The Treasure_ A Novel - Iris Johansen [70]
“How can you say that? It does matter. Stay.”
“You’re too strong. You’d always convince me you were right and I was wrong.”
“I am right.”
Tarik shook his head and pulled away from her. “I can’t do it any longer.”
It was killing her. Couldn’t he see that she couldn’t live without him? “Then don’t do it. Just stay with me.”
“And watch you do it? It’s the same thing.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He opened the door. She wasn’t going to be able to stop him, she realized in despair.
“Then go. Live with your damnable guilt. Eat with it, sleep with it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me.” She raised her chin. “I’ll forget you. Why do I need a fool like you?”
He closed the door behind him.
Tarik!
______
She should not have let the memory return. The agony was too intense. It was as if she were living it over again. How many times during the past years had she smothered the thought of that scene and closed that part of her?
But now it might be all right to remember. There were signs he was yielding at last.
He had sent her Selene.
She was dreadfully ill, Selene realized even before she opened her eyes.
She barely made it to the basin across the room before she started to throw up.
“What’s wrong?”
Someone was behind her. Layla.
“Answer me.”
Dear God, couldn’t the stupid woman see she couldn’t answer her?
Layla was beside her, her arm bracing Selene’s shoulders while she heaved. “It’s all right—I think.”
“It’s not all right. I’m dying.” Her stomach was empty but she was still miserable. She staggered back to the bed and crawled beneath the covers. “Go away.”
“You’re not dying.” Layla was standing by the bed. “I won’t have it.”
She opened her eyes to see Layla frowning down at her. “Go away.”
“You’re not being reasonable. If you’re truly ill, I’m the only one here who can help you. Now be silent while I decide what course to take.”
Selene was too sick to argue. She shut her eyes, trying to fight off the new surge of nausea that was overwhelming her.
Cold water was running down her face and onto the covers.
She gasped, and her eyes flew open to see Layla wielding a sopping-wet cloth with vigorous authority. “You’re drowning me.”
Layla scowled. “Well, it was all I could think of to do. I told you I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.”
“You’re right.”
“And you’re not supposed to be ill. I hadn’t planned—Why are you?”
It wasn’t enough that she was sick, but this heartless woman expected her to make apologies for it. “It’s probably from being in the same chamber with you,” she said through her teeth.
“I don’t think so. Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No.” She huddled beneath the covers. “I don’t want to talk.”
“We must find out the problem. Did the beef from supper disagree with you?”
“Get that cloth away from my face or I’ll throw it at you.”
“Very well. It doesn’t seem to be doing much good anyway. I’ve always suspected bathing brows is much overrated.”
“I’m going to try to go back to sleep. Leave me alone.”
“I suppose that would be all right.” Layla dropped down in the chair. “But I’ll wake you if the sleep appears too deep.”
Probably with another ice-water dousing. “If you do, I may throttle you.”
“Ungrateful wretch.” But the gentleness with which she straightened Selene’s covers belied the roughness of her tone. “Rest. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
The nausea was gone when Selene opened her eyes again.
“Better?” Layla asked. “Can you eat?”
She was still too befogged from sleep to think. “I don’t know.”
“You should try. It’s afternoon. You’ve slept half the day away.”
She was hungry, she realized with amazement. All trace of illness had vanished and she felt wonderfully well. It was as if that sickness of the morning had never been.
Morning sickness.
Mother of God.
“You’re ill again,” Layla sighed. “Do you need the basin?”
“No,” she whispered. “I feel fine.”
“You’ve turned pale.” She frowned. “Talk to me or, by God, I swear I’ll bathe your face again.”
“I’m with child.”
“What?”
Selene felt as stunned as Layla looked. “My flux is