Sweet Revenge (6 page)

“I want the top.”

“I know. The last time you wanted it you bumped your head trying to climb up and get it when I wasn’t here.” And when the king had heard of it, Adrianne had been confined to her room for a week. “Close your eyes.”

He grinned, and shook his head.

Grinning right back at him, Adrianne bent down until they were nose to nose. “Close your eyes, my brother, or no top.” His eyes snapped shut. “If you are very good, I will let you keep it all day.” As she spoke she backed away from him, then she wiggled under the bed, where she kept the best of her treasures. Even as she reached for the top, Fahid wiggled under beside her. “Fahid!” With the exasperation mothers show to their favored children, she pinched his cheek. “You are very bad.”

“I love Adrianne.”

As always, her heart softened. She stroked his untidy hair back from his face and nuzzled his cheek. “I love Fahid. Even when he is bad.” She took the top and started back out, but his sharp eyes had landed on the Christmas ball.

“Pretty.” Delighted, he grabbed it with hands that were sticky with candy. “Mine.”

“It’s not yours.” She took his ankles to pull him out from under the bed. “And it’s a secret.” As they snuggled together on the rug, Adrianne put her hands on either side of Fahid’s and shook. The top was forgotten as they watched the snow fall. “It’s my most precious treasure.” She held it up so that the light shot through the glass. “A magic ball.”

“Magic.” His mouth hung slack as Adrianne tilted it again. “Let me, let me!” Taking it from her, he scrambled to his feet. “Magic. I want to show Mother.”

“No. Fahid, no.” Adrianne was up and after him as he raced to the door.

Thrilled by the new game, he set his short, husky legs pumping. His laughter rang off the walls as he raced, brandishing the glass ball like a trophy. To keep the game alive, he swerved into the tunnel that connected the women’s quarters with the king’s apartments.

Adrianne felt her first true concern then, and it made her hesitate. As a daughter of the house, the tunnel was forbidden to her. She stepped forward with the idea of luring Fahid back with a promise of some new treat. But when his laughter shut off abruptly, she hurried inside. He was sprawled, lips quivering, at Abdu’s feet.

Abdu looked so tall and so powerful as he stood, legs spread, staring down at his son. His white
throbe
skimmed
the floor where Fahid had fallen. The lights in the tunnel were dim, but Adrianne could see the glint of anger in his eyes.

“Where is your mother?”

“Please, sir.” Adrianne rushed forward. She kept her head bowed in submission while her heartbeat thundered. “I was caring for my brother.”

He looked at her, the tumbled hair, the dust on her dress, her damp, nervous hands. He could have knocked her aside with one sweep of his arm. His pride told him she was worth not even that. “You do a poor job of caring for the prince.”

She said nothing, knowing no response was expected. She kept her head lowered so that he couldn’t see the flash of fury in her eyes.

“Tears are not for men, and never for kings,” he said, but he bent with some gentleness to set Fahid on his feet. It was then he noticed the ball his son still gripped tightly. “Where did you get this?” The anger was back, slicing like a sword. “This is forbidden.” He snatched the ball from Fahid and made him wail. “Would you disgrace me, disgrace our house?”

Because she knew her fathers hand could strike quickly and with force, Adrianne stepped between him and her brother. “It belongs to me. I gave it to him.”

She braced for the blow, but it never came. Rather than fury, she confronted ice. Adrianne learned that cold disinterest could be the most painful of punishments. Her eyes had filled, but facing her father, she fought back the tears. He wanted her to cry, she felt it. If dry eyes were her only defense, then hers would remain dry.

“So you would corrupt my son? Give him Christian symbols in the guise of a toy? I should have expected treachery from such as you.” He flung the ball against the wall, shattering it. Terrified, Fahid clung to Adrianne’s legs. “Go back to the women, where you belong. From this moment you are forbidden to care for Fahid.”

He snatched up his son and turned away. Fahid, his face wet and swollen, reached out for her and called her name.

