Chapter Six
‘HANA,’ MALIK CALLED after her as she disappeared from his side.
He bit back a curse and winced at the minor discomfort from the scratch. It wasn’t as bad as she clearly thought, little more than a sting really, but it was bleeding more than he’d expected.
‘It’s just a scratch,’ he called over to where she was in the kitchen, looking for something under the sink. ‘It was sharp, that’s all.’
‘That is not all,’ she snapped at him, wondering if all men were so flippant or it was just this one man. ‘It’s deep. And will need cleaning.’
He looked her warily from beside the sofa. ‘I’m not sure that you—’
‘I can clean a cut without causing any trouble,’ she insisted.
He eyed her sceptically.
‘I can!’ she insisted. ‘Please let me?’
The last thing he needed was for her to be touching him in any way after what had nearly happened just then, but she seemed so upset by it that he grimaced and nodded.
‘Okay,’ he surrendered. ‘Do your worst.’
He’d only been half joking, and was perhaps a little more worried than he should be that she might accidentally pour acid into his wound rather than antiseptic, but instead of lightening the weight that now lay between them, it bounced off her distress and he bit back a curse.
He knew better than to give in to whatever hormones had gone crazy since landing here on the island. He could see her innocence, the way that she threw herself into everything, because she hadn’t yet learned what it was like to have to pick up the pieces when it all went wrong.
She came back from the kitchen with a small first aid kit and sat down beside him on the floor. Swift, confident hands opened the box, removed the plasters, the wipes, everything she would need, and held out her hand for his forearm.
‘You seem to know what you’re doing,’ he observed.
This time, Hana smiled, slowly, but it was there.
‘Amara’s grandson was always getting into scrapes. And he never wanted her to know, so he’d come to me to treat his wounds before he could get into trouble.’
‘Your nursemaid?’
Hana nodded.
She took his hand in hers, her movements sure, no hesitation or doubt. It was strange seeing her like this, confident almost. Assured. None of the chaos that she often exhibited.
She wiped at the gash on his forearm gently with the antiseptic, making sure the wound was clean. He could have told her that he’d had far worse in his own youth and that he could clean and dress it all by himself. He’d learned at a very young age how to tend to his own cuts and grazes.
The staff at the palace had learned to give him a wide berth or risk bringing the sheikh’s ire down on themselves. And his mother…he couldn’t bring himself to blame her after all he’d cost her.
Goosebumps skittered out across Malik’s skin when Hana gently blew on the area and he fisted his free hand behind his back.
She retrieved some ointment.
‘You’re not allergic to anything?’ she asked without taking her eyes from his arm.
‘No, Doctor,’ he teased lamely.
But she shot him a look then that was pure her. An eye roll at his gentle tease, and some of the tension in his chest eased. She applied a thin layer of cream before removing a plaster that was large enough to cover the cut. And just like that it was over.
‘There,’ she said, leaning back to admire her handiwork. He couldn’t help it. Her pride, her self-satisfaction made him smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
And when their gazes connected, the echo of what might have happened pulsed between them.
‘Hana—’
‘You don’t have to explain,’ she said, evading.
‘I think I do,’ he said, bracing himself for the difficult conversation.
‘You don’t. I know you don’t want to marry me. I betrayed your trust, I understand that.’
‘It’s not as simple as that… .’ He’d understood that when he realised what kind of person Hana was. What kind of things she would want from life. ‘The marriage that I want, the marriage that I need, Hana, would have been on paper only.’
Hana blinked at him, not fully understanding.
‘There would have been no children,’ Malik explained bluntly.
Hana’s mouth formed an O that made him want to look away.
‘But why?’ she asked, as if she couldn’t conceive of such a thing.
I will not risk you bearing me another one, just like him.
He swallowed against his father’s callous words to his mother.
Against the memory of the way that Farrah had turned away from him that day in the oasis.
The doctors had told him that brE wasn’t necessarily hereditary, but he couldn’t take that risk.
He’d never allow a child of his to be treated as he had, but he had no need to share that with Hana.
He had exposed too much of himself that night already.
‘Children are not necessary,’ he replied instead. ‘I am only ruling Al Surrahin until my brother recovers, or until Aayan is old enough to take the throne. And when that happens, I’ll return to the desert,’ he explained. ‘Alone.’
