Sheikh's Ex-Girlfriend (Khayyam Sheikh Series #1) (11 page)

***

Marid dodged the man stalking out Nasim's office with alacrity, but he couldn't fail to see the man's furious looks.

“Went through another secretary?” he asked, and the look of black fury on his friend's face sobered him at once.

“Incompetent. I'm beginning to think that they send me idiots just to make me angry.”

“Or perhaps you're heartbroken over your Ella, and you are taking it out on anyone around you who can't fight back. Very commendable.”

“I fail to see what you are getting at when you cautioned me against forgetting where the relationship was going,” Nasim snapped. “You were the one who told me to look ahead to what needed to happen.”

Marid shrugged. “And you did, and it fell apart. It was going to do that sooner rather than later.”

Nasim seized his temper and held on tight. It was too easy for Marid, who had always treated romance like some kind of game that he could play without effort.

“Did you come in to do something useful, or are you going to just run your mouth until I throw you out?”

“As a matter of fact, I do want to go out. There is an art opening downtown, and as it does include some interesting examples of Arana artwork, I'm expected to make an appearance. After that, why don't we go and find some fun? You could use some, and at the very least, it might convince you to stop harassing your staff to the point of furious walkouts.”

Nasim wanted nothing less than to wander through an art gallery full of pretentious critics while trying to look interested. However, he had not been out in quite some time, and there was something appealing about the idea of going out and forgetting his cares afterward. Even as he agreed, however, he felt a strange brushing of dark wings over his heart.

Something important was going to happen this evening, he knew it, but whether it would be good or bad, he had no idea.

***

She had been out of western dress for so long that Ella felt remarkably exposed. Instead of the tunics and trousers she had been wearing, she had bought a black sequined cocktail dress for the museum exhibit. It was lovely, clinging to her form and hinting at curves that she didn't really have, but it was so short, especially after she put on her heels.

The evening was just getting started, and she already felt a little tired. Her plans to flee Dalal were going nowhere fast; first Joe needed her there for one more event, and then one more. Regarding the one she was attending that night, he had been implacable.

“There are a lot of contacts to make and networking to be done, kiddo. I didn't put you out there to read manuscripts; you're supposed to be my eyes on the ground.”

“All right,” she had replied. “But after this, we are having a serious sit-down and we are going to talk about where I am going to be next.”

He had agreed, albeit reluctantly, and so she had appeared at the museum opening. It was a pleasant affair, if slightly dull, and Joe had been right on the money. There were plenty of people who might like to invest in foreign publishing, and more than one up-and-coming writer present, trying to get inspiration for their work.

Ella was just congratulating herself on a job well done when she glimpsed a familiar face across the hall. It was hard to mistake Marid's laugh and excited gesturing, but it wasn't Marid that she was worried about. Her heart beating a little faster, she scanned the crowd, and sure enough, dressed in an impeccable tuxedo and looking as lordly as a lion, was Nasim.

She had thought that not seeing him for a few weeks would blunt her pain, but the moment she laid eyes on him, she felt a fresh burst of panic and grief.

I can't do this,
she thought.
I'll just tell Joe that I got sick and that I had to leave.

To her alarm, she saw Nasim start to walk in her direction. She didn't think that he had seen her yet, but if he continued and she stayed put, that would be inevitable. A part of her yearned to speak with him again, even if it was brief, but the greater part of her, the part that understood pain and the darkness it could bring, urged her to bolt.

In the end, it was no choice at all, and she walked quickly into the deepest part of the crowd. She realized with irritation that she was taking herself further from the exit, and so she darted into the restroom to compose herself.

The bathroom had a rather plush seating area inside the door, and Ella sat on the couch, trying to gather her wits about her. She was just planning her escape when an older woman came and sat in one of the wing chairs across from her.

