Exiled Heart Page 10

  Claire took her arm and led her away from the crowd. “Thanks to our Southern affinity for pork, Ziad wasn’t able to eat anything except for the fruit and hushpuppies.”

  “I noticed.” Emma winced. “I’d told Mama and Daddy to pass that on. I guess it didn’t happen.”

  “It’s no biggie. I’m taking him to my house to eat the rest of the cold cuts. Are you good with that?”

  “Ben can bring me home, so he can ride back with him.” Emma bit her lip. “I have a favor to ask. As my sister and not my maid of honor.”

  Claire cocked her head. “What is it?”

  Emma swiped at the corner of her eye. “Could you keep an eye on Ziad for us?”

  “What?”

  “I’m worried about him.” Emma shook her head. “The wedding’s kept him busy, but now that it’ll be over after this weekend, I’m worried that he’ll go into a tailspin as he mourns losing his family.”

  Oh, wow. Not what she’d expected to hear. “I can understand your worries.”

  “Of course, Ben and I will be on our honeymoon.” Emma focused on her. “I know you two didn’t have the best of starts, but could you keep an eye on him for us? It’s been,” she hesitated as if searching for the right words, “an ordeal for him.”

  Claire didn’t have to think too hard to imagine why. Words from her mentor at her Tuesday night Bible study washed over her.

  “Go easy on him,” Elizabeth McMillan had said. “He’s new to the culture. He’s trying to figure things out. And remember he’s made in the image of God like you are.”

  Time to put that wisdom into practice. “I will.”

  “Thanks.” Emma’s expression cleared, and she nudged her. “You two have fun tonight.”

  “Em!” Claire’s cheeks flushed as her sister darted away with a giggle.

  Forty-five minutes later, the remains of turkey sandwiches littered two plates on Claire’s breakfast nook table. Ziad set his napkin aside. “Thank you. I now feel like I have had a good meal.”

  “I’m glad.” She gathered their plates and carried them to the kitchen. “Do you have your speech ready?”

  Silence.

  She set their dishes on the counter. “The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night.”

  “I know. I do not know what to say.”

  “You don’t have anything written down?”

  He dipped his chin and cleared his throat. “No.”

  “Ziad.”

  He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “What do I say?”

  She knew what she’d written. Wisdom she’d learned from her all-too-short marriage to Jackson. Mindful of Emma’s heads up, she asked, “What advice would you give to newlyweds? What are your wishes for them?”

  His long fingers ran along the smooth surface of the island.

  For a brief, insane moment, she wished the granite were her face. She released her breath and retreated to the junk drawer on one end of the island. She placed a pad of paper and a pen in front of him. “Here. Write something while I clean up.”

  He cast her a doubtful look before putting pen to paper.

  As she put the dishes in the dishwasher and wiped down the table, Claire kept an eye on him. At first he rubbed his jaw, which showed a definitive five o’clock shadow. He squinted as if considering his words. He began scribbling.

  A few minutes later, she gestured toward his work. “May I?”

  He nodded.

  She hopped onto the chair next to him. Such refined English handwriting, almost beautiful in her eyes. His words touched her heart. “This is really good.”

  “You are sure?”

  She’d totally read him wrong the Saturday before. “Yeah. I am.”

  His dark gaze on her, he leaned forward. “None of this would offend?”

  Once more he seemed to peer into her soul. Something uncurled inside of her. She fiddled with the paper. “Not at all.”

  “Then I will use this.” Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, folded it neatly into fourths, and stuck it in his shirt pocket beside his pack of cigarettes. “And now I have a surprise for you.”

  He held up a CD and stepped to her stereo.

  She turned on her chair.

  He slid it into the tray before facing her. As the song Ben and Emma had chosen for their first dance began playing, he bowed and offered his hand. “Dance, madam?”

  Huh? Wait. Wasn’t this the man who’d absolutely refused to consider it? Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t move.

  He took her hands and drew her off the chair. “I did not want to ruin your big day.”