‘What about what you want?’ she asked, not understanding him at all.
‘That is what I want, Hana,’ he insisted. ‘And I know that it is different to what you want.’
‘I…’ She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor.
She wouldn’t lie to him, he realised. Whether it was because of what they had shared while the storm raged around them, or because ironically, he had found the one woman that he might have been able to trust, he couldn’t consign her to a life so different from the one she wanted.
He had done that once before, to his mother, and he still hadn’t forgiven himself for it.
Hana looked at the man in front of her. The man who wanted such different things to her. The man she would have married.
‘You want children,’ he stated as confidently as if she’d told him herself.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I want… I want a family.’ She wanted what she’d not had growing up, she thought, as her heart ached in her chest. For her.
And for him. Because she could see it—she could see that he’d not had the family that he deserved, the family to love him, to accept him, to support him.
And yet, instead of searching for it, wanting it, like she did, he sought only to push it all away.
‘You’re not worried? About the birth?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied honestly with a sad little laugh that covered the small burst of fear that spread out through her body and dissolved.
‘I am. It happened to my mother, how could I not be? But she had five children before me. And the doctors would be prepared,’ she said, swallowing around the wish that they had been prepared before.
Malik smiled at her sadly and nodded, as if telling her that it was okay. And as if he wanted that for her too. And that it was okay, because they weren’t going to be married. But her father…her family…
‘I will tell everyone that I was the one to break our engagement,’ he stated as if reading the chain of her thought as clearly as if she’d spoken out loud.
‘Why would you do that?’ Hana asked.
‘Because it is the truth. And because I don’t want to bring shame to your family. They’ll be able to find you another suitor.’
Hana swallowed, inexplicably and confusingly wanting to tell him that she didn’t want another suitor. She wanted him. And for a moment, just a moment, she thought that he might have wanted her too.
But she had been wrong.
The memory of him pulling back from when she had closed the distance between them, from when she thought he might want what she wanted, brought a fresh wave of shame and embarrassment to heat her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hana said.
‘Nothing happened, no one got hurt. It’s fine,’ he insisted, sounding so adult.
But it wasn’t fine. And something had happened. Just…what it was, she couldn’t quite put into words.
‘What if…?’ she tried, but couldn’t quite find the words. ‘What if…?’
‘Hana—’
Whatever Malik was about to say was cut off by a pounding on the door to the villa, making them both jump.
‘Your Highness!’
Another round of punches against the door came, the urgency and power striking alarm in her chest. She was suddenly, painfully conscious of the fact that she wore nothing but a bathrobe.
She couldn’t be seen like this! She jumped to her feet, concern making her pulse stutter.
Malik was looking at her with an unreadable expression before he sighed and called out to the person at the door.
‘A minute, Eshan!’
She quickly left the room, finding the bedroom where she had left her soaking clothes.
They were still damp, but damp was better than nothing.
She pulled on the heavy, cold clothes and tried not to shiver.
Perhaps her body warmth would warm them up, she thought, as she tried to be happy that they’d been rescued. She should be relieved.
She should be thankful that all that had happened was that she’d missed a few hours of sleep, gone a little hungry and that the Regent of Al Surrahin had emerged with just a tiny little cut to show for the small adventure that no one would ever know about.
But instead, she stood in the middle of the large master suite, looking out of the window at where the thin tendrils of early-morning light were beginning to glow above the line of the horizon, eerie and pale yellow, the serenity of it a strange kind of calm balm against the storm that had raged outside for so long.
Despite the peace of the moment, Hana couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to lose something she couldn’t quite name, something precious.
Just one more minute, she promised herself. Just one more minute before she had to say goodbye to Malik and return to the palace and face her family. At least they would never know how bad it could have been.
And Malik and she would never know how good.
Malik snapped his slack jaw shut, inhaling slow and deep, trying to control the anger that whipped up more quickly and more dangerously than last night’s storm.
‘I’m going to need you to repeat what you just said,’ Malik commanded.
‘Your Highness,’ Ehsan tried, ‘I’m sorry, but we had no choice. It was our only option.’
‘By “our”, you mean…?’