The woman was perhaps in her seventies, dressed to kill in a chocolate and gold tunic and deep gold trousers, and there was a kind of dignity to her that made Ella feel rather shabby. However, at the moment, the woman didn't look as if she was condescending to anyone. Instead, she looked like she was having difficulties breathing.

Ella stood up in alarm, watching for a frozen moment as the woman turned pale. She patted at her chest, her motions awkward and erratic, and her whole body was shivering.

A pair of women opened the door, and froze at the tableau in front of them.

“Call an ambulance,” Ella snapped, and then she repeated herself in Arabic. The other two women dashed out of the bathroom leaving them alone, and Ella went to kneel by the older woman's side.

“Can you speak to me?” she asked in Arabic. “Please stay calm and keep breathing. Help is on the way.”

The woman's head jerked up to hear her speaking, and she began to talk so quickly that Ella felt a touch of panic. She couldn't understand this woman's speech because of the speed at which she was speaking, but she could make out a few words.

Heart … heart problems … heart attack.

Ella felt her own heart speed up in sympathy, and she took the old woman's hand in hers. To her shock, the old woman jerked her hand away, patting at her purse, and finally Ella understood.

In a blind panic, she upended the enormous purse on the coffee table in front of them. There were so many things, but in among the tissues, the candies, and the wallet, she found a blister pack of pills.

Nitroglycerin, dissolve under tongue.

 She fumbled the shiny capsules out of their sheathing, and when it looked like the woman couldn't reach for them herself, Ella took a deep breath and slid the pill into the old woman's mouth, trying to press them under her tongue.

She didn't realize that she was holding the old woman's hand until she calmed down, until the trembling stopped and the woman smiled tiredly at her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and the woman nodded.

 They sat for another few moments, and the old woman climbed imperiously to her feet, taking Ella's arm as if she was perfectly justified in doing so. Together, they walked out of the bathroom, and were confronted by a sea of staring people.

For a moment, Ella had no idea what to do, but then a pair of paramedics were pushing their way through the crowd. They were accompanied by a handsome middle-aged woman in turquoise who looked strangely familiar to Ella, but at the moment, she had no time for anyone but her mother.

The older woman was resistant to being put on a stretcher, but her daughter prevailed. Before she was wheeled away, however, she shot a blinding smile towards Ella and a final wave.

 Ella could feel herself trembling with relief that things had ended so well, and she was just on the verge of looking for a glass of water when the woman in turquoise turned towards her.

In the space of a heartbeat, she figured out where she knew the woman. She wasn't a literary agent or an author, she was Samira Bakkal, Nasim's mother.

“You have done a very good deed,” Samira began, but then she blinked. “Don't I know you, my dear?”

“No, I'm sorry, but I am sure that you don't,” she said. She would have excused herself, but suddenly, her elbow was grasped by an immovable force, and she was kept still. She looked up to see that it was Nasim who had his hand on her arm, but he was looking straight at his mother.

“You do know her,” Nasim said softly. “Mother, this is Ella Daniels. This is the woman that I love and that I want to marry.”

Ella felt her jaw drop, felt the blood rush from her face. She was glad that Nasim was holding her arm, because otherwise she might have been knocked over with a feather.

“Nasim! What are you—”

Samira Bakkal was the veteran of hundreds of public relations skirmishes. Even as stressed as she was about her mother's medical emergency, she still took a quick look around before ushering Nasim and Ella into a small gallery to one side. There was a door that she could close behind them, and she did this while completely ignoring the sign that forbade it.

“I do remember you,” Samira said, turning to Ella. “And before I say anything else, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you did. My mother has become increasingly frail in recent years, and though we do try to keep our eyes open, as you can see, it is sometimes not enough.”

She gave Ella a smile that was nearly blinding in its intensity and sincerity. It was Nasim's charm and kindness, and for a moment, Ella felt a deep pang inside her for a family that was so close and so kind. She and Emmaline were all each other had, and she could see why, for Nasim, family had to be everything.