Disgrace made her strong. It made her silent. It made her proud. Over the months that followed, Phoebe worried about Adrianne. For years Phoebe had lived with her own unhappiness, using it like a crutch because she saw no choice. Her American way of life had ended when she had stepped onto the soil of her husband’s country. From the beginning, the laws and traditions of Jaquir had been against her. She was a woman, and as such, despite her own beliefs, despite her own desires, she was forced to conform.

Over the years Phoebe had found one comfort to ease her imprisonment. In her eyes Adrianne had been content, even suited to the life in Jaquir. She had a heritage, a title, a position even the king’s disfavor couldn’t take from her. She had family, playmates. She had security.

Phoebe knew that Westerners were beginning to come in droves to Jaquir and the Middle East, lured by oil. And because of this new state of affairs she saw reporters again and played the role of the fairy-tale desert queen. Abdu wanted the money and technology the West would bring, even while he detested Westerners for providing them. With Westerners pouring into Jaquir, there would be progress. In time there even might be liberation. She was clinging to that—not for herself any longer, but for Adrianne. As the months went by, she began to see that if new freedoms did come to Jaquir, they would arrive too late to benefit her daughter.

Adrianne was quietly obedient but no longer happy. She played games with the other girls and listened to her grandmother’s stories, but she was no longer young. Phoebe began to long for home more fiercely than ever before. She began to
dream of going back, taking Adrianne, of showing her daughter a world beyond the laws and limitations of Jaquir.

But even as she dreamed, she didn’t believe it possible. So she took her escape where she could find it, in tranquilizers and forbidden liquor.

She was not a sophisticated woman. In spite of her rise in the glittery world of entertainment, she had remained very much the naive girl from the small farm in Nebraska. In her days in movie making, she had seen drinking and drug use. But in a way that was innate to her, she passed over what was unpleasant and believed in illusions.

In Jaquir she became an addict, though she was ignorant of it. Drugs made the days bearable and blurred the nights. She had lived in the Middle East almost as long as she had lived in California, but with drugs she blissfully lost track of time and of the fact that she had become as much of an illusion here as the women she had played on the screen.

To be called to Abdu’s apartments filled Phoebe with fear. They never spoke privately now. In public, when he wished it, they portrayed themselves as a couple from a romance. The breathtaking movie star and the elegant king. Though Abdu detested cameras, he allowed the press to photograph them together. He trod a delicate line between the traditional leader of his culture and the symbol of progress. But dollars, deutsche marks, and yen were flowing into his country as oil flowed out.

He was a man who had been educated in the West and who could dine with presidents and prime ministers, leaving them with the impression of a brilliant and open mind. He had been raised in Jaquir, bred on Islam. In his youth he had believed there could be a merging. Now he saw the West only as a threat, even an abomination to Allah. Those beliefs had crystallized because of Phoebe. She was his symbol of the corruption and the dishonor.

He looked at her now as she stood before him in a black dress that covered her from neck to ankle. Her hair was bound in a scarf so that not a hint of fire showed. Her skin was pale, not as creamy as it once had been, and her eyes were dull.

Drugs, Abdu thought with disgust. He knew about them but chose to ignore them.

He tapped a finger on the edge of his ebony desk, knowing every moment he made her wait her fear increased. “You have been invited to Paris to participate in a charity ball:”

“Paris?”

“It appears that there has been a revival of your films. Perhaps people find it amusing to watch the wife of the King of Jaquir expose herself.”

Her head snapped up. He was smiling at her, waiting for her to protest so that he could crush even that small defiance. But she spoke quietly. “There was a time the King of Jaquir was also pleased to watch Phoebe Spring.”

His smile faded. He remembered with self-loathing the hours he had spent watching her, desiring her. “It is thought that your presence would be of interest to those who attend this charity affair.”

Phoebe fought to keep calm, to keep her voice level. “You will permit me to go to Paris?”

“I have business there. It will be convenient for my American wife to accompany me and show Jaquir’s link with the West. You understand what is expected of you.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” It wouldn’t do to appear too pleased, but she couldn’t prevent a smile. “A ball. In Paris?”

“A dress is being designed. You will wear The Sun and the Moon and present yourself as expected of the wife of the King of Jaquir. If you cause me shame, you will ‘develop an indisposition’ and be sent back at once.”

