The Marriage Deal Read online

  As if he’s reading the direction of my thoughts, his eyes drift lower, conducting an insouciant inspection of my breasts. They tingle, aching for his touch. I arrange my features into a haughty mask and when I speak it’s with a voice tinged with ice. “I was exiled along with my father, remember? And I was only six. So, no, your highness. I don’t remember very much at all about the town I used to live in.”

  It’s not completely true. I remember lots of things. Unimportant minutiae that come to me as snatches of information when I least expect it. The sound of the bell calling for prayers, the smell of the street stalls preparing food in the evenings, the noise of children playing freely outside, the darkness of the nights – so far from urban civilisation, the sky inky black just as it had been in the desert.

  He doesn’t visibly respond to my cool answer, simply nods, sipping his own coffee, his hand looking ridiculously huge on the tiny cup. “I have a meeting with some of the town leaders not far from Thakirt, the village where your father’s home is. Your home. I thought you might like to come with me.”

  Surprise has my lips parting, my fingers trembling slightly.

  “Really?” I can’t help the tone of surprise from creeping into my voice.

  He dips his head in agreement. “Having you in this region will be a good – benchmark.”

  My eyes narrow. “You mean a test?”

  It’s his turn to shrug, broad shoulders that draw my eyes even when I want to blot out his physical attractiveness.

  “I mean an opportunity to evaluate the situation better.” He finishes his coffee, replacing the cup on the bench. “An opportunity for our marriage to do what it was supposed to. Your presence as my wife will placate members of this region who would like, more than anything, to see a Hassan on the throne.”

  I nod slowly. “Fine. Yes. Let’s do it.”

  “Can you be ready in an hour?”

  I glance at my wristwatch and nod. “I think so. What’s the rush?”

  “I should have thought you’d be impatient to see it?”

  A kaleidoscope of butterflies bursts through my tummy. “I am.”

  “Good.” There’s an intensity in his gaze that fires heat in my veins. “Aliya will bring you to the car when it’s time.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re sure you’re well enough?”

  I analyse his tone for any hint of scepticism, for any clue that he knows I lied last night, but hear only a bland request for assurance. Even if I were close to death’s door, I wouldn’t want to miss this, but given that the worst ailment afflicting me is a case of sleep deprivation, I nod quickly.

  He’s at the door when he turns back to face me. “It will be an overnight stay, Amy.”

  It’s all he says, but the meaning is clear.

  No more excuses.

  Tonight, we’ll share a bed.

  8

  Zahir

  SHE WAS SILENT IN the car beside me, her face purposefully angled from mine, her hands clasped in her lap. Everything about her body language screamed a silent warning. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.

  I don’t touch, but I do find myself looking at her, wondering how she’s feeling about this trip – the prospect of returning to a region of the country in which she spent years of her young life.

  Amy was only six when her father was exiled. It’s plausible that, as she said, she doesn’t remember anything of this province, and yet I didn’t completely believe her. There was a look of nostalgia that crossed her features when I’d asked her about coming here, returning.

  The plane lurches a little and a movement catches my eye. I turn to see Amy gripping the handles of her seat, her skin paler than usual.

  “It’s always turbulent over the mountains.”

  Her eyes are wide but she nods, doing her best not to show that she’s scared.

  I expel a sigh of frustration, her determination to ignore the chemistry between us something I am at war with. I know how easy it would be to prove her a liar. One well-placed touch and she’d incinerate in my arms, begging me for more, just as she had in the caves. But that’s not enough. I want her to come to me of her own volition. I want her to admit to herself – and me – that she’s ready for our marriage to develop. Only then will our partnership make sense. She has to grow up and define the marriage she wants – and I know she does want what I do, even if she wishes she didn’t.

  The plane steadies and she relaxes, her breasts moving as she draws in deep breath after deep breath, making a visible effort to calm herself.

  “You’re a nervous flyer.”

  She swallows. “I don’t fly often.” Her lips twist in a grimace. “At least, I didn’t until recently. I guess this is just part of your life but for me, every bump might as well be the beginning of the end.”

  Sympathy is an unexpected current in my blood. “My fleet of aircraft are maintained to the highest standard. You have nothing to worry about.”

  She laughs, the sound drawing me to her. I ball my hand into a tight fist and rest it in my lap, trying to focus on something other than my body’s desire to comfort her in the only way I can think of.

  “That’s simplistic. Even with a brand-new airplane, flying is still a high-risk activity.”

  “There are many activities considerably higher in risk.”

  She looks away from me. “Maybe, but this one is new to me.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  She turns to face me, her eyes wide, and the double entendre strikes home. “Yes, you’ll get used to everything about being my wife. In time.”

  Her nod is slow, a concession I hadn’t expected. Her hands fidget in her lap, nervously.

  “What will we be doing today?”

  “I have meetings scheduled with several of the regional heads. It is important that you join me for at least one of these.”

  “So that I can be seen?” She arches a look at me and I wonder at the hint of betrayal in her features, a sense of displeasure.

