But that wasn't it. That was a blow, but it was one to her mind. Something else battered at her heart, and she couldn't bring herself to see it fully.
Of course Arif had walked out the door, just as she’d known he eventually would. As he must. She should have gone after him, but what could she say? “Sorry I lost two priceless books, and now you’ll pay the price for it, but hey you still have me.” Her stomach soured and she pressed a hand to it. He'd never forgive her for such a horrible thing. She'd failed her father, herself—and Arif.
Once packed, she stared at the bags. One carry-on and one with wheels. She glanced at her hand—the damn ring was still stuck. She tugged on it, went to the bathroom, tried soap on it. It wouldn't slip over her knuckle. She needed a ring cutter, or to lose a chunk of skin. And maybe she should, but when she tried to drag it off again, tears stung her eyes. That damn ring wouldn't come over the knuckle. Holding her hand under the water to stop the pain and swelling, she wanted to cry. She wanted to go back in time and stay in her rooms until the guards arrived. She wanted never to have heard of Zahkim.
She'd made a mess of this. She had nothing else to do but go home where she belonged.
Drying her hands, she headed for the sitting room. She grabbed her bags and purse and started down the stairs. She'd get the ring cut off once she got home, have it fixed by a jeweler, and send it back in certified mail—or better yet, by a personal messenger, even if that cost her a fortune.
Why had she ever thought she could fix anything? Why had she thought she was smart enough to find the proof her dad needed? And why had she taken up the idea that she was a girl who would earn a happy ending? She was just a misfit who liked books and who belonged in a library where history was something that had already happened. And she knew from reading so much history that the end of most things generally came with tragedy.
Arif watched the car taking Christine to the airport pull away from the palace and head out the gates. She was leaving, and if she could do such a thing, it meant she did not love him.
He should have spoken his heart anyway. But he could not. He had his pride left to him—and two damn books to find.
Turning away from the window, he headed back downstairs. He would draft Sahl's help. He would pull in everyone from the palace. He would find those books. He must before Tarek returned.
In the main hallway, he saw Nasim headed toward him, something bulky under his arm, Aunt Bian with him. His aunt had her chin up and her mouth pulled down, and even Nasim looked unusually grim.
Arif offered up a stiff smile. "Ah, just the man I need. The books from the treasury have gone missing."
Nasim stopped and pulled back the brown towel that covered the items he carried, revealing glittering jewels and gold. "I heard. And they are found." Turning to Bian, Nasim gestured for her to step forward.
She glanced at him, eyes narrowed and mouth pulling even deeper—she had never liked Nasim. She faced Arif.
"I took them. For…safekeeping."
Nasim shook his head. "You mean to drive away Arif's girlfriend."
Arif looked from Nasim to Aunt Bian, his head spinning as if someone had just kicked him in the head. He knew the feeling for that was how he'd gotten the scar near his mouth, a kick during a rugby match.
"What?" It was a stupid thing to say, but he could think of nothing else.
Speaking slowly, Nasim repeated, "She took them to drive Christine away. Or perhaps even get her arrested for their theft. Now, if you really love that woman, you will not let her go. You will certainly not let her go thinking she lost these books somehow."
Arif shook his head. "I cannot keep a woman who does not love me in return. However, she needs to know the books were found."
Grinning, Nasim nodded. He pushed the towel-covered books into Arif's hands. "That's not all she needs to know. Now go. I've got your car waiting at the front."
At the airport, Christine slumped into a seat by her gate and pulled out her cell phone. She'd booked her flight and had two hours to wait, so she called her father to let him know she was heading home.
"About time you came back, but you didn't mention this earlier. Oh, I forgot to tell you I've started some new medication—seems to be helping. I've also been waiting for your latest notes. Weren't you going to email them?"
Christine's throat tightened. "Yeah…about that. I lost the source material." The story came in disjointed, stumbling words with Christine sniffing back tears and tugging at the buttons on her shirt. When she ran out of breath, a long silence left her thinking the connection had flaked.
But her dad's voice came back on the line, low and serious. "What's up, hon? You don't usually get this emotional about the research."
"Didn't you hear? I lost the source material and my notes, and now Arif's going to take all the blame, and your theories are never going to get the credit they should, and—"
"Whoa there. Why are you trying to walk my same path and make the same mistakes?"
She sat upright. Wasn't that what the astrologer—and Arif—had said? A chill slid down her spine. "I'm not."
"Hon, I get you’re upset, but you've got a memory that's better than most. Put your mind to it, and you can recreate your notes. And when you do, you publish under your name. You do the work, you get the credit. This isn't about me."
She pressed a palm flat on her thigh. "But, Dad, I wanted to give you…you need…I mean, you should have…something to live for."
"Why don't you make that a happy daughter, hon? And you need to figure out what is it you want out of this deal."