“So much work, il mio bel ragazzo, that you cannot give your former governess a few moments?”

Rafiq turned his attention from Adan to Elena Battelli, who now stood at the doorway, a dark-haired infant balanced on her hip. Her silver hair contrasted with her topaz eyes that at times hinted at mischief, and other times reflected wisdom. She had been the Mehdi sons’ surrogate matriarch since their mother’s death, and always a welcome presence. She had also been free with her opinions, and he expected no less from her now.

Rafiq came to his feet, rounded the desk and accepted her embrace. “I am glad to see you have returned home, Elena. You are looking quite well.”

“You are looking tired, cara,” she said as she handed the baby off to an overtly surprised Adan. “Take your niece to her father and allow me some time alone with your brother.”

Rising from the chair, Adan gripped the child awkwardly and looked as if he had consumed something unpalatable. “What if she begins to cry on the way?”

Elena frowned. “She would not be the first female you’ve made cry, so I suggest you hurry.”

As soon as Adan left with the squirming infant, Rafiq seated himself behind the desk while Elena claimed the chair opposite his. She studied him for a long moment before she spoke. “What is this I hear about you spending time with Dr. Barad?”

He should not be surprised Elena would join his brothers by presenting her thoughts on the matter. Yet her opinion had always mattered most. He also suspected she would side with Zain. “It is not what you might believe it to be.”

“I believe, cara mia, it is a good idea.”

He had not predicted that reaction. “I am beginning to question the wisdom in the plan.”

“Because you fear what others might think?”

Because he feared his possible absence of strength in Maysa’s presence. “I do not wish to add undue stress to her life.”

Elena waved a hand in dismissal. “Maysa is well equipped to handle stress, Rafiq, and perhaps even better equipped to handle you.”

He was taken aback by her assertions. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying she knows you very well.” Elena laid a palm on his hand. “She has always been your touchstone, and I believe you need that right now, more than you need the throne. And if you are concerned that you might succumb to inadvisable urges, I trust you to be the honorable man you have always been.”

If only he could trust himself. “Then you sincerely believe I should continue with my plans?”

“Yes, I do.” She rose with the grace of a gazelle. “Do not forget what I’ve taught you. Chi trova un amico trova un tesoro.”

He who finds a friend, finds a treasure.

As Elena started toward the door, she sent Rafiq a smile over one shoulder. “Maysa is your treasure, cara. Do not squander that gift.”

* * *

Maysa had begun to believe Rafiq had changed his mind. When the doorbell chimed, she hurried down the hall to answer the summons but then slowed her steps so as not to seem too anxious, though she was. Yet when she opened the door, the bearded man on the threshold happened to be her brother, not the king. “What are you doing here, Shamil?”

“I expected a more enthusiastic greeting, considering my recent absence,” he said as he breezed past her and entered without an invitation.

“My apologies,” she said as she faced him in the foyer. “I’m just surprised to see you.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

She chose to withhold the truth and settled for a change in subject. “Are the resort’s renovations complete?”

“No, and that is why I am here now,” he said. “I will be returning to Yemen tonight, and I would respectfully request you supervise the workers from time to time in my stead.”

The request did not surprise her in the least. Shamil always seemed to have an ulterior motive when he bothered to call on her. He had protested the loudest over her divorce, and had chastised her at every turn—until he wanted something. “I have a medical practice that requires my attention, Shamil. I do not have time to oversee a project that you took on.”

“Need I remind you the resort is partially your responsibility?”

She could not believe his audacity. “Our father handed the keys to the resort to you, not me.”

“And he handed this house to you,” he said as he made a sweeping gesture over the area. “All because he is a generous and forgiving man. I would be remiss if I did not mention that he initially arranged for the hotel’s restoration. I am certain it would please him if he knew you were assisting me. He would not be pleased if he learned you refused to provide that assistance.”

Maysa was beyond trying to please her father, and immune to Shamil’s veiled threats. “I can only promise that I will stop by once a week, provided I find the time.”

“Twice a week, or perhaps three times, would be preferable.”

She would agree to most anything if it encouraged her sibling’s speedy departure. “I will try. Is that all you wish from me?”

“For the moment. I will notify the staff you will be periodically stopping by.”

“All right.”

When Maysa moved toward the door and yanked it open, she heard the sound of a car pulling into the portico.

“What is he doing here?” Shamil asked, both his tone and expression balanced on the brink of contempt.

She ventured a backward glance to see Rafiq emerging from the sedan with a heavily armed guard standing nearby. “First of all, he is the king, and he is allowed to go anywhere he pleases. Second, he is a friend, and at one time, your best friend.”

“He no longer holds that distinction.”

Maysa’s attempt to question her brother further was thwarted when Rafiq joined them at the doorstep.

Rafiq smiled at Maysa and briefly nodded at Shamil. “As-salam alaikum.”

“Wa alaikum as-salam,” Shamil replied in a voice that heralded indifference along with a touch of disdain. “Have you forgotten the way to the palace, Sayyed?”

“Not at all,” Rafiq replied. “I am here by invitation.”

Shamil sent Maysa a lethal look before returning his attention to Rafiq. “If you are here to discuss health care issues with my sister, it would be appropriate to do so in a less private setting.”

Concerned over her brother’s caustic demeanor, Maysa stepped aside to allow Rafiq entry. “The staff will show you to your quarters, Your Highness.”

“As you wish,” he said without offering Shamil even a passing glance.

She sensed her brother’s glare before she actually contacted it. She turned and gave him a glare of her own. “How dare you be so ill-mannered.”

“How dare you invite him into our father’s house.”

“Our father has always had close ties to the Mehdi family,” Maysa said. “He would not be opposed to having a member as a houseguest, particularly if that member happens to be the sovereign ruler of Bajul. A king who is in need of a respite, which is why he will be staying here for a time.”

“Our father would be opposed to you becoming the king’s mistress.”

Her fury simmered just below the surface of her feigned calm. “You have no right to speak to me this way, nor do you have any reason to hate Rafiq. Or do you still envy his marriage to Rima?”

He looked as if he might strike the wall, or worse, his sister. “Rima meant nothing to Rafiq,” he growled. “He did not deserve her.”

Clearly Shamil had not moved beyond the past, or his desire for a woman he could never have. But hadn’t she been guilty of the same with Rafiq? No. She had moved on, and would continue to do so. “How would you know what privately transpired between the king and queen, Shamil?”

“She deserved far more care and concern than Rafiq afforded her. She deserved the chance to live, and he stole that chance from her.”

“Rafiq had no hand in Rima’s death.”

“You would not agree if you had seen her that night.”