  Ouch.

  Elizabeth’s words from Tuesday night scored her heart. “Whose day is it, Claire?”

  Suddenly, her own desires seemed so foolish, so petty. “Honestly. It’s not my day. It’s Ben and Emma’s.”

  “Saturday night, they taught me to dance.” He took her right hand with his left.

  Automatically, she rested her left one on his shoulder. Even through the fabric of his sailcloth shirt, she felt a collarbone too prominent for someone like him. Her back began tingling where he clasped it.

  For a few moments, they swayed in silence.

  “This is good?”

  In her bare feet, she had to lift her chin to look at him. In the dim light, his dark eyes almost glowed. She could drown herself in his gaze. “You must be a quick study.”

  He led her in a twirl.

  As the last notes of the song faded, he released her.

  Too soon. At least in her mind if not in his. She clapped. “Bravo, kind sir!”

  He chuckled. “My dear maid of honor, I do think this is the start of a grand weekend.”

  She could only hope.

  11

  Ziad stared at himself in the mirror as he buttoned his brand-new white dress shirt, a product of a guys’ day when he’d bought his first American suit. He looped his wine-colored tie around his neck. When was the last time he’d worn one? He couldn’t remember. The knot looked messy to him. “Ben.”

  “What’s up?” A model of men’s fashion, Ben joined him.

  “How do you do this?”

  Ben studied it. “Looks good.” He led the way to the sitting area, where he’d stay that night. “Some more words of wisdom, my friend.”

  “About?”

  Ben tossed his suit jacket over his shoulder and leaned against the door frame. “You’re going to see a lot of skin this weekend. Don’t stare.”

  He’d prepared himself for that. “I know.”

  “And in the South, the man always opens the door for the woman.”

  “Understood.” Ziad glanced at his watch.

  Ben must have noticed. “We need to get going. See you at the church.”

  While his friend left in his rental, Ziad climbed into his new Toyota 4Runner. He fidgeted with the radio and air conditioning. No more delay. He had to go. Except for one thing. Claire needed a gift from him. He turned into a strip shopping mall at the intersection with US 17 and stopped at a florist shop.

  Once inside, he gazed at the flowers around him. What to get her? Wildflowers like Emma preferred? No. Roses seemed more refined, more Claire.

  A clerk approached him. “You’re dressed up for a Friday afternoon.”

  “A rehearsal.” His cheeks warmed. “Do you perhaps have a single yellow rose? It’s for my,” he caught himself before he said escort, “date this weekend.”

  “Of course.” She turned to a vase of yellow roses, pulled one out, and wrapped the end in a mini-vase with some tissue. “Here you go.”

  He inhaled the fragrance. So very Claire. When he arrived at her house, he found her standing at the end of her porch and talking with an old woman watering a fern on the porch of the house next door. The woman headed inside. He stripped away the tissue and mini-vase. Grasping the single stem, he climbed the steps.

  Oh, my. The expression he’d learned from Emma faded from his mind as he gazed at long, tan legs emphasized by strappy heels. The droppe
d back of Claire’s dress revealed a generous amount of skin. His hand tightened on the stem. Heat began working its way upward from his shoulders. His tie suddenly seemed too tight.

  Claire turned and smiled. “Ziad, hi!”

  He had to say something. Again, the English words receded. “Claire, you are… um, you are…”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I am?”

  “You are beautiful.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Thank you.”

  Relief surged over him. The rose. He brought his hand from behind his back. “I brought you this. My gift to you.”

  “Yellow for friends.” She took it and inhaled deeply. “I love it. Let me put it in some water.”

  As he followed her inside, Ziad traced those curves highlighted by her dress. What was he doing? He averted his gaze—for a moment. As she filled a bud vase with water, he noted the pearls almost glowing against her skin beneath where she wore her hair in a bun. More pearls glimmered in her ears and on her wrist.

