BRYN caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror as she headed toward the front door, the doorbell still ringing as she padded along the carpetless hall. Sheen of white dress, brilliant blue eyes, flushed cheeks. A radiant bride. And she did feel beautiful, more beautiful than she had in years. In just seven short days sheâd be a bride again. Sheâd be Stanleyâs wife.
Smiling, Bryn hummed the wedding march as she swung the front door open, late-afternoon sunlight washing over her in streaky gold waves, briefly blinding her.
Blinking, she made out broad shoulders. The high curve of cheekbone. A beautifully shaped mouth. And only one man had that mouth. Her heart staggered to a stop. âWhâ¦whatâ¦are you doing here?â
âHello, darling. Itâs nice to see you, too.â
Time stopped, changed, and for a split second she was somewhere else, spellbound. It was just like the day she met him, the day she reversed her small Volkswagen, and slammed into his silver Mercedes Benz. Her car was totaled. His was merely dinged.
Bryn felt the impact again, the air knocked out of her lungs, her lips parting in shock. âKahlil.â
âYou remembered, good.â He looked amused, but then, his gold eyes always smiled when he was angry. Lifting a sheet of paper, he dangled it in front of her face. âNow perhaps youâll remember this,â he drawled softly, giving the paper a gentle shake.
Bryn stared at the paper blankly, unable to read the words. Only his voice penetrated the muddle inside her head, his voice still husky, his English formal, the same English heâd learned as a child in an English boarding school. âWhat is it?â
âYou donât recognize it?â
Her fingers felt nerveless as she clutched the door. âNo.â
Kahlil chuckled, the sound warm, indulgent, an indulgence heâd shown toward her early in their marriage when sheâd been his prized American bride. âItâs our marriage license. The little piece of paper that legally binds us together.â
She couldnât speak, her throat swelling closed. He must be out of his mind, she thought, forcing herself to look into his face, meet his eyes.
He didnât look crazy. If anything he looked calm, perfectly controlled, as though he knew exactly what he was doing, as though heâd planned this surprise visit on purpose.
A week before her weddingâ¦
Her thoughts spun, her brain fogged by shock and fear. What if Kahlil discovered Ben? What if he found out about their son?
No. Sheâd never go back to him. Never return to Zwar. Bryn drew herself tall, conviction making her back straight, her determination reinforcing her courage. âI donât understand what that has to do with us.â
âEverything, darling.â He was gazing down at her with considerable interest, thick black lashes fanning his carved cheekbones and the bronzed luster of his skin. âIâve come to see why youâre getting married again when youâre still married to me.â
Still married to him? Ridiculous. If he thought he could hoodwink her with a silly statement like that, then he had another thing coming. She wasnât eighteen anymore. She wasnât a child bride, either. âWeâre not married,â she said crisply, disdain sharpening her voice. âWe were divorced three years ago.â How could he still refuse to accept their divorce? Itâd been three years, more than three years. Three and a half years, actually. âIâm not in the mood for games. Perhaps in Zwar, divorces arenât permitted, but here theyâre perfectly legal.â
âYes, darling, I understand that much. And perhaps youâve forgotten I have a law degree from Harvard, an American university, and despite my Arab nationality, I grasp the legality of an American divorce, but we were never divorced.â
There was a quiet menace in his voice, a menace she heard all too clearly. Her head jerked up, her gaze clashing with his. âIf this is your idea of a jokeââ