couldn’t. Don’t you see, Leila?’ His eyes were blazing as his voice cracked with emotion. ‘His blood is my blood. And it’s our baby’s blood too. How could I knowingly pass on a legacy like that to you? How could I possibly tell the sister of the Sultan about her baby’s forebears? Not just a grandmother who had committed suicide, but a grandfather who was a murderer. How could I subject you to a life of fear that those tainted genes will have been passed down to the next generation?’ There was silence for a moment as his eyes burned into hers. ‘I’m damaged, darling. Badly damaged. Now do you understand?’
Leila nodded. Yes, she understood. She understood this powerful man’s pride and fear, but also about his deep desire to protect. And Gabe had been trying to protect her. From hurt and pain and worry. He had been trying to protect their baby too—from the heartache and fear that evil might be inherited, like blue eyes or the ability to draw.
He wanted to reach out to her, but he didn’t know how.
She looked into his haunted face and her heart went out to him, but she knew that this was her golden opportunity and that she must not shrink from it. She had wanted to be his equal, hadn’t she? And she wanted to be strong.
So show him that you’re still there for him. Love him the way you really want to love him. Why let him shoulder this burden on his own, when you’re more than willing to share it with him?
Her voice was low and trembling as her words came tumbling out. ‘Do you have any idea of the history of Qurhah?’ she demanded.
He looked at her as if this was the last thing in the world he had expected her to say. ‘I can’t see how that is relevant.’
‘Can’t you? Actually, it’s very relevant. I’ll have you know that my family is descended from mighty warriors and ruthless tyrants. There have been Al-Maisan sultans conquering neighbouring lands ever since our people first settled in the desert, and there has been much bloodshed along the way. Nobody’s history is whiter than white, Gabe. Not yours and especially not mine.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not the same,’ he said stubbornly.
She laid her hand on his arm. ‘It is the same—just different. Our baby isn’t a clone of your father, you know. Nor of you—or me. Our baby is unique and I know for sure that the best and only legacy we can give him—or her—is love. We must love this baby with all our hearts, Gabe. Even if you don’t feel that way about me—do you think you can find it in your heart to love our baby?’
He shook his head and for a minute his face was contorted with pain. ‘What a brute of a man you must think I am,’ he declared bitterly, ‘that I would be incapable of feeling something for an innocent scrap of humanity.’
‘Not a brute,’ she said gently. ‘A man who has been wounded—badly wounded. But I am your wife and I am going to help you heal, but I can only do that if you let me. If you can bear to open up your heart, Gabe—and let me in.’
She saw a muscle flickering at his temple as he caught hold of her wet shoulders and looked into her face.
‘Only if you can you forgive me,’ he said. ‘Can you ever forgive me for what I have done, my darling Leila?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said softly, her hand reaching up to touch the hard contours of his face. She ran her fingertip along the high slash of his very Slavic cheekbones and the firm curve of his lips. She looked into the pewter eyes and her heart turned over with love. One day soon she would tell him to learn to understand his father, and then to let the bitterness go. That there was a little bit of bad in the best of people, and a little bit of good in the worst.
But not now.
Now she must be focused on the most important things.
‘We’re both very cold and very wet,’ she said as she snuggled up against him. ‘Do you think we should go home?’
Gabe stroked a straggly strand of damp hair away from her face and smiled, but the lump in his throat meant that it took a moment or two before he could speak. ‘Right here is home,’ he said unevenly. ‘Wherever you are. I love you, my compassionate and passionate princess. I love you very much.’
He tapped on the glass and the car moved away, and that was when he started to kiss her.
EPILOGUE
‘HE LOOKS VERY Qurhahian,’ said Gabe as he gazed into the crib where the sleeping infant lay.
Leila smiled, giving one last unnecessary twitch of the snowy cashmere blanket
