It didn’t feel good to watch the other woman’s pain and know she was somehow the cause.
It was the first time they’d seen each other since the incident in the pool, but Layla decided that Raz had already said whatever needed to be said so didn’t raise the topic.
‘There is nothing I need, thank you.’ She watched as Nadia moved around the tent, placing food on the rug and laying out fresh clothes. She wanted to ask where Raz was, but didn’t want to reveal how much she minded his absence— especially not to this girl, who clearly resented Layla’s presence and wished she were anywhere but there.
Layla wondered again if she were in love with Raz herself. Was that the reason for the rigid expression and the fact she didn’t meet her eyes? Or was it because of who Layla was?
In the end concern for him overruled pride.
‘Have you seen His Highness?’
Nadia paused in the entrance of the tent. ‘The rumour is that he has gone to find Hassan and talk to him. If he is killed it will be your fault.’
The girl blurted out the words and then left the tent, leaving Layla alone with nothing but her conscience to keep her company.
The news that he’d gone to find Hassan disturbed her—not because she underestimated Raz’s strength, but because she knew just how duplicitous Hassan could be. He was neither honest nor honourable, and she knew better than most that he was at his most dangerous when he was cornered.
Should she have voiced her suspicions to Raz?
Weighed down by her worry, the hours dragged past. Without access to the library Layla had nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no hope of reaching a state of relaxation. She would have loved to talk to someone but no one came near her. Even Nadia stayed away, and Layla realised that when she’d suggested this marriage she’d given no consideration to how others would feel about it.
Did they all think she’d put Raz at risk?
What if Nadia was right and by coming to him she’d created trouble?
What if Hassan found them here?
It felt like the longest day of her life, and she spent most of it alone, sitting by the oasis, aware of the unfamiliar soreness and aching in her body.
Several times she heard children laughing and the sound reminded her so much of her sister that a lump wedged itself in her throat. Where was she? Had Salem found her? Was she in trouble? Dead?
If Hassan had found her before Salem then the chances were she was already in America.
As darkness fell the noise of chatter faded, leaving only the sounds of the desert at night.
Layla lay still on the bed, staring at the single candle that had been lit for her, so tense she could hear her own breathing in the silence of the tent.
Would he come?
Would it be like the night before?
The question swirled around in her head until eventually she fell asleep. When she woke it was light, his side of the bed was still cold, and she had her answer.
He hadn’t come.
She was still alone in the bed and she had no idea if Raz had even returned.
Seriously concerned, she swallowed her pride and sought out Nadia once more.
‘I do not know where he is, Your Highness.’ Her voice was frosty and hovered on the edge of rude. ‘He never reveals his plans. And now he’s brought you here the risk to him personally will be even greater.’
With no hard evidence with which to refute that challenge, Layla bowed out of the conversation. Guilt gnawed at her, driven by anxiety that Nadia could be right. Had she increased his problems? Had she made things worse, not better?
Or did his unexplained absence have nothing to do with Hassan?
What if it were driven by something even more personal?
Something to do with the night they’d spent together.
Was he thinking of his wife?
Layla spent a second day alone, with only her imagination for company, and was beginning another night the same way when she heard the sound of horses and knew it was him.
The rush of relief was quickly followed by other, more complex feelings.
All day she’d wanted to see him, but now he was here she wished she were on her own again. She had no idea what to say or what to do. She was hardly in a position to play the role of concerned wife, but still she was concerned.
Embarrassed, uncomfortable, and burning hot at the thought of the night before them, Layla sat rigid, wishing that there was a rulebook she could follow, an instruction manual—anything that might give her clues about how she was supposed to behave.
She heard his voice, deep and instantly recognizable, as he responded to people around him, but still he didn’t appear in the tent. It seemed he had time for everyone except her. Or maybe he was once again waiting for darkness. Maybe he just couldn’t face looking at her.
As that explanation occurred to her embarrassment turned to humiliation.
Everyone would know the Sheikh had stayed away from his new bride.
That indisputable fact was a stark reminder that physical intimacy didn’t mean emotional intimacy.
Curled up in a ball under the covers, Layla felt more alone than she ever had in her life.
At least back in the Citadel she’d had Yasmin. Her life had been wretched, but familiar. She’d known the rules, known what was expected of her and been able to rationalise every one of her thoughts and feelings.
Here, she was totally isolated, living with a man who apparently loathed her so deeply he couldn’t bear to set eyes on her, tormented by emotions and feelings that were totally unfamiliar.
She heard a splash from nearby and assumed he’d gone for a swim in the oasis.
The fact that he hadn’t even greeted her first upset her more than she could rationalise. She shouldn’t care, should she? She wasn’t allowed to care.
Layla hesitated for a moment, but then slid quietly out of the bed and peeped through the slit in the tent. It was dark, but without the pollution of the city there was sufficient light for her to make out powerful shoulders as he swam.
She stared at those bare, powerful shoulders, fascinated and shocked in equal amounts. If anyone had told her days ago she’d be hiding in a tent in the hope of getting a glimpse of a naked man she would have laughed at them. But this wasn’t any naked man, of course. This was Raz. And because he’d blown out the candles she had yet to see his body.
And she couldn’t really see it now—just the occasional tantalising hint of male muscle and power as he swam with smooth, steady movements.
He reached the far side of the pool and turned. Layla shot back into bed, terrified of being caught.
