A Secret Birthright(25)
“That was why you left me to go insane out here for six hours? Didn’t you realize I’d prefer having my heart rent by seeing him over going mad by not seeing him?”
His eyes widened with her every word, before they narrowed again with self-derision. “My concern was evidently misplaced. Guess I can’t put myself in a mother’s shoes after all.”
Her frustration turned inward, a flame that burned her blood with mortification. “God, no…I didn’t mean to imply that…”
“Don’t apologize for loving Ryan too much. But even after you blasted me for being so blithely insensitive to your needs, I am still unable to meet them. I have to be this infuriating professional and insist on my position. For now. I promise you he’s in perfect condition and that you’ll see him in a few hours.”
“Please, let me see him now. A look is all I want!”
“What you don’t want is the image of him sedated and inert and hooked to tubes and monitors burned into your memory. You may know what you’ll see, but seeing it for real is something totally different. And I refuse to let you inflict another mental scar on yourself. I’ve seen parents suffer debilitating anxiety long after their children are cured, and you’ve suffered enough of that. So even though you probably want to kill me right now, you might want to thank me later.”
“But I don’t want…” She paused, groaned. “Are—are you doing this on purpose?”
He chuckled, winked at Rose who joined him in chuckling. “Of course, I am. One of my PhDs is in distraction. But while it must feel like eternity now, the hours will pass, then I’ll transfer him to a private suite and you’ll be with him from then on.” His logic was putting out the fires of dread and desperation. But the clamoring of her heart wouldn’t subside. He silenced her turmoil. “Until then, how about you ladies join me for a meal? I’ve long passed starving, and knowing you, Gwen, I’m sure we were on that same path together.”
Rose waved her hand. “Oh, you two go ahead. Emad told me to call him as soon as you made an appearance, and to meet him in the center’s restaurant. He promised a meal to top the Cordon Bleu he treated me to in L.A., and I sure want to see how this can be achieved.” Rose hugged her. “See? You should always listen to me. Now listen to me and take care of yourself. You won’t do Ryan any good if you collapse. You’re even allowed to smile without sinning against motherhood.”
“I’ll take care of her.” Fareed took Gwen’s elbow. “I’ll even brave the impossible chore of making her smile.” He tilted his head at her from his prodigious height. “Shall we?”
Gwen didn’t even nod. She could do nothing but stare after Rose, as she walked away with her phone at her ear, and let Fareed steer her wherever he wished.
She registered glimpses of their journey down the halls and corridors spread in reflective granite. She barely noticed the people whose eyes held deference for Fareed and curiosity for her on their way to an elevator straight out of a sci-fi movie. She didn’t feel it move, but when its brushed-steel doors slid open moments later, it was into a room the size of a tennis court, with twenty-foot, floor-to-ceiling windows spanning its arched side.
It was like looking out of a plane, with Al Zaaferah and its skyscrapers sprawling below and into the horizon, lighting up the clear night sky like a network of blazing jewels. She dimly realized they must be in the top floors of the steel-and-glass tower that formed the main portion of the center.
She’d barely recovered from the breathtaking elevation when the opulence and austerity of the place hit her. This must be his office.
His hand burned its mark into her arm as he escorted her across a gleaming hardwood floor covered in what felt like acres of Persian silk carpet to a deepest-green leather couch ensemble around a unique worked-wood centerpiece table.
When she remained standing, he gave her the gentlest of tugs. She collapsed where he indicated. He stood before her for a long moment, his gaze storming through her. Then his lips spread.
Her heart tried its best to leap out of her throat.
“Even though I know asking your preference in food is an exercise of futility, it seems I like butting my head against a wall. So, again, any favorite cuisine?”
“Anything…with calories.”
She was stunned she’d produced the words. She was only sure she had when he laughed.
Her hand pressed the painful, thudding lump that had replaced her heart. There should be a law against such hazardous behavior.