“A sampling of Maldhoom,” Ben said, watching as Eden popped a grape leaf into her mouth, closed her eyes as she savored the taste. “It is made of eggplant and a variety of seasonings. I can ask my cook to write down the recipe if you like.”
Eden wrinkled her nose. Just the way she’d wrinkled her nose at that small restaurant on the West Bank of Paris as she watched him eat his way through a plateful of snails. “Eggplant? Thanks, but I’ll pass. But these are eggrolls of some kind, aren’t they?”
“Shamboorek,” Ben told her, wondering how he could have forgotten how dedicated Eden could be to good food. “We have many varieties of eggrolls, but these, I do believe, are stuffed with ground lamb, onion, and seasoned with a variety of spices.”
Eden nodded her understanding, wiping her fingers on one of the linen napkins placed on the tray, then dabbing the napkin at her chin, which had collected a bit of the sauce from the Dolma. She took a sip of apple juice the servant had placed in front of her, then reached for the Shamboorek.
She had the eggroll halfway to her mouth before she stopped, looked at him, and a very becoming blush colored her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t eaten more than a few bites all day for one reason or another. I can’t believe I’m diving in like this!”
“But understandable. The fuller the mouth, the less one can be made to speak,” Ben said, lifting a glass of chilled apple juice to his own lips.
“What’s that, Ben?” Eden asked, putting the eggroll back on the plate. “Some kind of ancient proverb? If it is, I don’t like it.”
“Again, my apologies. And, please, continue to enjoy the food. I can remember now how much joy food gives you. A woman who enjoys the pleasures of the senses, and is not ashamed to indulge herself. Do you remember the night I fed you fresh strawberries in cream, Eden? How you licked the cream from my fingers, how I kissed the tart juice on your lips? So innocently sensual, so impossible to forget.”
“That’s it!” Eden said, tossing down her napkin. She stood, with only one quick, longing look toward the plate of Shamboorek. “I came, we spoke, and now I’m leaving. I’ll see you in the morning, Your Highness. And then I’ll count myself lucky if I never have to see you again!”
“Your Highness?”
Ben turned to see three of his servants standing in the hallway, one of them with sword already drawn. “We heard the raising of voices, Your Highness,” Haskim said. “There is trouble?”
Ben grinned up at Eden, who was glaring at the servants with enough anger in her eyes to most probably stop a charging rhino in its tracks. “Do you want to see what would happen if I were to say ‘Sic her, boys’?” he murmured quietly, so that only Eden could hear. “Or maybe you would just rather sit down once more, and enjoy your Shamboorek.”
As Eden stood, and steamed, Ben waved the servants out of the room, wondering just how far Nadim had told them to go, how close Nadim had ordered them to stay.
With that thought in his mind, he excused himself from Eden and followed after the servants, shooing them along in front of him until they stood in front of the door to the kitchen. “You insult me, believing your sheikh could be overpowered by one small female,” he said sternly, then smiled. “Go eat your dinner, all right?”
He stopped to discard the kaffiyeh and aba on a chair in the hallway, smoothed his hair, and reentered the living room of the suite, saying, “I have convinced my attendants that you are not hiding a Glock under your jacket or a bomb in your purse. Although I would suggest you not raise your voice again, not if you want my servants to partake of their evening meal in peace.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Eden snapped, picking up an eggroll and taking a whopping great bite out of it. She spoke around a mouthful of pastry and meat. “I see you lost the robe and…and headdress. When are you going to bring out the crown jewels, or the scepter, or whatever else in hell you think would impress me with how terrific you are?”
“I was trying to impress you, I admit it,” Ben said honestly. “But, as I could see it did not work, I decided to make myself more comfortable.”
“Well, bully for you. I’m not comfortable! Ben Ramsey, garden variety lawyer on vacation. Ha! I can’t believe I fell for that—although no one could blame me for not knowing you were really Sheikh Barakah Karif Ramir, now could they? I mean, how many sheikhs can ten thousand vacationing college girls hope to meet? What are the odds? But now, since we seem to be firmly on the subject I really didn’t want to talk about, let me take a wild guess as to why you left. You have a wife, don’t you, Ben? Or maybe six of them?”
“I have been married since last I saw you, Eden, and widowed three years ago. We had no children. But do not believe all you hear about sheikhs and harems, if you please. It makes for titillating press, but is far from the truth.”
“Widowed?” Eden bowed her head for a moment, then looked at him levelly. “I’m sorry, Ben, I didn’t know. It’s a good thing I don’t have any more eggroll in my mouth. It leaves more room for my foot.”
“An apology, Eden? I accept it with pleasure.” He sat once more, deftly picked up a grape leaf and popped it into his mouth. “So, are we being sociable now?”
“Sociable, Ben? I don’t know about that. But I suppose we could be civil, at the very least.” She sat back against the couch cushions, smiled at him. “So, how have you been? Is it difficult? Being a sheikh, that is. I should imagine it could be rather suffocating, if this evening’s events are any indication.”
“I manage,” he told her, “although I have never again been able to sneak away to Paris, as I did before my father died.”
“Died? Was that why you deserted…uh…why you left Paris so abruptly? Your father died?”
“He became quite ill, and never fully recovered until his death some six months later. That much is true. But I did not desert you, Eden. I wrote, had letters hand-delivered to your hotel. Those letters you told me today you had never received.”
“And I didn’t!” Eden declared, then winced, lowered her voice. “Sorry. I wouldn’t want to see the cavalry showing up again.”
“I wrote three letters, Eden,” he continued as she wiped at her fingers, avoided his eyes. “Three. Each one explaining who I was, why I had to leave. Three letters personally placed in my chief advisor’s hand and then couriered to Paris by one of his staff. And I saw your answer when I could at last return to Paris myself. How did it go? Oh, yes. Some nonsense about it being ‘better’ this way. Was it better that way, Eden? Better that you should leave, turn your back on what we had?”
Eden continued to stare at him, her blue eyes as honest as they were beautiful. “I never saw any letters from you, Ben. I already told you that. And you believe me, don’t you? You might not have believed me this morning, but you believe me now. What did you do, Ben, turn your trusted advisor over to the thumbscrews?”
“I am considering having him smeared with honey, staked out on the desert, and nibbled to death by toothless camels, even though I am sure he believes he was acting in the best interests of Kharmistan,” Ben said fatalistically, accepting what was impossible to change, as his father had taught him. Then he smiled, sadly. “All these years, Eden. Lost to both of us.”
Eden sighed, shook her head. “Not to you, Ben. You became a sheikh, a great prince. You married. I doubt you gave me a thought until you saw my name as you looked over the oil and gas deal. Just as I put my memories of you in my past and got on with my life.”
“Dinner is now to be served, if it is your pleasure, Your Highness,” Haskim said as he entered the room.
Ben continued to stare at Eden for another long moment, watching a flush kiss her cheeks as she so obviously lied to him. “Thank you, Haskim. Will you please be so kind as to seat Miss Fortune in the dining room? I will join her shortly.”
“Ben—I