The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition. Jennifer Lewis
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waist.
Salim swallowed. “I’m very happy for you. Naturally, since I’ve been here in Oman all the time, I’ve been surrounded by the past and have had no need or desire to run away from it.”
He looked sideways at Celia. She stood rigid as a statue. No doubt she felt herself an unfortunate intruder in this family tableau. He quickly glanced out the window.
“Sometimes you can run from something without even knowing it.” Elan’s low voice penetrated the fog of his thoughts. “It’s even harder to find your way back, in that case.”
Salim frowned. “You speak in riddles, brother. I’m simply glad you’re here and I intend to keep you here as long as possible.”
“I’ll tell you, it feels really good to be back. We’ll have to make a habit of it.” Elan smiled at Sara.
She nodded. “I’d love Hannah and Ben to grow up knowing their Omani family, and being aware of their heritage.” Her eyes shone. “We should visit as often as possible.”
Salim watched his little niece, now crawling across the stone floor with impressive speed. His heart filled with joy, and a sense of purpose fulfilled. “You’re welcome here every single day, literally. Nothing could mean more to me than to bring our family together again.”
A sudden fit of coughing took Celia by surprise, and she struggled to get it under control. “Sorry! I don’t know what happened,” she stammered, when she finally managed to stop and take a sip from the shared Thermos.
“The dry air,” said Elan, reassuring, as usual. “Can you believe that a family of five and at least five servants lived in this house?”
Celia’s eyes widened. “Are there more rooms?”
“There’d better be.” Elan chuckled. “Can’t have men and women in the same room. Anything might happen.” He winked.
Salim narrowed his eyes. Some traditions had rather fallen by the wayside, at least in the bustling coastal cities. Still, better for Celia to see how different life was here than in the States.
Salim held a curtain aside so they could walk through the doorway into the next room. “Our room,” Elan said as he stared, then glanced up at Sara. “Though Salim forgot the bed. We brothers shared one. We used to make up crazy stories in here, while the grown-ups were still sitting out in the courtyard. Wow, that was a long time ago. Probably the happiest time of my life, until I met Sara.”
Sara glanced at Celia, who still stood there as if she’d seen a ghost. “He was far too busy working to be happy, until I sorted him out.”
“Look who’s talking, Miss Workaholic.” Elan prodded her with his fingertips.
“That’s Mrs. Workaholic, to you.” Sara gave him a playful shove. “It’s true, though. We both helped each other mellow out. I think when you enjoy your work it’s good to marry someone else who’s career-oriented. Then no one’s left moping at home. What do you think, Celia?”
Celia’s elegant throat contracted as she swallowed. “I suppose so.” Her voice was scratchy. “I’ve never been married.”
“It’s not easy to meet the right person,” mused Sara. “And sometimes they take some time to realize it themselves.”
Salim frowned. Were they trying to cook up mischief again? Couldn’t they see that Celia would rather be anywhere but here? No doubt all this talk of family and Omani traditions made her want to run for cover.
He frowned. “Let’s go.”
Salim and his family had left Celia at the site to finish her work. She’d almost died during all the talk of family and togetherness.
How would they feel about her if they knew she was hiding a member of their own family from them?
It hurt that she was depriving Kira of her own family and heritage. Not to mention depriving Salim of the family he so openly craved.
She’d decided to tell him about Kira tonight. Whatever happened between them had happened, and she couldn’t do anything about that now. All she could do was try to make the future brighter for all of them.
She was sure he’d come see her.
But he didn’t.
Probably busy with work. She knew he had business dinners several nights a week. And he did have family visiting. Maybe they needed some time to themselves.
At least that’s how she tried to reassure herself.
After a fitful night of broken sleep, she decided to go for a quick run on the beach to shake off stress. Exercise made almost anything easier to cope with.
Sensitive to Oman’s conservative sensibilities, she dressed in light cotton pants and a shirt rather than her usual jogging bra and shorts. It was actually cooler to keep herself covered, she’d discovered. Which no doubt explained why most people in this region didn’t expose their bare skin to the punishing sun.
No one paid attention to thermometers here. There were only two temperatures: hot, and very, very hot. Compared to the misery of the Connecticut winter she was missing, she wasn’t complaining.
Once dressed, she picked up the phone for her daily call to Kira. Her daughter’s garbled hello greeted her. This was Celia’s usual time to call, so her grandparents allowed Kira to answer the phone. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Mama come home.”
“Mama will be home soon, sweetie. Two weeks. That’s not long, is it?”
It felt like an eternity.
“Mama come home today.” Tears thickened the words.
“I wish I could, lovie, but Mama has to work.”
“Kira come, too, and help you work.” Her little voice brightened and Celia could picture those dark eyes filled with excitement at her new idea.
Celia’s chest constricted. “I wish you could, my baby. I wish you could.” Tears threatened and she sucked in a deep breath.
“Why can’t I?” Her brave voice sounded suddenly so grown-up.
Why couldn’t she? She was too young to need to attend school. There was truly no reason why she couldn’t “help” while Celia arranged potted portacula plants and studied the fall of shade over garden walls.
Except that this was her father’s home.
And he didn’t know she existed.
“I … I …” Celia’s voice shook. She needed to get control of herself quickly and reassure Kira there was nothing wrong. “One day you’ll be big enough to help me.”
“When?” Again, the forceful clarity of a child far older than three.
“Soon,” she lied. What was one more lie? Except that each one seemed to eat another hole in her soul. “Do you want me to sing you a song?”
“Okay Mama.” Her reply didn’t conceal her disappointment. “You sing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby.’”
Celia gulped and inhaled. The song was so familiar she usually didn’t pay attention to the words, but today they rang with threatening prescience, echoing from one side of the world to another. “… When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, down will come baby, cradle and all.” Her voice wavered and she tried to turn it into a laugh.
She was so afraid of breaking that bough. Of rocking the safe world she’d tried to create for Kira thousands of miles away in Connecticut. But she was learning that sooner or later it had to break, and she’d just have to do her best to catch her.
Brushing away tears, she hung up the phone with promises that she’d send more pictures from her cell phone and tell Kira exactly what she ate for breakfast.
Running shoes