a bundle, the fortune you intimated I got from a ‘sponsor’ of my own. I bought the apartment, put the rest for Mennah in a trust fund, since I earn enough to support us both in comfort. See, I overestimated the complexity of my life. That’s one page, triple-spaced.”
Farooq stared at her, thoughts rearranging, long-entrenched ones being forced out, new questions rushing at him.
She’d been born then had been married into money. But she’d implied her father hadn’t supported her after she’d moved out, that her ex-husband had divorced her without compensation. Was that why she’d accepted Tareq’s mission? Had she gotten so used to the good life her mother and her “sponsors” followed by her father and her ex’s wealthy family had provided that she couldn’t bear to wait months till she claimed her inheritance?
That no longer felt like enough of a motive. Or a motive at all. Not with her disinterest in anything material while she’d been with him replaying in his mind, another manifestation that had the conviction, the texture of truth.
So it hadn’t been about money after all? Had it been maybe a reckless lashing out after all the major relationships in her life had failed or ended, throwing herself into something dangerous, maybe even self-destructive? She could have easily been throwing herself into an abyss when she’d thrown herself in his arms. She’d had no way of knowing he’d turn out to be a civilized or even sane human being, let alone the lavish lover he’d been with her. He could have been a monster who lived to collect slaves, or to abuse beauties and maim them before snuffing out their lives.
Suddenly he was incensed. Far more so than he’d ever been. At her for endangering herself that way. Whether her goal had been financial gain or temporary rebellion or oblivion.
His rage deflated as fast as it had mushroomed.
No. She might have been groping for the catharsis of a wild fling with a sheikh prince, or the fantasy of playing Mata Hari or securing a quick fortune or all combined. But she hadn’t risked herself. She had known she’d be safe with him, would be cared for and catered to, pleasured and pampered. She’d known it, felt his nature and intentions with the first look into his eyes.
As he’d thought he’d felt her nature and intentions with the first look into hers?
But if what he’d seen was all she owned, and he could now find out the truth about her inheritance, if she still had to work, where had the money Tareq had said she’d cheated him for gone? Or had Tareq cheated her out of their agreed upon price?
Ya Ullah, was this how men went insane, revolving in unending loops of suspicion?
Kaffa. Enough. It didn’t matter anymore, how it had been.
Suheeh? Really? If he told himself that enough times, would it register so he could finally let it go?
Another question blasted through, proving that letting go didn’t seem possible. But then, it was a paramount question.
How had his people not found out all she’d just told him?
Before the question fully formed, the answer detonated in his mind. Tareq. His counterintelligence must have foiled Farooq’s investigations, in fear he’d find her, find Mennah, the final card pulverizing Tareq’s conspiracies to hang on to the succession.
B’Ellahi, how had he not seen this before?
Loathing for his cousin shot to a new zenith.
But anger and hatred aside, now that he knew what he had to counteract—what he might not need to counteract now that Tareq had no more reason to block his research into her past—it would be easy to check out her story. As she must know he would.
This meant one thing. She’d told him the truth.
His gaze clung to her averted profile. He no longer saw the seductress who’d breached his barriers, entrenched herself in his responses, his fantasies, his cravings, or the traitor who’d deprived him of his child, who’d almost let Judar’s throne fall into the hands of a man guaranteed
Farooq stared at her, thoughts rearranging, long-entrenched ones being forced out, new questions rushing at him.
She’d been born then had been married into money. But she’d implied her father hadn’t supported her after she’d moved out, that her ex-husband had divorced her without compensation. Was that why she’d accepted Tareq’s mission? Had she gotten so used to the good life her mother and her “sponsors” followed by her father and her ex’s wealthy family had provided that she couldn’t bear to wait months till she claimed her inheritance?
That no longer felt like enough of a motive. Or a motive at all. Not with her disinterest in anything material while she’d been with him replaying in his mind, another manifestation that had the conviction, the texture of truth.
So it hadn’t been about money after all? Had it been maybe a reckless lashing out after all the major relationships in her life had failed or ended, throwing herself into something dangerous, maybe even self-destructive? She could have easily been throwing herself into an abyss when she’d thrown herself in his arms. She’d had no way of knowing he’d turn out to be a civilized or even sane human being, let alone the lavish lover he’d been with her. He could have been a monster who lived to collect slaves, or to abuse beauties and maim them before snuffing out their lives.
Suddenly he was incensed. Far more so than he’d ever been. At her for endangering herself that way. Whether her goal had been financial gain or temporary rebellion or oblivion.
His rage deflated as fast as it had mushroomed.
No. She might have been groping for the catharsis of a wild fling with a sheikh prince, or the fantasy of playing Mata Hari or securing a quick fortune or all combined. But she hadn’t risked herself. She had known she’d be safe with him, would be cared for and catered to, pleasured and pampered. She’d known it, felt his nature and intentions with the first look into his eyes.
As he’d thought he’d felt her nature and intentions with the first look into hers?
But if what he’d seen was all she owned, and he could now find out the truth about her inheritance, if she still had to work, where had the money Tareq had said she’d cheated him for gone? Or had Tareq cheated her out of their agreed upon price?
Ya Ullah, was this how men went insane, revolving in unending loops of suspicion?
Kaffa. Enough. It didn’t matter anymore, how it had been.
Suheeh? Really? If he told himself that enough times, would it register so he could finally let it go?
Another question blasted through, proving that letting go didn’t seem possible. But then, it was a paramount question.
How had his people not found out all she’d just told him?
Before the question fully formed, the answer detonated in his mind. Tareq. His counterintelligence must have foiled Farooq’s investigations, in fear he’d find her, find Mennah, the final card pulverizing Tareq’s conspiracies to hang on to the succession.
B’Ellahi, how had he not seen this before?
Loathing for his cousin shot to a new zenith.
But anger and hatred aside, now that he knew what he had to counteract—what he might not need to counteract now that Tareq had no more reason to block his research into her past—it would be easy to check out her story. As she must know he would.
This meant one thing. She’d told him the truth.
His gaze clung to her averted profile. He no longer saw the seductress who’d breached his barriers, entrenched herself in his responses, his fantasies, his cravings, or the traitor who’d deprived him of his child, who’d almost let Judar’s throne fall into the hands of a man guaranteed
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