Malik stayed her with one hand and Gracie looked at him in uneasy surprise.
‘What is it?’
‘I am sorry, but it is not wise for you to disembark like that.’ He gestured to her clothes.
Gracie glanced down at the outfit she’d taken some time over. An Indian batik skirt in a colourful print and a modest cotton blouse that covered her shoulders and arms. She’d been going for a casual but respectful look, but judging from Malik’s frown it wasn’t good enough. ‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ she asked.
‘I’m sorry, I should have explained these arrangements earlier,’ Malik said in a low voice. ‘The truth is your presence in Alazar could be...disconcerting to some.’
Alarm prickled. ‘Disconcerting?’
‘The sudden appearance of an American woman in my life...’ Malik spread his hands. ‘We must take some steps to make sure the press do not have a field day with that bit of news.’
‘Okay,’ Gracie said cautiously. It seemed reasonable, and the less press the better as far as she was concerned, but she still felt a little wary.
‘Will you wear this?’ Malik asked, and held out a headscarf. Gracie looked at it dubiously for a moment.
‘All right.’ She took the scrap of dark fabric. ‘When in Rome, I guess.’ She laughed then, uncertainly, at the mention of Rome. Malik smiled faintly, and for a second it seemed as if they were in their own bubble, memories swirling between them. ‘So it goes on like this?’ she asked, sliding on the headscarf and drawing the tail of fabric across her neck.
‘Yes...mainly.’ With gentle hands Malik adjusted the scarf, his fingers whispering across her face as he moved the material. Gracie sucked in a hard breath at the brush of his hands on her skin. Somehow she was going to have to stop reacting so strongly to his touch. ‘There. You look lovely.’ With his hands on her shoulders he steered her to a mirror. Gracie blinked at her face, framed by the dark scarf. She looked exotic somehow, alluring even, with her hair covered and her eyes so prominent.
‘You look cool, Mom,’ Sam chipped in.
‘I know it is not the custom for you,’ Malik murmured, his face close to hers. His hands were still on her shoulders and his breath tickled her ear. Awareness and longing rippled through her. ‘Thank you for wearing it.’
Wordlessly she nodded. She didn’t trust herself to say anything at that moment. She felt too many things all at once, and she had a near overwhelming instinct to lean back into Malik’s solid strength.
‘There is one other matter,’ Malik said as he dropped his hands.
‘And what is that?’
‘We will need to travel in separate cars. For the sake of propriety. I will meet you at the palace. Is that acceptable?’
‘I suppose,’ Gracie said. Again it seemed reasonable, but with each second that they’d been in Alazar, she’d felt as if Malik was becoming more remote. His attitude was kind, and yet she sensed a coolness in him, saw it in his eyes. The man who had smiled and laughed and kissed her was gone as if he’d never been. Had it all been an act?
But maybe Malik was simply tense upon returning to his country and his duty. She certainly felt nervous about it. Straightening, she plastered a smile on her face. ‘All right, are we ready to go now?’
The heat hit her like a brick wall as she stepped out of the plane. The whole world seemed to shimmer, from the flat blue sky above to the black tarmac that stretched onward to undulating sand and distant mountains. A small crowd of people was waiting by the plane, some with cameras, some with flowers and wreaths of welcome. Gracie took a deep breath and then a step forward, overwhelmed by the utter strangeness of it all. The heel of her shoe snagged on the edge of the step and for one terrifying moment she thought she was going to pitch forward and fall flat on her face. Welcome to Alazar.
Malik reached out one hand and grabbed her elbow in an iron grip, steadying her as she made her way down the steep steps. She could hear the murmur of voices from the crowd like the buzz of bees. This was already so much more than she’d expected.
‘Almost there,’ Malik said in a low voice. Sam was looking around with wide eyes. In front of her she could see a blacked-out sedan, the door thankfully open.
Cameras clicked and people jabbered questions in Arabic. Gracie stared straight ahead, wanting only the safety and privacy of the car.
And then thankfully she was sliding inside next to Sam. Malik leaned in, his face close to hers. ‘I’ll see you at the palace.’
What had seemed reasonable before now felt frightening. She wanted him with her, taking her through all this strangeness.
‘Not long, I promise,’ Malik said, and with that he was gone.
The car sped away, desert stretching on either side, the dark, craggy mountains thrusting up towards a brilliant blue sky. It was beautiful, yet stark. Gracie took a deep breath and turned to Sam.
‘So,’ she said. ‘This is Alazar.’
‘Yeah, isn’t it cool?’ Sam scooted closer to the window. ‘Which is Mount Jebar, do you think?’
‘Mount what?’
‘The highest mountain in Alazar.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Malik will tell us.’ Gracie glanced at the driver, his face as impassive as Malik’s ever was, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. She clasped her hands together and remembered the feel of Malik’s hand on hers. The warmth of his body next to hers. It was going to be okay.
Ten minutes later the sedan pulled up to a magnificent palace of golden stone that seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. Through the tinted windows Gracie could make out domes and spires and a huge Moorish arched entrance, surrounded by landscaped gardens and fountains.
‘Wow,’ she breathed, because the whole thing was amazing. Her nerves relented a little as she took in the fairy-tale scene. She felt as if she should pinch herself.
The car pulled around to a side door and the driver got out and then opened the passenger door, gesturing with one hand for her to exit.
‘His Highness wishes for you to remain comfortable while you wait for him,’ he said in flawless English. ‘Please let me know if there is anything you desire. Anything at all.’
‘Thank you,’ Gracie murmured. All she wanted was Malik. She followed the driver to a set of double doors of intricately latticed wood. He bowed and indicated she should proceed.
A beautiful mosaic-tiled corridor led to an open courtyard with a fountain and several stone benches carved into the ancient walls. A table and chairs had been set up under a white linen awning, with a pitcher of fruit juice and a bowl of sticky dates and figs. The only sound was the soothing tinkle and splash of the water in the fountain.
‘This is so cool,’ Sam said, and reached for a fig.
‘Sam...’ It was a warning, although she wasn’t sure why. What were the manners for a time and place such as this?
‘Please,’
