CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T HE NIGHT OF Desmond and Val’s marriage celebration party—spearheaded mostly by Hind—drove Val into unprecedented waves of anxiety. She was going to have to lie to potentially thousands on a public stage.
Seeing their faces definitely made it all the more real. And now, when she was supposed to be getting ready for the lavish party Hind and Sheikh Rashid were hosting for her and Desmond, she was sitting on the bed in her room in the staff quarters of the sheikh’s estate, lost in a doom-scrolling session from hell. It’d been easy enough to find the story; one article led to another, which led to another, which led to yet another. Dreadful articles, with titles that grew all the more accusatory as the story moved from the investigation phase, to blame, to backlash. Desmond wasn’t actually named in more than one or two, but the story and the airline’s subsequent collapse were heartbreaking.
She hadn’t seen Desmond since that night, at her own request. She needed time to nurse that bruised tender thing that had emerged from that night’s conversation, and he said gently that he understood.
And she’d gotten her period, too, much to her relief. That was a complication that might have had her lose her grip on reality, at this point.
More than once she slid the solitaire off her finger, looking at it as if it were some foreign object. The thing would sparkle, despite all her doubts, even in the dark.
She’d never owned something so beautiful in her life. Desmond, it seemed, had a talent for making things beautiful, whether it was rings, or planes, or kisses, or—
You miss him.
Having seen this part of himself that he’d revealed only made her feelings all the more tender.
He couldn’t love her the way he may have wanted to.
But that was practically a declaration , wasn’t it? And Val had no idea what to do with it, only knew that her cheeks burned whenever she thought of it or of his face when he’d said it.
In love with her ?
The thought was not nearly as terrifying as it might have been. If he cared for her in that way, couldn’t she…? Didn’t she…?
She countered this by trying to convince herself that he was right.
He was right, and she was practical to the core, even if her common sense had occasionally failed her. She would be sensible. She would ignore the throb between her legs. She would ignore the fact that she wanted nothing more than to follow him back upstairs, to wrap her arms around him, to let him hurt within the comfort of her embrace, to ask him to make love to her. She would ignore how much she wanted to sleep curled around him and wake in his arms. Part of her wanted to cry out that it could work, that she could make herself part of that life…
Are you delirio us?
She’d finally been handed freedom, and here she was, doing her best to enter into another kind of bondage. The bondage of being wanted, but not being loved.
How could she settle, again?
And anyway, weren’t all men disappointing, in the end? Even if they didn’t mean to be?
Val was jolted from her reverie when the doorbell rang. Her hand flew to her throat as she hurried to answer it, then groaned inwardly when she looked through the peephole. Hind was on the doorstep with two attendants holding large metal boxes and a rolling case. Even through the peephole she could see that the girl was vibrating with excitement.
She sighed and pulled the door open, then yelped as the younger girl practically leaped on her.
“Aren’t you excited? This is Gifty, to do your makeup and give you a facial—she worked for the Ugandan first lady,” she stage-whispered. “Joyce will help you with your nails and hair, and we’ll both help you get dressed. Ladies, come on,” she ordered, kicking off a much-abused pair of designer mules at the door.
“Hind, this is absolutely not necessary.”
Hind snorted. “Of course it’s necessary. I’ve seen what you wear to Baba’s parties.”
“Hind!”
“Sorry,” the girl said conciliatorily. “You’re very pretty, though.”
Val could only roll her eyes.
Taking this as assent, Hind commandeered every square inch of Val’s modest sitting room, throwing open the blackout curtains to let natural light pool on all surfaces, lighting a Diptyque candle, setting up makeup lights and an enormous mirror, pulling out a tiny JBL speaker that flooded the space with a mix of American hip-hop, Khaleeji music and, bizarrely, Robbie Williams.
“I just love this song!” Hind declared, spinning about till the ends of her shayla fanned out like the wings of a bird, setting everyone in the room laughing.
