“Twice a week, or perhaps three times, would be preferable.”
She would agree to most anything if it encouraged her sibling’s speedy departure. “I will try. Is that all you wish from me?”
“For the moment. I will notify the staff you will be periodically stopping by.”
“All right.”
When Maysa moved toward the door and yanked it open, she heard the sound of a car pulling into the portico.
“What is he doing here?” Shamil asked, both his tone and expression balanced on the brink of contempt.
She ventured a backward glance to see Rafiq emerging from the sedan with a heavily armed guard standing nearby. “First of all, he is the king, and he is allowed to go anywhere he pleases. Second, he is a friend, and at one time, your best friend.”
“He no longer holds that distinction.”
Maysa’s attempt to question her brother further was thwarted when Rafiq joined them at the doorstep.
Rafiq smiled at Maysa and briefly nodded at Shamil. “As-salam alaikum.”
“Wa alaikum as-salam,” Shamil replied in a voice that heralded indifference along with a touch of disdain. “Have you forgotten the way to the palace, Sayyed?”
“Not at all,” Rafiq replied. “I am here by invitation.”
Shamil sent Maysa a lethal look before returning his attention to Rafiq. “If you are here to discuss health care issues with my sister, it would be appropriate to do so in a less private setting.”
Concerned over her brother’s caustic demeanor, Maysa stepped aside to allow Rafiq entry. “The staff will show you to your quarters, Your Highness.”
“As you wish,” he said without offering Shamil even a passing glance.
She sensed her brother’s glare before she actually contacted it. She turned and gave him a glare of her own. “How dare you be so ill-mannered.”
“How dare you invite him into our father’s house.”
“Our father has always had close ties to the Mehdi family,” Maysa said. “He would not be opposed to having a member as a houseguest, particularly if that member happens to be the sovereign ruler of Bajul. A king who is in need of a respite, which is why he will be staying here for a time.”
“Our father would be opposed to you becoming the king’s mistress.”
Her fury simmered just below the surface of her feigned calm. “You have no right to speak to me this way, nor do you have any reason to hate Rafiq. Or do you still envy his marriage to Rima?”
He looked as if he might strike the wall, or worse, his sister. “Rima meant nothing to Rafiq,” he growled. “He did not deserve her.”
Clearly Shamil had not moved beyond the past, or his desire for a woman he could never have. But hadn’t she been guilty of the same with Rafiq? No. She had moved on, and would continue to do so. “How would you know what privately transpired between the king and queen, Shamil?”
“She deserved far more care and concern than Rafiq afforded her. She deserved the chance to live, and he stole that chance from her.”
“Rafiq had no hand in Rima’s death.”
“You would not agree if you had seen her that night.”
Maysa felt as if they might be hurling toward the truth of what had transpired that evening. What she herself had witnessed. “Perhaps I did see her after all.”
That seemed to momentarily douse Shamil’s wrath. “Where would you have seen her?”
“I drove to the resort earlier that evening and when I saw you embracing a woman on the veranda, I immediately left. Am I correct to assume that woman was Rima?” When he failed to respond, she added, “Shamil, was it Rima?”
His gaze faltered. “She was there for a brief time.”
“And how many times before that?”
“That is not your concern.”
Oh, but it was. “Were the two of you having an affair?”
“Enough!”
She’d obviously struck a nerve encased in the truth. “And Rafiq knew nothing about your liaison with his wife.”
“Rafiq knew nothing about Rima’s life because he chose not to know.” He sent her a steely look. “And he will never know. Is that understood?”
One more threat among many. “He has a right to know what happened in the minutes leading up to her death.”
“He gave up all rights to that knowledge when he discarded her feelings and deprived her of freedom. And if you utter one word of this conversation to the king, then I will see to it you are removed from this house and I will make certain your reputation is ruined beyond repair.”
She clung tightly to the last thread of civility. “You do not have that much power, Shamil. You never have. I can find another place to live, and the villagers respect me not only as their doctor, but as a person. They care not about my past.”
He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Will they be so accepting if they learn their doctor is also the king’s sharmuta?”
She pointed a shaky finger at the SUV parked at the end of the drive. “Leave now and do not return unless you arrive with an apology.”
He released a bitter laugh. “Oh, I will return, yet I will not rescind what I have said. If you reveal any details to Rafiq, there will be consequences.”
With that, he rushed to the waiting SUV and drove away, leaving Maysa standing on the threshold, worrying over how she would tell Rafiq about his wife’s whereabouts that fateful evening. If she decided to tell him.
Should she confess, the outcome would still be the same. Rima would still be gone, her secrets following her to the grave. Shamil would be bent on ruining Maysa’s life if she told Rafiq the details. She had very limited loyalty to Shamil, but she possessed enough common sense not to risk losing everything she had worked so hard to build. Yet the thought of keeping such a serious secret from Rafiq fueled her guilt.
Fortunately, she would not be forced to choose which course to take in the immediate future. Right now, her focus would be on making Rafiq feel welcome.
* * *
She seemed uncomfortable. Rafiq noticed that about Maysa during dinner, and now as they relaxed on rattan sofas in the private courtyard beneath the night sky. Regardless that she seemed on edge, she still looked beautiful as she sat with her legs curled to one side, revealing her bare feet and a delicate silver chain circling one ankle that matched the heavy bangles at her wrists. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her slim shoulders, strands of amber highlighted by the moon, and the sleeveless white gauze dress she wore contrasted with the golden cast of her skin. He remembered touching that skin during a time when they had both been completely captivated by one another. So hungry for each other that it seemed they might never be sated—until the one and only night they crossed the forbidden line and made love.
She captivated him still, fed a fire that he had wrongly assumed would be extinguished by time, mistakes and regrets. He wanted to leave the sofa he had claimed and take the space beside her. He wished to do more than only sit with her. Yet her moratorium on kissing left him with only one option—remain where he sat and simply admire her from afar.
Maysa sighed, her attention focused on the jasmine lining the edge of the stone terrace. “I love summer evenings.”
He loved the sound of her voice—soft, lyrical. “You have lost most of your accent.”
She smiled,