  She drew a shawl of shimmery gold across her shoulders. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Once she’d locked up, she picked up a basket of bows from one of the rocking chairs on the porch.

  He let her precede him down the steps. “What are those?”

  “You’ll see.” She set the basket in the backseat.

  Mindful of Ben’s advice, he opened the door for her. They headed toward US 17. As they approached the intersection, he glanced downward. When she’d sat down, her dress had slid up to reveal more leg, one with definition. He couldn’t rip his gaze away.

  “Watch out!”

  A red light. He slammed on the brakes and threw them both against their seat belts.

  “Watch where you’re going, why don’t you?” she muttered.

  “So sorry.” Not really. Too bad he couldn’t gaze at her and drive.

  At least they got to the church with no more incidents. As they ran through the rehearsal, he understood the point of the bows. They served as mock bouquets. He certainly didn’t mind Claire being on his arm as they went through their steps. Could he ask for more trips down the aisle? Probably not. Then came the rehearsal dinner. Somehow, he made it through his toast. And Claire’s? Beautiful. Poignant.

  “Ben, Emma, never let the sun go down on your anger,” she said as she stood with her champagne flute raised. “Take time to really talk. And always, always say ‘I love you’ when you part ways.”

  He could have written those words himself.

  What had inspired her? Had she been married before? His dormant detective’s instincts awakened. He watched her closely throughout the rest of the dinner and the beginning of the party until he got drawn into various conversations with out-of-town guests and family.

  Where was Claire? She’d danced several numbers, but now he couldn’t find her. Ziad wandered toward the edge of the crowd. No Claire. He strolled around Sutton Hall’s plantation home. The structure muffled the sound of the party.

  There! She stood near a bench overlooking the banks of the creek. Her shoulders hunched, and she gazed across the water as if searching for her parents’ house. He approached with care, lest he startle her. “I was wondering where you were.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to the creek. “I needed a break.”

  The slight tremble of her smile warned him. Best not to probe further. He gazed at her out of the corner of his eye.

  She shivered slightly in the chill.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  He slid from his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

  That earned another small smile. “Thanks.” She turned and meandered through a garden of roses just beginning to bud. They stepped onto the main pathway. “Did I ever tell you why plantation homes have their gardens on the river side?”

  “No.”

  “During the heyday of plantation farming, the main form of transportation was by river, so they made the best side of the house the river side.” She slowed as they reached the dock. “When we were kids, Allie, Delia, Emma, and I would take the two canoes we owned and paddle across the creek to Sutton Hall to go exploring.”

  “Did you get caught?”

  “The first time, Allie ratted on us, and we got grounded. Then Emma and I came over here a few times by ourselves. Once, the owner was here, and she caught us. She let us go after serving us milk and cookies. She told us ghosts would carry us away if we did it again. We were still young enough to believe her.”

  Her smile faded. She lowered her head.

  He sensed a sadness within her. Why? “Do you feel like you’re losing your sister?”

  That earned a sharp glance. “To Ben?”

  “Yes.”

  After a brief moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

  They began walking again. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Ben is… he is perhaps the closest thing I have to a brother.”

  “Don’t you have brothers?”

  “I did. And two sisters.” He breathed a silent prayer for their souls. “All but one sister died years ago.”

  “Oh, Ziad.”

  “It is my youngest sister and me now.” He laced his fingers behind his back. “The first time I saw them together, I could tell Ben and Emma would marry.”

  She glanced at him. “How so?”

  “Their friendship. They have a way with each other, a gentle manner.”

  She folded her arms across her chest.

  His breath hitched, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he struggled for words to fill the air. “You are not giving up a sister. You are gaining a true brother tomorrow. A brother and more family.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  Ziad faced her and studied her face. She didn’t meet his gaze as she fiddled with her pearls.

  Before he realized what he was doing, he lifted her chin with his finger. “Shall we rejoin the party?”

  He offered his arm.