“Ma'am, you're very, very welcome, I promise you. I am only glad I was there to help, but please, I need to talk to Nasim—”

Samira's smile was fierce. “I can see that you do,” she said, before turning to Nasim. “This—I want you to know that I approve of this. I can see that you're still braced for the storm, and what I can tell you right this moment is that it is not coming. Times change, and so must we. This woman was charming when you first brought her to see us, and she has only grown in my eyes.”

“You were cold to her when I brought her,” Nasim growled, but his mother took no notice.

“I was silent,” she corrected. “It was a different time with your brother. Now this is your reign, and as your mother, I must trust you to make it yours.”

She glanced at Ella again, the smile a little smaller but no less genuine.

“You are lovely,” she said. “I hope very much that I will see you again soon.”

Samira swept out of the room like a turquoise hurricane, and when the door shut behind her, there was a deep silence. Ella was painfully aware of Nasim behind her, but she couldn't find the courage to turn around. Her heart was still beating frantically from helping Nasim's grandmother get her medication in time, and she was still reeling from what Nasim himself had confessed.

“Ella … Ella, I want you to turn around,” he said softly. “We must talk.”

“What … what can there possibly be between us?” she said hoarsely. “What in the world can we have when we are so different?”

“A life,” Nasim murmured. “A whole one, a full one. Please, love, take my apologies for trying to offer you anything less. I never meant to shame you.”

She couldn't see his face at the moment, but she knew that it would be twisted with sorrow. This was hurting him as well as it hurt her, but she wasn't ready to forgive him, not yet.

“Then why did you do it? Why did you tell me that I could be your mistress, someone you kept to one side while you had your real life?”

“Because I was afraid. Because I was afraid of both what the country and my family would say, and I was afraid of what life would be like without you. At first, when I made that offer, I thought that I was afraid of both of those things in equal measure.”

“And now?”

“And after that moment, I realized that the pain of losing you would be far, far worse than anything I could bear. I should never have tried to compromise between my fears and your place in my heart. When I look back on it, it is something that makes me very ashamed. Please, please, Ella, turn around.”

She couldn't.

Ella dug her fingers into her palms hard. Her heart felt like it was ripping in two. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and to embrace the man she had loved for five years. She also wanted to run away so that he could never hurt her again.

“I don't know if I can,” she said, her voice a tortured whisper. “I don't know if I can let you … let you in again.”

He was as silent as the wind, but she could sense him stepping closer to her, coming so close that she could simply lean back and be pressed against his chest.

“You can,” he said. “I swear to you in this moment that I will never push you away again. I will never allow you to be pulled from me. Once we are married, I will devote my entire life to making you feel as wanted and as loved as you deserve, and Ella, you deserve so much to be loved. Please, turn around and say yes.”

She couldn't. There were tears running down her cheeks, tears that she had been holding back for weeks.

“What if you hurt me again?” Her question was as plaintive as a solitary cry on a winter night. She heard him groan deep in his chest, a sound of grief and regret.

“I never will,” he swore. “On my life, on the lives of my ancestors and on my country, I will never hurt you again. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

With each word he spoke, it was as if a pain deep inside her was being soothed. Finally, she could let his love in. Finally, she could understand, truly believe, that it would go right this time.

Ella turned around.

She was immediately wrapped up in Nasim's arms, held so tight that she could barely breathe.

“Thank you, thank you, you will not regret this.”

“I love you,” she whispered. “Oh god, I love you so much. Please, just let me keep loving you.”

“Every day,” he promised. “Every moment of every day, until we die and if the heavens are kind, after that as well.”

***

A few days later, she was back in front of her desk, and she picked up the manuscript that had affected her so deeply. She had let the writer know that it was being considered, and now finally she finished it.

As it had before, it caught Ella up in a wild ride of emotion and passion and then …

… And then it ended happily.

 She started to laugh. It was perfect. She didn't feel cheated. The characters had decided that they needed happiness together more than anything else.