One Reckless Decision

“No way to locate me?” He shook his head. Temper cracked like lightning in his eyes, his voice. “I am not exactly in hiding!”

“You have no idea, do you?” she asked, closing her eyes briefly. “I cannot even imagine how many young, single women must throw themselves at you. How many must tell tales to members of your staff, or your government officials, in a desperate bid for your attention. Why should I be treated any differently?” She shifted in her seat, wanting nothing more than to get up and run, end this uncomfortable conversation. Hadn’t she been running from it for ages? “It’s not possible to simply look you up in the phone book and give you a ring, Tariq. You must know that.”

His expression told her that he didn’t wish to know it. He swallowed, and she didn’t know how to feel about the fact he was clearly as uncomfortable as she was. As emotional.

“I went to the firm,” she said again, remembering that day some months after Jeremy had been born, when she’d been desperate and on the brink of making her decision but wanted to reach Tariq first, if she could. “They laughed at me.”

It had been worse than the day they’d sacked her. The speculation in their eyes, the disdain—they had looked at her like she was dirt. Like she was worse than dirt.

“They laughed at you?” As if he didn’t understand.

“Of course.” She found the courage to meet his eyes. “To them I was nothing more than the slutty intern, still gold digging. One of them offered to take me out to dinner—wink wink.”

“Wink—?” Tariq began, frowning, and then comprehension dawned and his expression turned glacial.

“Yes,” Jessa confirmed. “He was happy to see if he could sample the goods. After all, I’d been good enough for a king, for a while. But he certainly wasn’t going to help me contact you.”

“Who?” Tariq asked, his voice like thunder. “Who was the man?”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I doubt very much he was the only one who thought that way.” Jessa shook her head and looked back into the fire, sinking further into the embrace of the cashmere over her shoulders. “I realized that I would have to make the decision on my own. That there was absolutely no way I could talk to you about it. We might as well have never met.”

“So you did it.” There was no question in his voice. Only that scratchiness and a heavy kind of resignation.

“When he was four months old,” Jessa said, surprised to feel herself get choked up. “I kissed him goodbye and I gave him what he could never have if I kept him.” She closed her eyes against the pain that never really left her, no matter what she did or what she told herself. “And now he has everything any child could hope for. Two parents who dote on him, who treat him like a miracle—not a mistake. Not something unplanned that had to be dealt with.” She could feel the wetness on her cheeks but made no move to wipe it away.

“You don’t regret this decision?” His voice seemed to come from far away. Jessa turned to look at him, her heart so raw she thought it might burst from within.

“I regret it every day!” she whispered at him fiercely. Unequivocally. “I miss him every moment!”

Tariq sat forward, his eyes intent on hers. “Then I do not see why we cannot—”

“He is happy!” she interrupted him, emotion making her forceful. But he had to hear her. “He is happy, Tariq. Content. I know that I did the right thing for him, and that’s the only thing that matters. Not what I feel. And not what you feel, either, no matter if you are a king or not. He is a happy, healthy little boy with two parents who are not us.” Her voice trembled then, and the tears spilled over and trailed across her cheeks. “Who will never be us.”

She buried her face in her hands, not entirely sure why she was crying like this—as desperately as if it had just happened, as if she had just accepted that it was real. It had to do with telling Tariq the truth finally. Or most of the truth, in any case—all the most important parts of the truth. It was as if some part of her she’d scarcely known existed had held on to the fantasy that as long as he did not know, it could not have happened. It could not be true. And now she had lost even that lie to tell herself.

Jessa did not know how long she wept, but she knew when he came to sit beside her, his much heavier body next to hers on the leather making her sag toward him. He did not whisper false words of encouragement. He did not rant or rave or rail against her. He did not plot ways to change this harsh reality, or ask questions she could not answer.