  I tilt my head regardless, showing agreement. “For the rest of the time, you may do what you wish. Explore Thakirt, meet with the people. Aliya will ensure you return to the residence by nightfall – when a dinner is to be held in our honour.”

  She lowers her eyes, making it impossible for me to see their sparkling depths – and more so to intuit what she’s thinking. “Fine.” Her response is tight lipped. I tell myself I don’t care. There are more important things to focus on than my wife – it’s vital that I remember that.

  Amy

  I’m in love.

  In love with Qabid, in love with its people, in love with this region in particular. As the plane drops lower in the sky, coming in to land at an airport that’s little more than an airstrip with a small clay building a few hundred metres away, I feel a deep sense of awe. The landscape surrounding Thakirt is stark and barren – yet very, very beautiful. The town itself boasts greenery between the houses, hardy-looking trees that spike at funny angles and provide essential shade. It suggests a water source has either been found or created, making life here possible. The houses are all clay with red roofs, but many of the walls have been painted, so Thakirt is bright, little dabs of relief against the glare of the sand.

  “Do you remember it, azeezi?” He asks, as we touch down and I continue to stare from the portal window.

  I look at him without meaning to, my heart lurching in that predictable way it has. “I think I do.”

  It’s a feeling that’s only grown stronger as the air-conditioned car drives us from the plane to the outskirts of Thakirt. I crane forward in the car to see better, eyes chasing down side streets, bright signs calling my attention, making me yearn for a chance to explore, to run these streets as I’m sure I must have, as a young girl.

  “I’d like to go to the town.” I fix him with a determined stare, sure he’ll say ‘no’, and wanting to goad him anyway.

  “After this meeting.”

  His response surprises me; I hid
e it with difficulty. I turn my pleasure into cynicism, flicking a tight smile in his general direction. “Yes, of course. I know what’s expected of me, Zahir.”

  He puts a hand on my wrist, and an involuntary gasp bursts from me, the contact searing something in my soul. “Do you?”

  His eyes probe mine, digging through me, trying to read thoughts I wish to conceal even when I don’t know what they are.

  “There are people here who were close with your father. People who will look to you for a sign as to how they should proceed. If you give them any indication that you do not support me whole heartedly –,”

  Irritation snapped in her chest. “Give it a break, Zahir. You don’t need to threaten me. I know what’s at stake. If I do anything to drum up fresh life into the resistance or whatever you perceive is out here, you’ll continue my father’s exile and our marriage will have been for nothing. I get it.”

  He leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “True, but that is not what I was going to say.”

  My lungs burn with the effort of pumping air. Being close to him like this is taxing. I feel a need for respite, but that’s still a while off. “Fine. What were you going to say, your highness?”

  His thumb pads over my inner-wrist, dispelling some of my tension while raising it in another, different way.

  “If people here perceive that you do not support me, it will be bad. For my country, and for me, but most importantly, for them. I am asking you to set aside your petty need to punish me for what you see to be my crime against your father, and act like an Emira now.”

  I gasp, the words rich with a condemnation I wasn’t expecting, his judgement making me ache with a sudden onset of shame. It’s impossible for me to understand all the ways in which my lack of support could be ‘bad’ for the people of Thakirt, but I don’t doubt his sincerity.

  “I intend to uphold our agreement. I married you for my father, but I knew there was a price in that. I’m prepared to play the part of your Queen, don’t worry.”

  A muscle jerks in his jaw and he nods, a stiff shift of his head before he brings his face closer to mine. “Behave yourself and I will make it all worth your while.”

  I trap a groan in my throat seconds before it can escape my lips.

  Just those simple words set my bloodstream on fire. I resent the ease with which he can do that, and yet not enough – not enough to stamp out the excitement spreading through me like a live voltage of electricity.

  “I make no promises,” I say with a tight smile. It’s a joke, but he’s clearly not in a mood for jokes. He leans closer to me.

  “I mean it, Amy. There is much at stake here.”

  My heart rolls through me. “I’m aware of that. I was just kidding around. Of course I’m going to do what I can to show a unified front with you.” I pull back so I can see his eyes. “Does it occur to you that you’re asking me to trust you and support you when you clearly have no intention of returning the favour?”

  “Trusting you is not part of my plan.” He moves away from me, knocking on the window. Less than a second later the door is opened, the heat blasting into the car, breaking me from the quiet, calm space we’d inhibited. It’s emblematic of our relationship. He’s said his piece and so ended the conversation, never mind if I had more to say. Frustration spreads through me, but I don’t have time to explore it right now. The door is open, the world is out there.

  It’s showtime.

  I had no expectations for the day, but the moment I step from the car and see the village elders who’ve come to meet us, I relax. Far from an uptight collection of dignitaries, this is far more familiar somehow, and comforting. We’re taken to a large hall, built from stone with enormous windows and a high ceiling. Everyone we pass stares at me, so I’m grateful that for once I took Aliya’s advice and wore the gown she’d suggested – a simple tunic style dress with long sleeves that falls to the floor. It is beautiful, regal and yet somehow ties in with the clothing these people wear.

