“He’s young. He’d adjust.” He heard the harshness in his voice and he didn’t care. She’d deprived him of the first three years of his child’s life. She deserved whatever she got.
“You’d break his heart.”
“Hearts mend. Wounds heal. I know.”
“And knowing what you know, you’d still hurt him like that?”
“You are in no position to lecture me. You were never going to let me be part of his life. You were determined to keep him to yourself.” His upper lip curled, a primal snarl he couldn’t conceal. “In a few years Zwar will be his home, and my people his people. Ben will love the adventure of it, and he’ll be blessed with wealth, position and opportunity.”
“You can’t buy him, or his affections!”
He shrugged, glad to see her squirm. He’d shaken her.
“I want to call the ambassador,” she demanded. “Now.”
“I’m sorry. The phone isn’t working.”
“That’s not true. You made some calls earlier.”
“But that was earlier. This is now.”
“Kahlil, you have no right—”
“I have every right!”
His voice thundered, waking Ben. Bryn tried to hush her son back to sleep but Ben was definitely awake, lifting his head and sleepily gazing around the cabin.
“Are we there yet?” he asked with a yawn, brown eyes blinking, a worried crease between his jet-black eyebrows.
“No, not yet,” she soothed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, silently cursing Kahlil for waking Ben, and waking him in the middle of a fight. This is exactly what she wanted to protect Ben from. But Ben wasn’t about to go back to sleep, not when he sensed so much tension in the air.
Tipping his head back, he stared into her face, one small hand reaching out to touch her mouth. “Why are you yelling?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to reply that it was Kahlil yelling, Kahlil being impossible, but she couldn’t say that, none of it. Whatever her feelings were for Kahlil, she couldn’t allow them to influence Ben. He’d need to establish his own relationship with Kahlil, without prejudices from her.
“Was I yelling?” she murmured, struggling to modulate her voice, and calm her racing pulse. This was a long trip, a long night, she had to get her emotions under control.
“Yes. You were yelling at that man.”
That man. Your father.
She looked up, pained, her gaze settling on Kahlil. In his black turtleneck and his blazer, Kahlil looked darkly forbidding, his beautiful features hard, his expression contemptuous.
“I’m sorry,” she answered. “I shouldn’t yell. It hurts peoples ears, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ben agreed, sitting up and wrapping his small, cool fingers around hers. “Who is that man? Why is he with us?”
Pain tugged at her heart. She couldn’t lie, couldn’t ignore the question, either. Ben needed to know the truth, and he’d find out soon, if not now, then quickly after they landed. Far better to hear it from her.
“Ben, this is…your…” Her gaze lifted, her eyes meeting Kahlil’s. She found no warmth in his expression, no compassion in his golden eyes. Bryn dropped her gaze, focusing on Ben, trying to blot out the image of a seething Kahlil. “Ben, this man, he’s your…is your…”
“Daddy.”
Kahlil said it, completed the sentence, his voice crackling with anger.
It wasn’t the way she wanted it said. Not with so much anger and force. Not with that kind of arrogance, either.
“Yes,” she hurriedly agreed, hoping to soften things, ease the tension. “He is your daddy. We were married a long time ago and lived in a beautiful desert.”
“A beautiful desert?” Ben looked past Bryn to Kahlil. “In a tent? With camels?”
“In a palace,” Kahlil replied. “But we do have camels.”
Ben sat up even straighter, using his palm to push away from her chest. “I like camels.” He looked so serious, his expression exactly like Kahlil’s. “I am Ben,” he said firmly, precisely, dark eyes frowning, black eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “That’s my name. What is yours?”
“Sheikh Kahlil Hasim al-Assad.”
“That’s a lot of names.”
“Not so many. Soon you will have a name like mine, too.”
“Okay.”
Okay. That was all it took. Ben accepted it, accepted the new father, the new name, the new home just like that.
Ben looked at her, touched her cheek with his fingertips. “This is my real daddy?” he whispered, with a swift glance at Kahlil.
“Yes.”
“The one I wanted?”
“The one you wanted, my baby.”
No one spoke. Bryn’s pulse raced. She could sense Ben’s struggle, his confusion and questions. Everything had changed for him just like that. Suddenly Ben thrust a hand out to Kahlil. “I’m Ben, Daddy.”
Kahlil’s features hardened, his jaw granite-tight. For a moment he didn’t move, his expression closed and grim. And then slowly, very slowly he reached out with his own hand and took his son’s. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ben. It’s good we’re finally together.”
Ben nodded solemnly. “It’s been a long time.”
Kahlil’s dark gaze lifted, his eyes met Bryn’s and held. “A very long time.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE Learjet made its final approach and landed soundlessly on the asphalt runway. Minutes later it came to a smooth stop in front of a low, brightly lit building.
Before the jet’s door opened, a grim Kahlil emerged from the private bedroom cabin, his Western clothes hidden by his robe, the djellaba, and a white howli concealing his dark hair. Bryn’s stomach did somersaults and she swallowed hard, lumps swelling her throat closed.
Sheikh Kahlil al-Assad. In person.
He turned, glanced her direction, his flinty gaze inspecting her hair and dress. “You must cover yourself.”
“It might seem strange to Ben,” she replied, placing an uneasy hand on the top of her son’s head.
His gaze met hers and held. After a tense silence, he answered. “It will seem more strange to him if you force me to take action.”
Kahlil didn’t understand. Ben might be half Arab, but he’d never been exposed to Middle Eastern customs. He didn’t know anything of the language or the culture. “Just give me a chance to explain to him first.”
Kahlil’s mouth compressed, contemptuously. “I think I should be the one to explain. After all, wearing the djellaba and howli are my custom
s. I understand far better than you.”
And he did explain, in a matter of thirty seconds, saying without apology that the robe and veil made women special, protecting pretty women and turning them into princesses. “Would you like your mom to be a princess?”
Ben smiled, a small shy smile, and hesitantly nodded. “Put it on, Mommy. I want to see you be a princess.”
Kahlil had trapped her. Again. She stood immobile while Kahlil unfolded a long black djellaba and another shorter cloth. His hands moved quickly, settling the robe across her shoulders and then the veil over her head. She felt the brush of his fingers at her temple and then against her mouth.
Fresh tears filled her eyes. She wanted him, but not like this. She wanted him when they loved only each other, believed only in the other.
Suddenly he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth, through the thin fabric of the veil. “We’re home,” he said quietly, victorious. “Remember where you are now. Remember who you are now.”
She couldn’t speak, the air bottled in her chest and the fine hairs tingled at her nape. Fear, fatigue and anxiety overwhelmed her. She felt unbalanced, torn between her own need and Ben’s needs realizing that they weren’t the same and wouldn’t ever be the same again.
Ben tugged at the black robe and she stepped back to see him. He wrinkled his nose as he inspected her clothes. “She doesn’t look like a princess,” he said, disappointed, even a little disgusted. “Princesses don’t wear dresses like that.”
She’d read him too many stories, told him too many fantastic versions of Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty. He knew princesses were soft, sweet magical creatures, nothing like the dark robed mother in front of him.
Bryn would have smiled if the situation weren’t so serious. She curled an arm around his waist, and hugged him to her legs. “It’s okay,” she answered quickly. “The robe is to help Mommy. It’s a costume, something fun and new.”
“But he said, the daddy said, you’d be a princess. I want you to look like a princess. Take it off,” he insisted, tugging harder on the robe, trying to draw it away from her legs. “Please, Mommy, take it off now.”