She nodded wordlessly and he turned away from her, taking the bag that contained his clothes with him, walking back outside. He took in a deep breath of air. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing when he’d seen her. But now his lungs burned. He dressed quickly, out in the open, discarding the damp pants and trading them for a dry pair, and a T-shirt.
He waited a few moments, then went back to the tent, throwing the flap aside. She was dressed in a loose-fitting top and a pair of linen pants, sitting in the nest of blankets they had used as a bed the night before. She was looking at him, the expression on her face expectant, but of what he had no idea. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, because the reality of what was possible in the fantasy that had been last night created a gulf between them that was so wide it could not be crossed.
There was no way to bring any of it back with them. There was no way to keep pieces of it, keep it hidden. Keep it going.
It was a clean break here, and there was no other option.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She shook her head, looking away from him.
“Then we will leave soon.” She didn’t rise from where she was nestled in the blankets. “And you will have to be out of the tent, so that I can dismantle it.”
“Is it cold outside?” she asked, not looking at him still.
“It is not cold.”
She sniffed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I don’t like being cold.”
“Well, you will not be cold.”
She looked up at him, and stood slowly. “I had better not be.” Then she walked past him, her head held high, her chin pointed upward. She looked like a little sheikha, all haughty and defensive. And it made him want to kiss her lips until she was no longer pursing them. Until she was soft, until she was pliant and ready for him again. But he had no right to do that. None at all. It should not have happened last night, and it could not happen again.
* * *
Sophie held herself together as she waited outside the tent while Zayn took it down. She held herself together on the drive back to the palace. She held herself together until she was safely in the privacy of her own room. And then she wept. Great gasping sobs that seemed to come endlessly. And when she was done, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, curling into a ball. She felt miserable. She felt changed.
Last night everything had made sense. It felt so amazing. But when they had come down the mountain she had failed to collect her armor. It was lost somewhere out there in the middle of the desert, and she did not know if she would ever be able to retrieve it.
But it was over now, that much was clear. Zayn had made that clear when he’d gone cold on her this morning. And it was for the best. Because it could not go on. Because they could not go on.
He was marrying another woman.
The thought sent a stab of pain straight through her chest. She should never have touched him. She didn’t have the right.
She looked up at the ceiling, tears sliding down toward her temple, disappearing down into her hairline.
Unfortunately, though she knew she’d had no right to touch him, it didn’t change the fact that she was afraid she might have fallen in love with him.
She had no idea how that had happened. It had something to do with the fact that he had managed to get beneath her protection, that he was the first person to ever reach beneath all the layers she had built up around herself. He had touched her heart. And once that had happened she never had a chance.
She loved this man who wanted nothing more than to serve those around him. Who had taken a tragedy and allowed it to turn and twist inside of him until it had wrapped itself around him like tree roots until they had taken control over him, worked their way in so deep they couldn’t be extracted. Until they had changed who he was, controlled him in every way.
She had worked all of her life for recognition, for validation. While he gave everything in the service of his family, in the service of his country. How could she not be changed by knowing him? How could she not love him?
And yet, she would have to figure out a way not to love him. Because she would be leaving here soon and when she did she would need to leave these feelings behind, too.
No matter how difficult it was.
* * *
Sophie successfully avoided Zayn for the next few days. She busied herself writing up an article detailing what she had learned so far about Surhaadi and its culture. She couldn’t bring herself to write about his personal tragedy. Couldn’t bring herself to write about Zayn at all. Because she had a feeling that every word would bleed with her love for him, and that it would be obvious to anyone who saw it. And while she was exposing herself a bit more lately than she had ever done before, that was a step too far.
Part of her had hoped that Zayn would end the silence between them. That part of her was foolish, and she acknowledged that, but it didn’t stop her from wishing he might.
She stood up from her computer and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead, trying to smooth out the lines she was certain were etched there permanently now. No matter how many days, no matter how much distance, between her, Zayn and that tent in the desert, her skin still burned with his touch. Her chest aching with the memory of what it had been like to be joined with him in that way. With what it had been like to feel so close to someone.
She hadn’t realized how much of her life she’d spent alone until that moment. Until that moment of perfect togetherness.
If there is only myself, then I choose you.
His words played over and over in her mind, echoed in her heart. Made her hope where there should be none.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked over to the door of her bedroom and wandered out into the corridor. As usual, her end of the palace was empty, and only the sound of her footsteps kept her company as she moved down the long hall.
She continued to walk until she reached the entryway, where there were a few staff members still milling around. It was late, and it seemed as though nearly everyone had retired for the evening.
As usual, no one looked at her. She wondered what they really thought of her. Who they really thought she might be. If they had assumed from the beginning that she was Zayn’s lover, if they cared either way.
She wasn’t entirely certain of what she was doing, only that she needed to find him. Only that she needed to end this separation. They hadn’t even seen each other for meals, so skilled was his avoidance. He was always consumed with something very important, something that always took precedence over sitting down with her again.
Because he was avoiding her, too. Which she actually found encouraging.
This love thing was a strange business.
Her stomach tightened as she got closer to Zayn’s quarters. Anticipation, nerves, excitement, all vied for top position as she continued to walk through the palace.