  Two thrones stand at the top of the room, with several smaller seats – still grand, carved from what looks to be wood with ivory details – are spaced around them.

  In deference, I presume, to me, they speak in English. “You are very welcome,” one man says, bowing low then standing. “May I?” His hands reach for mine and I nod without understanding his intention. He simply takes them in his and squeezes, his eyes sparkling with the authenticity of his smile. “Do you remember me?”

  I startle, the fact I’ve met him before like a lightning bolt. I study his face, looking for some detail that might spark a memory in my mind, but find none. “I’m sorry, no. I left a long time ago.”

  His laugh is a cackle, hollowed by age. “You were just a girl,” he agrees. “You used to come to card games and run around the table, looking at what we held in our hands.” Something bubbles through my blood. “You would eat alum habi until I thought you would be sick, then lie down in the corner and sleep for hours. It was a delight to know you then, your highness, as it is to welcome you back.”

  “I remember the card games,” I murmur, the inexplicable burn of tears hurting my throat. For no reason I can think of, I look to Zahir, as though I want to share this moment with him. Why? Why would I do that? “And I remember alum habi.”

  Something ignites between us, something fierce and tangible. I turn away.

  “My wife has been looking forward to returning to this part of Qabid,” he says. We haven’t discussed it, yet it’s not a lie. “Shall we begin?”

  His hand on the small of my back is designed to guide me my chair – and perhaps to send a message to the people assembled that we are a unified force, and yet it does so much more than that. Heat spirals through me, the intimate connection sending trembles through my body. I ignore it as best I can.

  Once seated, the other men join us in the circle – twelve of them in total. Whatever tensions there are between this region and Zahir, it’s not evident in this room. If anything, I see total respect – adoration, even – on the faces of these men. When Zahir speaks, they all listen intently, nodding quietly. One even applauds when he finishes addressing them, then flushes to the roots of his hair when no one joins in. I have to dip my head to hide a smile.

  As the meeting continues, I understand why Zahir has such an effect on them. He speaks effortlessly on a wide range of subjects – addressing the percentage of students in school in the community, the infrastructure in place to link Thakirt with the nearest city, healthcare availability, including progress towards two dedicated medical helicopters to ensure easy, safe and fast transit to the nearest major hospital.

  His ability to command has been evident from the first moment I met him, but now I feel it one thousand times more. He speaks and it’s as though his words are being silently codified into rock, powerful and absolute.

  As the meeting draws to a close, I begin to think he’s imagined the threat altogether. There is no hint of animosity in this room, no hint of anything besides abiding respect.

  “I would like a moment alone with her highness,” Zahir says, standing. The gesture is immediately obeyed, each man in attendance standing, bowing, then leaving the building through the large doors at the front, until we are alone once more. He encompasses the handful of guards next. “Completely alone. Thank you.”

  They too leave, though I see two remain on the other side of the doorway.

  I wait, on tenterhooks, for whatever he wants to say that requires me to be on my own. “You did well.”

  I shake my head, instantly demurring. “I just sat at your side. It was hardly a masterclass in diplomacy.”

  “You’re wrong.” His eyes flare. “All I require is the visual messaging you just provided. They’ve seen you sitting with me, supporting me. That’s very powerful.”

  That rankles on so many levels. I hate being reduced to an ornamental accompaniment, but that’s all I am to him. He didn’t marry me for my brain or any insight I might be able to offer on Qabid
i matters. He needs me to show that the Hassan and Al Adari families are at peace. I square my shoulders. “So I’ve outlived my usefulness?”

  He bares his teeth in a wolfish smile. “For now.”

  My eyes narrow. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” I turn to leave but his voice stills me.

  I don’t turn back to face him, instead, I stand waiting, my head tilted ever so slightly to catch his words. “Remember, Amy, there is danger here. Try to behave yourself.”

  I stifle the response I want to give, a curse flooding my mouth. I leave without issuing it – or any other word.

  “We should not wander the streets too much longer.” Aliya’s warning is strict, her impatience obvious. I almost feel sorry for the older woman. It’s hot, after all, and this has been far less fun for her than it has for me. I’ve been walking down memory lane, finding signs and shops that have hammered me with unexpected, thrilling recollections, unlocking parts of myself I hadn’t realised I still possessed. At a small store – little more than a window in a wall, really – I bought a box of alum habi, the small treat the older man mentioned earlier; it’s something I haven’t tasted since I was a girl. The aroma of it – saffron, pistachio and honey – makes my heart float, and as I lift one to my lips, I almost sob for the joy that floods me.

  “Please, have one,” I offer Aliya, holding the box to her.

  She eyes them cautiously.

  “They’re delicious,” I promise.

  Still she hesitates.

  “Have one and I’ll find us somewhere cool to sit,” I suggest, so she sighs and reaches for the box. I move from ‘almost’ feeling sorry for her to feeling actual pity, as well as guilt. I’ve kept her out too long. It’s nearing night fall, and I barely realised.

  “I’m sorry, Aliya,” I say as she takes a bite of the small orange disc. “I didn’t mean to be out so late. You’re right. It’s time to leave.”