Val was touched by the girl’s display of affection. It was something a cousin or a younger sibling might have done for her with just as much excitement at one point in her life, before she’d cut off her entire family for a man who’d done nothing but take advantage of her from the beginning. Afterward, she’d shut other people out as a result of the shame that had characterized her life. She had no close friends. She socialized occasionally with fellow staff members or members of the many expat WhatsApp groups she was in, but there was certainly no one who would go as far as to do this.
Val’s bathroom was quickly transformed into a mini spa. Her hair was washed and oiled with products that smelled of lavender and the sea. Tingling preparations were smoothed onto her skin, left to sit and wiped off with soft cotton pads that left her feeling cooled and soothed as air penetrated her skin. Her hair was sectioned and then styled into soft twists and pinned into an elegant updo that framed her face with shining black curls. Hind’s chatter required little response; murmurs were enough, and most were lost beneath the relentlessly cheerful pop music, anyway.
Dear Hind. In an odd way, her sweetness made up for every moment of exasperation Val had endured during the girl’s teenage years.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so indulged.
Oh, wait, maybe she could. It was before her wedding, holed up in a midrange hotel overlooking the French Quarter. Then, she’d been surrounded by family and friends, none of whom she’d seen in years. Family and friends that had no idea that she was celebrating a pretend marriage today to a man they’d never met.
It was just…
How had she let this happen? How had she gotten to a place where she’d become so isolated? Malik hadn’t only stolen her money; he’d stolen her agency, her self-confidence. She’d allowed him to finish the job her parents had started. She hadn’t even tried to stand her ground with them.
Val picked up her mobile and toyed with it absent-mindedly. She could call her mother—she could call her right now. But how the hell would she even begin to explain what had happened to her over the past several years?
As if the mobile could hear her innermost thoughts, it rang so suddenly that she jumped, sending a jar of berry-colored powder clattering to the floor. She slid out of the room amidst Gifty and Hind’s exclamations and scrambled for a broom and damp rag and went out onto the balcony, which was the only place in her apartment that wasn’t currently jumbled with beauty products. She answered the mobile on the third ring.
“Val.” Desmond’s voice was rich and low.
She said nothing.
“You all right?”
She took a breath of perfumed air. “Hind has been here for two hours. She brought stylists . She won’t stop playing Robbie Williams.”
“Robbie Williams ?”
“She said she wanted to play something from my generation.”
His laugh reverberated through her body. She closed her eyes. “You ready?”
“Absolutely not. I feel sick to my stomach.”
“Keep your focus on what’s important.” He paused, and in that moment Val wanted to ask him how preparations were going for his pitch, and how he was doing, and if he was dreading tonight as much as she was and whether he missed her at all. She wanted to say that she’d read all the articles, all the stories, and her heart ached for him. But she didn’t.
She’d asked for distance, and she would do well to remember why.
* * *
The Majestic Gold Palace was situated in a desert oasis a little way from the city; Val had made the trip many times before for one event or another. It was part royal residence, part hotel, part events center, part resort, and tonight, it gleamed for her in the soft purple-orange twilight, framed by shadowy desert sand. Desmond had sent a car to collect her about an hour before the event, and as the Jaguar crawled sedately up the road to the palace, Val pressed a hand over her chest, willing her heart to beat just a little slower.
Ground-level floodlights illuminated the sand-colored buildings and they gleamed in the twilight. Motifs of beaten gold representing the early days of Bahr-al- Dahab flashed and twinkled, and the main dome, the centerpiece of the estate and a marvel of architecture that had been studied for years, stood proudly atop the main building. It was decorated with soft mosaics that seemed to blend and change as seamlessly as the stirring of the sea. From where she was, it looked as if the colors were dancing across the fading sky. Val rolled down the window, partly for fresh air and partly to take in the heady smell of jasmine, balmy and sweet, wafting from the low bushes that lined the road.
Hind, thank goodness, had elected to travel with her parents, so Val was alone, which gave her time to collect her thoughts and do her best not to have a panic attack. The sheikh loved any excuse to throw a party, and the union of his daughter’s companion with one of the United Kingdom’s rising stars of business and enterprise was something to be celebrated.
