The Sheikh's Claim (Desert Nights 2)

That he knew to be true. He’d admired Patrick from the day they’d met, over fifteen years ago, for his boundless energy and enthusiasm, his progressive views, but mostly for his unswerving humanitarianism. It had been bitterness over Lujayn that had driven him to sever all ties with him, business and otherwise. That was what he’d regretted most when Patrick had died. That he had died with them at odds.

“Patrick had inoperable testicular cancer, having already spread to his major organs.”

His breath clogged in his throat. He didn’t know what shook him more—this revelation, or her reaction to remembering it.

Anguish seemed to crash over her, shaking her features, her voice. “I was with him the day he was diagnosed. He was told he had a year at most, with treatments, far less without. But he wouldn’t spend what time he had left suffering from side effects when there was no chance of a cure. He wanted instead to live what remained of his life as a full member of the extended family who loved him as their own.”

Something inside him withered.

He hadn’t known. Hadn’t even suspected. He’d been so blinded by jealousy, by his wounded pride and thwarted passion, he hadn’t bothered to investigate beyond the obvious. He’d chosen to think the worst, of Patrick, and of her.

But this only exonerated Patrick. She might have still used his approaching mortality to entrap him.

Yet what mattered was that instead of being there for Patrick at the end of his life, he’d become his enemy.

Could she be inventing all this to exonerate herself?

He glared at her, praying he’d read something in her eyes that would tell him he hadn’t been so oblivious. “You know I can unearth his medical records if I want to.”

Distaste bloomed in her eyes. “That’s why you have to believe me even if you hate doing so. The evil bitch you’re painting me to be couldn’t be stupid enough to lie about something you can so easily check.”

He staggered back as more realizations pummeled him. “Ya Ullah…so it’s true. And he hid his diagnosis so that his businesses wouldn’t collapse, taking thousands of jobs with them. That’s why I never heard about it.”

She nodded, turned away, discreetly dabbing at her cheeks.

She didn’t want him to witness her tears. He never had. He’d never driven her to them, in pleasure or pain. More proof that where he was concerned, her emotions had never been involved.

She sat down, looked at him, tears sparkling in precarious ripples. “But his doctors’ predictions didn’t come true. He had twenty months with us before he began to deteriorate. It was the best time of our lives. All the while he coached me and my family in what we should do once he was gone. When his decline began, it was…painful....” Tears arrowed down her cheeks. “He chose not to prolong his suffering and ours, chose to end it on his own terms.”

He was breathing like he’d just escaped a runaway car by the time she fell silent. Ya Ullah…Patrick!

Frustration and futility crowded in his head until he felt it might burst. “How could you not tell me?”

She raised her gaze at his growl, anguish turning to incredulity. “I never gauged your ego correctly, did I? Even gods can’t have that much entitlement. You see this only in terms of feeling slighted for being excluded? Why would I have told you anything, pray tell? You were no longer his friend.”

“Because I didn’t have a full picture. Because I didn’t know what had driven him to do what he did.”

“If you think his condition drove him to slam the door in your face, think again. He remained clear and calm till the hour he died. He did what he thought was right, like I did, severing a toxic relationship he realized he should have ended long ago.”

“But none of his grievances against me, real or imagined, mattered. Not then. B’Ellahi, he was dying, and I should have known. I should have been there for him.”

She gaped at him as if he’d grown a third eye.

Figured. It was the first time she’d seen him agitated.

Then, as if trying not to rouse a beast she’d just discovered was dangerous, she said, “I would have encouraged him to tell you if I’d thought you’d feel this way. But it didn’t occur to either of us that it would matter to you, beyond a passing regret for someone you used to be friendly with.”

If her words hadn’t paralyzed him, he would have swayed where he stood. “Is that what you both thought of me? That I am some sort of psychopath? Only one would feel nothing but ‘passing regret’ for such a tragedy. And I wasn’t ‘friendly with’ Patrick. He was one of only three real friends I ever had in my life.”

“I didn’t know that. From observations I—” She stopped, color creeping into her blanched cheeks. “I didn’t have enough observations to build an opinion on. So I filled in the blanks, like you did, with what made the most sense to me. And what most supported my analysis was that you weren’t that close.”

“When could I have demonstrated that closeness? I never saw him again while you were with me, as we kept our relationship a secret. But I must have let you know what he meant to me?”

Censure surged back into her gaze. “You don’t remember if you did? Whatever happened to your unfailing memory? Let me boost it, then. You never did. And when he helped me make the decision to end our liaison, I assumed he knew from experience that anyone was better off not being close to you.”

“Why, thanks. To both of you. It’s so heartening to know you two had such high opinions of me....”

He stopped. He’d heard those words before. Or something to their effect. Haidar had communicated a similar hurt to him and Roxanne, for condemning him based on circumstantial evidence, without giving him the benefit of the doubt.

He’d lived his life thinking he and Haidar were opposites. It was becoming clearer by the day that they were truly twins. But Haidar had resolved the mess of misunderstanding with both him and Roxanne. A similar resolution wasn’t in the cards for him.

But… “None of that explains why you kept all this a secret after Patrick died.”

She gave a cheerless huff. “I had to because his family sued to annul his will. With his overdose, they were claiming what you assumed—that he wasn’t of sound mind when he drew up that will. Contrary to you, who can find out anything with a phone call, police investigations and medical reports were confidential, so they couldn’t know that he’d been terminally ill—which would have only strengthened their case. We had to keep it a secret until we won.”