“I understand perfectly.” The idea of Paris, just the idea, made her stronger. “Adrianne—”

“Arrangements have been made for her,” Abdu interrupted.

“Arrangements?” She felt the lick of fear at the base of her neck. She should have remembered that whenever Abdu gave with one hand, he took with the other. “What kind of arrangements?”

“They do not concern you.”

“Please.” She had to be careful, very careful. “I only want to prepare her, to be certain she is an asset to the House of Jaquir.” Phoebe bowed her head but couldn’t stop her fingers from twisting and knotting together. “I am only a woman, and she is my one child.”

Abdu lowered himself into the chair behind his desk but
didn’t gesture for Phoebe to sit. “She is to go to Germany, to school. We have found this a good arrangement for females of rank before their marriages.”

“No! Dear God, Abdu, don’t send her to school so far away.” Forgetting pride, forgetting caution, she charged around the desk to drop at his feet. “You can’t take her. She’s all I have. You don’t care what happens to her. It can’t matter to you if she stays with me.”

He took her hands at the wrists and removed them from where she clutched at his
throbe
. “She is a member of the House of Jaquir. The fact that your blood runs through her veins is only more reason for her to be separated and properly trained before her betrothal to Kadeem al-Misha.”

“Betrothal?” Wild with fear, Phoebe clutched at him again. “She’s only a child. Even in Jaquir you don’t marry off children.”

“She will be married on her fifteenth birthday. The arrangements are nearly complete. Then she will at last be of some use to me as the wife of an ally.” He took Phoebe’s hands again, but this time hauled her against him. “Be grateful that I do not give her to an enemy.”

She was breathing heavily, her face close to his. For one blinding instant she wanted to kill him with her bare hands, to drag her fingers down his face and watch the blood run. If it would have saved Adrianne, she would have done it. Force would never work, nor would reason. She still had guile.

“Forgive me.” She let herself go limp. She let her eyes fill now, let them shimmer. “I’m weak and selfish. I was thinking only of losing my child, not of how generous you are to make a good marriage for her.” She dropped back down to a kneeling position, careful to keep her pose subservient in the extreme, then she wiped her eyes as if coming to her senses. “I am a foolish woman, Abdu, but not so foolish that I cannot be grateful. She will learn to be a proper wife in Germany. I hope you will be proud of her.”

“I will do my duty by her.” He gestured impatiently for her to stand.

“Perhaps you would consider allowing her to accompany us to Paris.” Her heart was pounding against her ribs as she folded her hands. “Many men prefer a wife who has traveled, who is able to accompany them on business or pleasure trips
and be a help rather than a hindrance. Because of her rank, a great deal will be expected of Adrianne. I wouldn’t want her to cause you embarrassment. The education you received in Europe and the experiences you had there have certainly given you a better understanding of the world and Jaquir’s place in it.”

His first thought had been to dismiss the idea out of hand, but her last words hit home. He believed strongly that his time in cities like Paris, London, and New York had made him a better king and a more pure child of Allah.

“I will consider it.”

She bit back the urge to beg and bowed her head. “Thank you.”

Phoebe’s heart was still pounding when she returned to her room. She wanted a drink, a pill, oblivion. Instead, she lay on the bed and forced herself to think.

All the years wasted, waiting for Abdu to return to the man he had once been, for her life to return. She had remained in Jaquir because he had demanded it, because even if she had somehow managed to escape, he would have taken Adrianne.

Because she’d been weak, confused, afraid, she had lived almost ten years of her life in bondage. Not Adrianne. Never Adrianne. No matter what she had to do, she wasn’t going to see Adrianne taken away, given to some stranger to live her life out as a virtual prisoner.

The first step was Paris, she told herself as she wiped a film of sweat from her brow. She would get Adrianne to Paris, and they would never come back.

“When I go to Paris, I will buy trunkfuls of beautiful clothes.” Duja watched Adrianne slip on a gold bracelet and tried not to be jealous. “My father says we will eat at a place called Maxim’s and that I will have anything I want.”

Adrianne turned. Her palms were continually damp from nerves, but she was afraid to wipe them on her dress. “I will bring you a present.”