Midnight in Arabia. Trish Morey
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“Thank you. It is my mother’s favorite flower.” She’d decided her mother chose the name so she would not forget it as easily as she and Iris’s father forgot their only child. “Nawar is lovely, as well. Do you know what it means?”
“It means flower. Papa named me.”
Iris did not know why Asad had named his daughter rather than his wife doing so; perhaps it was a Bedouin tradition, though that sounded rather odd considering the other cultural norms she had read about among his nomadic people.
It was those norms that made it possible for Iris to stay in Asad’s familial tent, but would have made it impossible if he did not live with his grandparents. She could wish he’d broken more cultural norms and moved into his own dwelling, so she didn’t have to.
“Your papa is very good at naming little girls, I think.”
“I do, too.” Nawar smiled shyly. “What is haranguing? Do you know?”
Asad huffed something that could have been a laugh.
Iris stifled her own humor and answered, “It’s like nagging.”
Nawar turned her head to glare at her father. “I don’t nag, Papa.”
“Sometimes, little jewel, you do.”
The little girl sniffed and it was all Iris could do not to burst out laughing. An urge Iris surprisingly felt several times over the next hour, while sharing more tea and refreshments with Asad’s family. His grandfather joined them not long after Nawar had arrived, evincing the same pleasure in Iris’s presence as Genevieve had done.
Iris expected Russell to arrive any minute, but the minutes ticked by and he didn’t. When she asked, Iris was told he had been given a tour of the encampment by one of Asad’s tourist liaisons.
She couldn’t quite suppress her disappointment at the news. “Oh, I would have liked to have joined him.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. I planned to give you a tour later,” Asad said with satisfaction.
Iris just stopped herself from gaping and said, “I wouldn’t want to take up more of your valuable time as sheikh.”
The man was relentless. He wanted to renew their friendship and he would make that happen. One way or another. Maybe he did regret the way things had happened between them and this was his attempt at making up for it, but still … she hadn’t imagined that predatory look in his eyes, either.
He probably saw nothing wrong with adding sex to their friendship. He’d done it once before, after all.
“Nonsense, you are a guest in our home. Asad would not dream of neglecting you while you are here,” his grandfather said with finality.
Iris thought she knew where the younger sheikh had gotten his arrogance, and it wasn’t from a stranger. But the older man’s point about the Bedouin tradition of hospitality could not be ignored, either. From what she had read, it was not a matter of pride, but one of honor.
And honor could not be dismissed.
“May I go, Papa?” Nawar asked.
Iris smiled at the little girl in encouragement, but Asad shook his head. “You will be napping, I am afraid.”
“I’m not tired.” Nawar negated the words almost instantly by rubbing her eye with her small fist. “I want to go.”
Her father pulled Nawar into his lap and kissed her temple. “You need your rest, but be assured Iris will still be here when you wake and for many days after. Won’t you, Iris?”
Iris could do nothing but agree. Asad and his cousin had maneuvered her neatly into a situation she saw no way out of without severe damage to her career.
Genevieve showed Iris to her room while Asad put Nawar down for a nap.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Both private and luxurious, the apartment was larger than she’d expected.
The bed was ground level and a single, though. Covered in rich silks a deep teal color she’d always loved, it looked very comfortable nonetheless. Graced with fluffy pillows Iris was certain just from looking at them were of the finest down, the bed tempted her to simply sink down and take her own afternoon nap.
Genevieve nodded and smiled. “Asad had someone come in and change the decor to better fit in with the rest of our home after Badra’s death. During their brief marriage, moving this room alone was almost as big of a job as moving the entire encampment.”
“I’m … this used to be the princess’s room?” Iris asked faintly, relieved that while still luxurious, it wasn’t anywhere near as ostentatious as Genevieve implied it had once been.
Though the fact the princess had called it her own would explain the amount of space dedicated to it in a Bedouin tent, regardless of the fact the sheikh’s dwelling was probably one of the largest in the encampment.
“Oh, yes.” Genevieve indicated the fabric wall the bed butted up against. “Asad’s room is just on the other side.”
“But isn’t that … I mean, aren’t the male and female quarters separated?”
“In a traditional tent, yes, but I must admit to making some changes in our home when I married Hanif and Badra made even more. While the receiving room is traditional, the way we divide what used to be considered the women’s space is quite different.”
“I see.” Though honestly, Iris felt very much in the dark.
“Hakim and I have the room at the end, beyond the interior kitchen. Fadwa and Nawar share the room between it and us. And you are correct, in the Bedouin culture, usually a single woman would stay in that room with them, but Asad has decreed you would be more comfortable in Badra’s old lodgings.”
The older woman waited as if expecting Iris to say something, so she said, “Um … I’m sure he’s right.”
Neither woman commented on the fact that the sheikh and his wife had not shared sleeping quarters. But Iris couldn’t help speculating on the why of it. Had the virtuous Badra found the wedding bed too onerous?
Unimaginable. How could any woman not fall under the sensual spell Asad created in the bedroom? When they were together, she’d craved his touch with an intensity that had shamed her after the breakup. At the time though, she’d been enthralled by the beauty and passion of their lovemaking.
It was simply unfathomable to her that another woman would be indifferent to Asad’s sexual prowess.
Needing to redirect her thoughts, Iris reached out to touch the brass pitcher beside a matching basin on top of the single chest of drawers. “This is lovely.”
Decorated with an intricate design surrounding a proud peacock, it was polished to a bright sheen.
“The water in the pitcher is clean. You may drink it, or use it to wash,” Genevieve said. “Someone will come to dispose of the water in the basin for you. It will be used to water my garden in the back, so it is important you only use the soap provided.”
Iris picked up the bar of handmade soap and sniffed. The fragrance of jasmine mixed with sage. “I’ll be happy to. This is wonderful.”
“I am glad you think so.” Something in her tone said that perhaps the perfect princess, Badra, had not. “We make it here in the encampment.”
Iris noted that her case was beside the chest, but she hadn’t seen anyone come in while they were visiting over tea. “Is there another entrance to the tent?”
Genevieve nodded with a warm smile. “Through the kitchen. I will show you the rest of our humble home, if you would like?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
The tent dwelling was anything but humble, the private compartments all endowed with the same level of luxury as Iris’s