Sex, she realised despondently, was not the answer to everything. After another long moment, when Khaled did not move or take his gaze from the fathomless night outside, Lucy turned and went to bed.
Khaled toyed with the silver queen, gazing out at the twinkling lights in Dubai’s harbour, each one so tiny, so insignificant, yet offering light. Hope.
He’d begun to feel the first, faint stirrings of hope this last week, with Lucy in his arms every night as he’d longed for these last four years. He’d begun to believe they could have a future together, a love.
That she would love him.
And he’d convinced himself that he could handle his condition, that Lucy would never see him debilitated, that it all could be managed. Controlled.
Yet some things couldn’t be controlled, and finally Khaled understood the depth of Lucy’s mistrust of him.
When he’d left all those years ago, he’d been thinking of himself, acting on his pride and his fear. He supposed he’d wrapped it up as self-sacrifice, told himself that it was better for Lucy, better for everyone if he left. That no one wanted a burden, and that was how he’d seen himself—a burden, a cripple, a man without the identity he’d clung to for so many years.
Yet now he acknowledged fully, for the first time, how his sudden departure had been essentially a selfish act, an act which had devastated Lucy. She’d told him often enough, but he’d pushed her objections aside because his reasons had made sense to him, and really it was easier to do so. He couldn’t change the past.
And he still couldn’t. He didn’t think he could influence the future either.
Lucy didn’t love him, didn’t want to love him, and there was nothing he could say—nothing that hadn’t already been said—that would change her mind.
He thought of telling her he loved her, but instinctively recoiled from the idea, the threat of rejection, of ruining what little they had. He shouldn’t yearn for more, shouldn’t expect it, because he didn’t even deserve it.
He didn’t deserve Lucy. And she deserved so much more than him.
Yet they were married now, and nothing could change that. He could give her space, time to heal, to stop being afraid, to trust.
If she ever would.
He couldn’t, Khaled realised with a growing sense of desolation, give her more than that.
What little they had. Resolutely Khaled placed the queen back on the chessboard. What little they had would have to be enough.
LUCY was relieved to leave Dubai. Ever since their conversation the night before, a new awkwardness had risen up between her and Khaled. Funny, she thought without a trace of humour, how confidences shared could create such tension, such stiff formality. Weren’t they supposed to bring you closer?
Yet as they took the royal jet back to Biryal she’d never been more aware of the yawning distance between her and Khaled.
He was as solicitous as ever, yet with that damning, cool remoteness that she despised. That made her afraid.
What are you thinking? What are you wanting?
Do you love me?
The questions crowded on her tongue and she bit them all back, staring mutely out of the window instead.
They sat in silence for most of the flight, the only sound the shuffle of Khaled’s papers as he bent over his work.
By the time the plane touched down in Biryal, Lucy’s already taut nerves were starting to fray. The sight of yet another crowd of clamouring journalists in front of the plane made her groan aloud. ‘Is it always like this?’
‘It will die down,’ Khaled replied in an implacable tone. ‘They are just curious because you are new and because…’ he paused ‘…I have been out of the limelight for quite a while.’
‘And your marriage has brought you back into it?’
‘Yes.’
Lucy glanced at him, saw the careful, hard, expressionless mask he’d worn since last night, and suddenly asked, ‘Khaled, will life ever be normal for us?’ She couldn’t elaborate or explain, couldn’t tell him how wonderful ‘normal’ sounded right now. It encompassed a whole range of emotions: comfort, safety, love.
Love… That one was off-limits.
‘I don’t know,’ Khaled replied after a moment, his voice bland to the point of coolness. ‘I suppose it depends on what you consider normal.’
Back at the palace, Lucy and Khaled found Sam in his favourite haunt, the pool, with Dana. He ran out of the water, hurling himself at both of their legs.
‘Sam, watch Khaled’s suit.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Khaled interjected as Sam pulled a mutinous face.
‘I thought he was Daddy now.’
Lucy swallowed, her gaze sliding to Khaled, and she saw him swallow, his eyes bright with unshed tears. No matter what was or wasn’t between them, there was something strong, right and good between Khaled and Sam. She smiled and tousled Sam’s damp hair. ‘You’re right; I forgot. And I suppose Daddy doesn’t mind if his suit gets a bit wet.’ The word sounded funny and thick on her tongue, and came out awkward and uneasy.
Khaled glanced at her sharply, and Lucy felt despair curl around her heart once more. They related to Sam, through Sam, and that was all.
How could they have thought this kind of marriage was good for anyone?
It certainly didn’t feel good to her.
They left for London three days later. They spent the night at Lucy’s house, although after the Biryali palace—not to mention the royal suite in Dubai—it felt small. Too small.
Khaled made it feel small, Lucy realised. He was so big, so present, so much—too much for the little rooms, her little bed. It was a double, but they couldn’t lie in it without touching. And, now that this tension had sprung between them once more, Lucy wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
Yet even so her body craved it, needed that physical reassurance, the comfort and thrill of his caress. Khaled, however, chose not to give it; as soon as the lights were off he rolled over onto his side, away from her. Lucy lay there, staring into the darkness, and wondered what he was thinking. She wanted to ask, yet was afraid too. Always afraid.
What would he say? she wondered bleakly. Would he admit this marriage was a mistake, that they should live separate lives? Would he lie and say he was thinking of nothing? Would he tell her brusquely it was none of her business? Or was he even asleep, completely unconcerned with her state of mind?
She had no idea, and it hurt. It hurt because she loved him. How had she hidden from it for so long? She’d denied it with every fibre of her being even as her heart had cried out to be heard.
She loved him, and she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to open herself up to the pain, the possibility of rejection. He wouldn’t leave, perhaps, but he could cut her out of his life, his heart.
He could not love her back, and living with that day in and day out would be far worse than if he were never there at all.
The next few days were a struggle for normality. They moved to a luxury hotel in the centre of London for both security and comfort; Sam returned to nursery, and Lucy to work. She made arrangements to reduce her hours and eventually only work for a few months out of the year. Khaled busied himself with his own pursuits, promoting Biryal’s tourist industry, acting as a diplomat and visiting dignitary.