The pathway leading to the entrance was lined with polished onyx and ebony tiles, reflecting more light from ornate jewel-studded lanterns that flanked the path. The metalwork cast dancing shadows on the stones. Lush plants in vibrant green also lined the entryway, including the jasmine trees for which the palace was famous. The driver passed through a stone arch with an intricate frieze racing round it, and she could see Desmond, hands folded, looking tiny against the massive double doors of gleaming wood.
There was no one else outside, except for a traffic warden in a white candoura with a reflective jacket over it. He was directing the cars to a side entrance. Only Val’s car was directed so close to the front stairs that she could have touched them from the back seat if she’d wanted to. Desmond opened her door with a smile, the gesture taking over his handsome face.
“You made it,” he said simply, and Val’s body flushed with mingled shyness and heat. He drew her out of the car and his eyes skimmed her body—possessively, she thought—and that little flutter went up her spine again.
This, she thought, was not helping at all.
Her gown, chosen by Hind, was of the palest blue sprinkled delicately with a handful of midnight blue crystals. It fit so tightly to her hips and legs that she was only able to take tiny steps forward, tottering slightly in heels of the same shade of midnight blue. A translucent overskirt in the same color cinched in her waist and flowed out, giving the illusion that she was rising from a bed of mist.
She’d never worn something so lovely before. And now that she was close enough, she could see that Desmond’s close-fitting tux was of the same midnight blue. Above it, his skin glowed brown and gold and she ached to touch it. And as if in response to what she felt inside, he laughed a bit shakily.
“Good evening.”
Had she ever seen him so awkward, so unsure of himself? She was disarmed enough to let him draw her close, and she marveled at how very natural it felt.
“You look lovely,” he said, reaching up and running the back of his hand down the curve of her cheek, well below where Gifty had accentuated the curve of her cheeks with blush, highlighter and tiny crystals that she assured her wouldn’t fall off.
“It’s all thanks to Hind.”
“And you smell…” He dipped his nose into the hollow of her throat, even as his hands closed round her waist, made tiny by the best corsetry that money could buy. It was distressing, how easily her body softened against his. This wasn’t for show because they were the only ones in sight. They were alone, and he seemed as eager to touch her as she was to allow him.
“Just practicing for inside, yes?” he said in such self-mockery that she had to laugh. It sounded unnatural, even to her. What a disaster they were!
But maybe for tonight, and tonight only…?
How many times, her inner voice jeered at her, was she going to use that excuse to justify falling into bed with him?
“Desmond,” she began, then stopped. The gentle knuckles on her cheek were traveling down, down to her chest, where her dress dipped dangerously low.
“Hind called and warned me you’d have a neckline that needed good jewelry,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice.
“I’ve an enormous ring. I don’t need anything else.”
“You’re my wife, and every business magnate, socialite and princess will be in attendance this evening.” He paused. “This isn’t just for us—this is about the deal. His Excellency accepted my proposal yesterday.”
“He did?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” His voice was quiet and warm, and that hand of his was still exploring. The quiet hum of insects, the smell of jasmine, the gleaming door, the shadows, the dancing lights…it lent this night a fairy-tale quality that made her a little dizzy. Her breasts tingled and her awareness of him grew all the more intense. She flinched when she felt something cold and hard slide over her skin, but relaxed when she realized that he was fastening something round her neck.
“Sapphires,” he said. “Turn your head—there are earrings, too.”
She did so, dutifully, standing quietly as he took off her simple, classic studs and holding still as he put them in her ears. He dropped the earrings he’d removed into her hand. “You’d better put these in your handbag, if you’ve got one.”
She did, numb fingers fighting with the clasps on her clutch. She glanced at her reflection in a dark window and what she saw was a woman so sophisticated she barely recognized herself. As if in a dream or a sequence from a surreal film, she saw Desmond reach out, turn her around, and lower his lips to hers. Softly. Assuredly. And feeling, she thought with a twinge of panic, not one bit like pulling away.