  As they returned to the other side of the house, she pasted a smile on her face. Emma pulled her into another dance. Ben joined him and called it the Chicken Dance.

  For the rest of the night, Ziad kept Claire within sight. To most everyone, she laughed, sparkled.

  And him?

  He knew better. She hid something, and he’d stop at nothing until he found out what it was.

  #####

  “Looks like I forgot to turn on the porch light.” The next night, Claire gazed at her darkened porch from the passenger seat of the 4Runner.

  “Let me walk you to the door.” Ziad climbed out, opened her door, and let her precede him to the stairs.

  Her cowboy boots, which she’d slipped on shortly after the ceremony, clunked on the wood steps. She fished around in the duffel bag she’d packed for the day. Makeup bag. Socks. Heels. Keys. “Ah. Here.”

  The bolt slid back. She stepped inside and flipped the switch for the porch light.

  Her feet twinged. Time to free her toes. She bent and slid off her boots.

  Ziad bumped into her. He grabbed her around the waist before she toppled onto her face. “So sorry. It is dark in here.”

  She turned, and his hands rested on her hips. “Wearing a midnight blue dress doesn’t help.”

  At the rich aroma of his aftershave, her cheeks heated. He stood so close! All she had to do was— No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She forced herself to step back. “Thanks for such a great weekend. You were the perfect escort.”

  “I would say the same of you, but then you would fuss at me.”

  That earned a weary laugh. “Hardly. How about I was a good date?”

  “You were. And a good friend.”

  Wow. She hadn’t expected that one. “Do you want to stay for a while?”

  He smiled, but weariness tinged it. “May I—what do you call it?—have a nightcap?”

  She stared. Had she heard right? “Maybe you mean a rain check, like to see each other later.”

  He cleared his thro
at. “Uh, yes. That.”

  Her disappointment confused her. “Sure. It is late. I—I guess I’ll see you around. Good luck with getting settled.”

  “Until later.” With that, he slipped into the cool evening air.

  She released her breath, then darted into the living room. She peeked through the plantation shutters.

  Ziad walked to the 4Runner. Just as he opened the driver’s door, he lifted his gaze.

  Her breath caught. Had he seen her?

  A slow smile curved his lips upward.

  He must have. She dipped her chin and plopped down on the couch. Why did it matter? Maybe sleep would help her avoid that question. Once in the master bedroom, she exchanged her bridesmaid dress for a pair of pajama pants and a cami top. She crawled onto the king-sized bed, sat there in the dark, and gazed through the French doors leading to a terrace.

  What a day. What a weekend! Things had turned out much better than she’d expected the week before. What a perfect wedding day for Ben and Emma. For Emma, her groom had come as a totally unexpected answer to prayer.

  “I’m never going to get married,” her sister had declared three years before, shortly after she’d walked in on her then-fiancé in bed with another woman. Then she’d headed to Jeddah for a two-year physical therapist contract at the hospital Uncle Mark had managed. She’d met Ben a month later, and the rest was history.

  “You’re lucky, Em,” Claire whispered into the dark. Her heart panged as she remembered her conversation with Ziad the night before. He’d sensed that feeling of loneliness that threatened to creep up on her and steal her joy. And his toast to the couple? Fabulous.

  “To my friends. It has been an honor to watch as you two met and then became engaged,” Ziad had said as he’d held a champagne flute of sparkling grape juice aloft. “Ben, you are a brother to me. A brother-in-arms, a friend. And Emma, in the two years I have known you, I have come to call you a friend as well. Honor each other. Cherish each other. For you do not know what tomorrow holds. May Allah provide his rich blessings to you.”

  Oh, Ziad. Once more, she thought about her escort for the weekend. So handsome, first in his charcoal gray suit at the rehearsal dinner and then in his tie and tails that night. She’d sought him out during the day and again as she’d preceded Emma down the aisle. A gentleman too. He’d watched over her, made her laugh, even danced that one dance together. Her guard began lowering, maybe enough to let a friendship sprout.