again by his candid comment about his deceased wife, Iris nevertheless asked, “Did she think it wrong to cater so carefully to the tourist’s preferences?”
Asad’s laughter sounded more like glass breaking. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. She could not stand the smell and would have preferred we got rid of the herds altogether.”
He’d already alluded to the fact his wife had not been faithful—an eventuality Iris simply could not comprehend. What woman would want another man when she had Asad in her bed? But this latest revelation pointed to only one conclusion: the perfect princess had been a perfect idiot.
Because the woman would have to be absolutely brainless not to realize how foolish it would be to give up the herds of a Bedouin tribe.
“Marrying the virginal princess did not turn out to be all it was cracked up to be, I guess.”
“If that odd English idiom means it was not what I expected it to be, you are correct. Does that please you?” he asked darkly.
“You probably won’t believe me, but no. Losing what I thought I had with you hurt more than I believed anything ever could, but I never wished you ill.” Her own honesty surprised her a little, but with only a couple of glaring exceptions, she’d always found it far too easy to reveal her deepest thoughts and emotions to Asad.
Perhaps because in the past, he’d proven himself a worthy and safe confidant. It was hard to change that viewpoint despite the pain he’d put her through, maybe because he’d walked away and she hadn’t had a chance to shore up her defenses against him in person.
Whenever she’d revealed a fear or disappointment in the past, he did his best to alleviate it. She’d told him she was worried about passing a difficult class and though it was not in his discipline, he’d helped her study and even write one of her papers. She’d admitted to feeling awkward in the way her body moved and he’d talked her into ballroom dancing lessons.
Asad stopped before they entered the strangely isolated tent and looked down at her. “You are a very different sort of woman, little flower.”
He’d used to call her that, too, a play on her name that was just silly enough to be endearing. Somehow, his using it again didn’t hurt with nearly the pain the betraying aziz had done.
“I don’t think so. When you love someone, you want them to be happy. Even when it’s not with you.” That truth had sustained her through some of the darkest nights of her soul.
He jolted as if she’d hit him with a cattle prod. “You love me?”
“I loved you,” she emphasized.
“And that prevented you from hating me?” he asked in a curious tone. “Even though you considered my leaving a betrayal.”
“It was a betrayal of my love. But no, I don’t hate you.”
She never had, even in her darkest moments of pain. A love as deep as the one she felt for him simply had not allowed for that emotion, no matter how devastated she’d been.
He went as if to touch her face, but then let his hand drop after a quick glance around. They were not alone, though no one was close enough to hear the subject of their conversation. It would not do for him to be seen taking such liberties with a single woman, even one from the West.
The tribe might be part of the small percentage of Bedouins that had not converted to Islam in the seventh century, but that did not mean that such behavior would be any more culturally acceptable in this place.
“Your love for me was true,” he said as if just realizing that.
“And you really didn’t love me. Life is peppered with little inconsistencies like that,” she said with a wry twist to her lips.
She was really proud of the insouciance of her tone and stance. Maybe seeing him again had been for the best. Perhaps once this assignment was over, Iris would be able to move forward with her life … and maybe even fall in love with someone who would return her feelings.
Though trusting someone else with her heart was not something she was sure she ever wanted to do again.
“So, what is this place?” she asked, indicating the isolated tent.
“Let me show you,” he said as he led her inside.
She gasped out in shock as they passed under the heavy tent flap that operated as the door.
The interior of this particular structure was nothing like the others. An undeniably modern office, either side of the main area, was taken up by two desks facing each other, all manned by people clearly at work. In the center, there was even a secretary/receptionist speaking into a headset while typing at a laptop on her desk.
No one sat on cushions on the floor, like in other Bedouin tents. In fact, there were no cushions. They all used leather office chairs and the receptionist had a small grouping of armchairs covered in Turkish damask in front of her desk. The potted plants to either side of her desk looked real and native to the desert, and the desks were made from dark wood with a definite Middle Eastern vibe, but other than that, this room could pass for any office in corporate America or Europe.
The receptionist looked up at their entrance, nodded at Asad in acknowledgment and gave a small smile to Iris, but then went back to her phone conversation. He didn’t seem bothered by the lack of formal greeting.
“What is this? Command central?” Iris asked.
That surprised a laugh out of Asad that sounded quite genuine and she had to stifle her own grin in response.
“I suppose you could call it that. Come.” He led her through the busy room to a curtain similar to that in any other Bedouin tent, except this one had an arched opening cut out in the center that led to a hall.
On the right side, they could see through the opening to a room with a bevy of monitors on one wall. Two men and a woman watched, taking notes and calling out observations to each other, or speaking into headsets as they did so.
“This is where we monitor our caravans, the encampment and other business interests.”
The room to the left proved to be Asad’s office. She had no doubts as to who it belonged as soon as they entered. For one thing, it had the equivalent of a door, heavy fabric that fell into place cutting off the sound of the others working within the tent office.
For another, the space was decorated with dark wood and rich colors similar to those in his home. And it simply felt like it belonged to Asad.
“I thought Bedouin sheikhs conducted business over the campfire,” she remarked, still a little flabbergasted by this modern hive of corporate activity in the midst of a Bedouin camp.
“We are not so primitive, though I still settle most disputes among our people over a traditional cup of tea.”
“That’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to think you’d abandoned your old ways completely.”
“I have not abandoned them at all. I’ve simply made them work in a modern age as you guessed earlier.”
“You’re
