‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I will not spoil everyone’s enjoyment tonight. I’ve caused enough fuss today as it is.’ And she would not give Zafina a moment’s smug satisfaction. ‘Walk me back along the deck.’ Firmly she took his hand. ‘All I need is some fresh air.’
He wasn’t sure. But Leona ignored his expression and pulled him towards the door. Actually the walk did her more good than she had expected it to do. Just being with him, feeling his presence, was enough to help reaffirm her belief that he would never, ever, do anything so cruel as to lie about a second wife.
He’s done it before, a small voice inside her head reminded her.
Oh, shut up! she told it. I don’t want to listen. And she pasted a bright smile on her face, ready to show it to their waiting guests—and Zafina Al-Yasin—as she and Hassan stepped back into the salon.
Zafina wasn’t there, which in a way was a relief and in another was a disappointment, because she so wanted to outface the evil witch. She had to make do with shining like a brilliant star for those left to witness it, and she wondered once or twice if she was going to burn out. And she was never more relieved when it became time to retire without causing suspicion that this was all just a dreadful front.
Raschid and Imran had collared Hassan. So she was free to droop the moment she hit the bedroom. Within ten minutes she was curled up in bed. Within another ten she was up again and giving in to what had been threatening to happen since Zafina’s visit. Fortunately Hassan was not there to witness it. By the time he came to bed she had found escape in sleep at last, and he made no move to waken her, so morning arrived all too soon, and with it returned the nauseous sensation.
She got through the day by the skin of her teeth, and was pleasant to Zafina, who was not sure how to take that. She spent most of her morning with Evie and her children, taking comfort from the sheer normality of their simple needs and amusements. It was while she was playing with Hashim that the little boy inadvertently brushed against her breasts and she winced at their unexpectedly painful response.
Evie noticed the wince. ‘You okay?’ she enquired.
Her shrug was rueful. ‘Actually, I feel a bit grotty,’ she confessed. ‘I ache in strange places after my fight with the fishing net yesterday, and I think the water I swallowed had bugs.’
‘The same bugs that got you the day before that?’ Evie quizzed.
‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘So I’m still stressed out.’
‘Or something,’ Evie murmured.
Leona’s chin came up, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.
It was Evie’s turn to offer a rueful shrug, then Raschid walked into the room and the conversation had to be shelved when he reminded them that lunch was being served.
After lunch came siesta time. Or, for those like Hassan and Raschid, time to hit the phones and deal with matters of state. Leona had never been so glad of the excuse to shut herself away in her room because she was really beginning to feel ill by then. Her head ached, her bones ached, her stomach was objecting to the small amount of food she had eaten for lunch.
Maybe it was a bug, she mused frowningly as she drew the curtains across the windows in an effort to diffuse the light that was hurting her eyes. Stripping off her top clothes, she then crawled into the bed.
Maybe she should have steered well clear of Evie’s children just in case she had picked up something catching, she then added, and made herself a promise to mention it to Evie later just before she slipped into a heavy sleep.
She came awake only as a scarlet sunset seeped into the room. The last sunset before they reached Jeddah, she recalled with relief. And found the reminder gave her a fresh burst of energy that she took with her into the bathroom where she indulged in a long leisurely shower then took her time getting ready for dinner. She chose to wear a calf-length tunic made of spearmint-blue silk with a matching pair of slender-cut trousers.
Hassan arrived in the room with a frown and his mind clearly preoccupied.
‘Hello stranger,’ she said.
He smiled. It was an amazing smile, full of warmth, full of love—full of lazy suggestions as he began to run his eyes over her in that dark possessive way that said, Mine, most definitely mine. It was the Arab-male way. What the man did not bother to say with words he could make up for with expressive glances.
‘No,’ Leona said to this particular look. ‘I am all dressed up and ready to play hostess, so keep your lecherous hands to yourself.’
‘Of course, you do know that I could easily change your mind?’ he posed confidently.
Jokes. Light jokes. Warm smiles and tender communication. Would this man she knew and loved so well look at her like this yet still hold such terrible secrets from her?
No, of course he would not, so stop thinking about it! ‘Save it until later,’ she advised, making a play of sliding the silk scarf over her hair.
His eyes darkened measurably. It was strange how she only now noticed how much he liked seeing her dressed Arabian style. Was it in his blood that he liked to see his woman modestly covered? Was it more than that? Did he actually prefer—?
No. She stopped herself again. Stop allowing that woman’s poison to get to you.
‘Wait for me,’ he requested when she took a step towards the door. ‘I need only five minutes to change,
for I showered ten minutes ago, after allowing that over-energetic Samir talk me into a game of softball on the sun deck.’
‘Who won?’ she asked, changing direction to go and sit on the arm of one of the chairs to wait as requested.