Jalal hit Pause, his chest tight as he watched the power of love radiating from the two faces frozen on the screen.
He’d never believed in miracles. But there was no denying he’d watched one unfold in real time. Had been replaying it on video over and over again. His twin’s wedding ceremony. He’d watched that specific part, when they’d made their unrehearsed vows, for the umpteenth time. Today.
Each time had only ratcheted up his reaction to the sight of Haidar staring with such profound adoration into the eyes of his weeping bride, of hearing him, then her, commit to a lifetime of unity and allegiance, body and soul.
He was fiercely happy for both of them. The twin who felt like an extension of his own life force, and the woman who felt of his own flesh and blood, too. But seeing them, feeling them, bound together in abiding love forever, inflicted something besides joy. It made him feel even more acutely that gaping emptiness in his core. One he knew would never be filled.
He’d once thought he’d had a chance of having something approaching what Haidar and Roxanne had. With Lujayn, the one woman he’d wanted with all he had. But even when they’d been lost to passion in each other’s arms, he’d felt something missing. Now he knew what it was. That. That connection. That alliance. That totality of acceptance, agreement and appreciation.
The extent of the deficiency had been driven home to him during the past years as his brothers had found their soul mates. But it had taken Haidar and Roxanne to solidify the realization. He’d now seen and felt what completeness was like.
He hadn’t had anything like it with Lujayn. But then how could he have? It took two to progress to that level of intimacy. She’d been unwilling to move beyond a certain threshold. She hadn’t wanted intimacy, she’d wanted wealth and status.
He saw that now. At the time he’d thought any issues had been due to the intermittent nature of their relationship, dictated by their hectic schedules and living on different sides of the world. But the truth had been that, beyond sex, she hadn’t really wanted him. She’d only wanted him to propose.
He’d bet she would have kept trying if another opportunity, almost as big a catch, hadn’t presented itself.
He hit Stop. The screen went black—as black as his thoughts.
He wouldn’t see it again. There was no point in replaying the living, breathing example of what he’d never have. He’d have a lifetime of experiencing it in real life.
He rose and threw down the remote. It took him seconds to get his bearings, to remember where this sitting room opened onto the veranda. He’d rented so many houses in the past two years that he regularly woke up not knowing immediately where he was, or even in which country.
Ever since his mother’s conspiracy had been exposed and the scandal had rocked the region, he’d been roaming the globe. His father and half brothers, Amjad, Harres and Shaheen, insisted that no one associated Haidar and him to her crimes. But he felt tainted by them anyway. He’d felt worse when he’d clashed with Haidar over that mess, and ended up placing the lion’s share of the blame on him. He’d driven Haidar to say he felt he no longer had a twin.
That breach had been resolved, thankfully, and he no longer felt sundered forever from his other half. But though he felt whole now that their relationship was regaining the closeness they’d once shared as children, that wholeness was still … hollow.
He walked across the marble-spread veranda and stopped at the cut-stone balustrade, looking out at the desert to a horizon that seemed farther away than ever.
What was he doing here?
Why was he trying to claim the throne of this land?
So it was up for grabs after the now former king of Azmahar, his maternal uncle, had abdicated after a public outcry and all his heirs had met with the same rejection. Just as his mother had almost destroyed Zohayd, her family had taken Azmahar to the edge of destruction, too. He’d thought he’d be lumped in with his maternal family as the last people Azmahar would want near the throne again. So he’d been shocked when those representing a third of the kingdom’s population had demanded he be their candidate. They’d insisted he wasn’t tainted by his family’s history and had the power and experience to save Azmahar. Even his Aal Munsoori blood was an asset, since people still considered the bloodline their rightful monarchs. But he had the potent advantage of mixing it with the Aal Shalaan blood, which would win them back their vital ally, Zohayd.
Still, why was he running for the throne? So he knew he was qualified for the position. But he also knew that he could swim among sharks, literally. He’d done it before. But that didn’t mean he should—and running for the position of king in such a chaotic land was worse than braving shark-infested waters. Not to mention the minefield of being pitted against his twin and his former-best-friend-turned-nemesis, Rashid.
He could find one real reason. Because if he didn’t do this, what else was there to do?
He’d exiled himself from Zohayd, had been performing from afar the royal duties his brothers hadn’t taken over in his absence. He’d installed such an efficient system to run his business empire, it took him only a few hours a day to orchestrate its almost self-perpetuating success. And he had no personal life. Apart from a few good-but-not-close friends, he had no one.
Sure, his family insisted he had them, and he supposed he did, in the big-picture sense, but on a daily basis? His family back in Zohayd he seldom saw. And he now had his twin back, but only in an emotional sense. As a newlywed and another candidate for the throne, Haidar had no real time for him.
No wonder he felt empty. As vacant as this desert, with as nonexistent a possibility for change.
An insistent noise broke the stillness of his surroundings. He frowned down at its origin. His cell phone.
It took him seconds to recognize the ring, one he’d assigned to a specific person. Fadi Aal Munsoori. A distant cousin, and the head of his security and his campaign for the throne.
Though Fadi came from the one branch of Jalal’s family on his mother’s side that he considered “family,” Fadi himself had never considered he had any relation to the former royal family of Azmahar. Fadi’s father had maintained marginal relations with them, but Fadi had renounced the relationship completely, not to mention publicly and viciously. The moment they’d been deposed, he’d pounced on the tribes he had influence over, had been the one who’d orchestrated their nomination of Jalal for king.
But even as the one he trusted with his life, his business, his campaign and even his secrets, Fadi had never accepted Jalal’s efforts to form a more personal relationship. Jalal insisted he was foremost a friend, but Fadi behaved like a knight of old with Jalal as his liege. He only ever called him when there was something urgent to convey or to discuss.
He almost wished Fadi would hit him with something huge to deal with, to get him out of this vacuum.
“Fadi, so good to hear from you.”
Not one to indulge in niceties, Fadi got to the point, his deep voice pouring its usual solemn gravity into Jalal’s ear.
“Considering you have not renewed my orders concerning this matter, or asked about any developments in the past two years, you may not be interested in what I have to tell you. But I decided to let you know in case you still are.”
Jalal’s gut tightened. This didn’t sound like something that concerned his business, his personal safety or his campaign. There was only one other thing Fadi had ever taken care of for him. One person he’d entrusted him with keeping tabs on. Lujayn.
It seemed he hadn’t groaned her name mentally but out loud, for Fadi said, “Yes, this is about Lujayn Morgan.”
The