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Authors: Lynn Raye Harris
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any kind for their son, and it hurt her at the same time as it strengthened her resolve not to give up.
But she understood why he was cautious. How could she not after meeting that precious little child? Adan’s primary goal was to protect Rafiq. She couldn’t argue with that. But she could argue that he wasn’t being fair, that she deserved a chance to be a part of her son’s life just as he deserved a chance to know his real mother.
“Adan,” she said.
She didn’t think he would stop, but when Rafiq said, “Lady sing, Papa,” Adan stopped short of the door.
“Not now, Rafi. The lady needs to rest.”
“Lady sing!” he insisted.
“No, Rafi,” Adan said—and Rafiq’s face screwed up in a frown. She knew what was coming next, even in so short a time of knowing her son. He burst into tears, his face turning red as he wailed.
Adan shot her a look over the top of Rafiq’s head that was full of loathing before he disappeared through the door. Kalila followed, and the servant reached in and shut the door behind them.
Isabella stood in the center of her lonely room, listening to Rafiq’s wails as they disappeared down the hall. She was numb. Whereas just a few moments before she’d been full of life, she now felt drained and dull.
The laughter was gone. The warmth. The love.
She pressed her fist to her mouth, chewing on the knuckles. She loved Rafiq. It had happened that quickly. Instantly. She’d fallen head over heels for her little boy.
Her poor little motherless boy.
What had she done two years ago? Why? Why had she left him in the first place?
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember anything about that time. It was blank, as blank as it had always been. She’d awakened and been told about the accident. Then she’d gone to her mother’s to recover. That was all she could recall.
The doctor she’d spoken with today had merely shrugged and said that the brain was a strange and sensitive organ. What had happened to her was not common, but her memory loss wasn’t completely unexpected, either. When she’d asked if she would ever remember, he’d said it was possible, though perhaps not likely.
Another hour passed before a servant brought her dinner. She ate alone, then took her coffee and went out onto the balcony that overlooked the gardens below. The sun had set recently, so the heat was finally leaching out of the air. The sky was red-tinted—almost like Hawaii, and yet not—and the Arabian Sea slid to dark purple in the glow of the sky.
Port Jahfar glittered like a jewel in the dusk. Industrial ships crowded the harbor in the distance, bringing supplies to the kingdom or taking on loads meant for other destinations. Her father had a home along the coast, much farther from here, where the turquoise water caressed the white shore. She’d loved that home growing up most of all. It was why she’d been drawn to Hawaii.
As she drank her coffee, the night darkened, the red fading away until it was only a ribbon along the horizon. And then she sensed that she was no longer alone. She knew who it was without turning to acknowledge him.
“Come to shove me off the balcony and end your troubles, Adan?” she asked.
Behind her, he blew out a breath. “No.”
She heard him move, and then he was standing beside her. He’d changed into a dark polo shirt and jeans. His head was free of the
keffiyeh.
She wasn’t certain what disconcerted her more—his handsome face framed in the dark cloth, or the added distraction of his hair and the shape of his head to accompany his chiseled features.
How was it possible to forget a man like this? To forget making love with him, sleeping and waking with him, eating with him, talking with him?
“He cried for over an hour,” Adan said without preamble. She could hear the emotion in his voice, the love he felt for his son. It was the only thing about him that made him redeemable to her. Adan truly loved Rafiq, and everything he did was for Rafiq’s
But she understood why he was cautious. How could she not after meeting that precious little child? Adan’s primary goal was to protect Rafiq. She couldn’t argue with that. But she could argue that he wasn’t being fair, that she deserved a chance to be a part of her son’s life just as he deserved a chance to know his real mother.
“Adan,” she said.
She didn’t think he would stop, but when Rafiq said, “Lady sing, Papa,” Adan stopped short of the door.
“Not now, Rafi. The lady needs to rest.”
“Lady sing!” he insisted.
“No, Rafi,” Adan said—and Rafiq’s face screwed up in a frown. She knew what was coming next, even in so short a time of knowing her son. He burst into tears, his face turning red as he wailed.
Adan shot her a look over the top of Rafiq’s head that was full of loathing before he disappeared through the door. Kalila followed, and the servant reached in and shut the door behind them.
Isabella stood in the center of her lonely room, listening to Rafiq’s wails as they disappeared down the hall. She was numb. Whereas just a few moments before she’d been full of life, she now felt drained and dull.
The laughter was gone. The warmth. The love.
She pressed her fist to her mouth, chewing on the knuckles. She loved Rafiq. It had happened that quickly. Instantly. She’d fallen head over heels for her little boy.
Her poor little motherless boy.
What had she done two years ago? Why? Why had she left him in the first place?
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember anything about that time. It was blank, as blank as it had always been. She’d awakened and been told about the accident. Then she’d gone to her mother’s to recover. That was all she could recall.
The doctor she’d spoken with today had merely shrugged and said that the brain was a strange and sensitive organ. What had happened to her was not common, but her memory loss wasn’t completely unexpected, either. When she’d asked if she would ever remember, he’d said it was possible, though perhaps not likely.
Another hour passed before a servant brought her dinner. She ate alone, then took her coffee and went out onto the balcony that overlooked the gardens below. The sun had set recently, so the heat was finally leaching out of the air. The sky was red-tinted—almost like Hawaii, and yet not—and the Arabian Sea slid to dark purple in the glow of the sky.
Port Jahfar glittered like a jewel in the dusk. Industrial ships crowded the harbor in the distance, bringing supplies to the kingdom or taking on loads meant for other destinations. Her father had a home along the coast, much farther from here, where the turquoise water caressed the white shore. She’d loved that home growing up most of all. It was why she’d been drawn to Hawaii.
As she drank her coffee, the night darkened, the red fading away until it was only a ribbon along the horizon. And then she sensed that she was no longer alone. She knew who it was without turning to acknowledge him.
“Come to shove me off the balcony and end your troubles, Adan?” she asked.
Behind her, he blew out a breath. “No.”
She heard him move, and then he was standing beside her. He’d changed into a dark polo shirt and jeans. His head was free of the
keffiyeh.
She wasn’t certain what disconcerted her more—his handsome face framed in the dark cloth, or the added distraction of his hair and the shape of his head to accompany his chiseled features.
How was it possible to forget a man like this? To forget making love with him, sleeping and waking with him, eating with him, talking with him?
“He cried for over an hour,” Adan said without preamble. She could hear the emotion in his voice, the love he felt for his son. It was the only thing about him that made him redeemable to her. Adan truly loved Rafiq, and everything he did was for Rafiq’s
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