The Marriage Deal Page 6

  “Actually, I was going to point out that you are at least a foot shorter than me, and half my body weight. I could pick you up and carry you to the car over one shoulder without any difficulty.”

  My eyes narrow and I work to conceal my first response to this; I hope he doesn’t understand how the idea of what he’s described has sent my heartrate through the roof. “But you won’t,” I say unevenly.

  “No?”

  “No,” I agree, formulating a plan on the fly. “Because this is our honeymoon and there are other things we can do besides…” the words falter on my lips. Damn it, he’s right. I do act like some shy little virgin around him, and it’s starting to drive me crazy. I force myself to level a stare at him. “That. Sex.” I clear my throat. Smoothe. Really smoothe.

  “Such as?” He drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Such as getting to know one another,” I say firmly, moving into the kitchen and pulling two glasses from the shelf. I fill them with the Pomegranate juice I spied the night before, placing them on the tabletop with determination. “You can tell me about Qabid, all the things I don’t know but should.”

  He’s standing there, immovable, like a brick wall.

  “You can tell me about yourself,” I push, sitting down, fixing him with a determined look. “Tell me about your childhood and your life as Sheikh, what you like and don’t like. Tell me about the tattoos on your chest – when you got them, what they mean. Your favourite foods, likes, dislikes.”

  His expression doesn’t change for a long time, then finally he lifts one thick, dark brow. “Why?”

  It’s so absurd that I laugh. Lifting my left hand to show the enormous ring on my finger, I point to it. “Because I’m your wife. I don’t know how long we’ll be married, but shouldn’t we have at least a passing knowledge of one another? Or do you plan on ignoring me completely once we return to the palace?”

  His features change; it takes me a second to understand what I’m seeing written across his face.

  “Oh my God.” I clamp a hand to my mouth. “You’re embarrassed. Because that’s what you were planning to do! Just put me in a room somewhere and forget I exist?”

  “Yes,” he agreed, embarrassment replaced by a look of steel. “That was my plan.”

  “Wow.” I nod slowly, reaching for the juice-filled glass with fingers that are shaking slightly. I can’t say why that hurts so badly… except, yes, I can. I feel like a commodity, useful only in a very finite way. The fact I’m a grown woman with my own wishes and needs seems not to matter to Zahir. Then again, hadn’t I planned to marry him and let him get on with his own life? Perhaps he’s simply trying to implement the same approach. I look down at the tabletop, surprised to feel tears thickening in my throat.

  His sigh is heavy and a moment later, he’s standing right beside me. I look up, and up, until I find his eyes. Their emotion is locked to me.

  “One more night,” he agrees grudgingly, moving to the seat opposite then. “And I reserve the right not to answer any question I find unpalatable.”

  I can’t help it; I roll my eyes.

  His fingers reach out, curling around my wrist, drawing my attention sharply to his face. “Has anyone ever told you how wilful you are?”

  I blink, not entirely sure if he means that as a compliment or not. “Stubborn,” I nod slowly. “You don’t like it?”

  He considers that for several moments. “I can’t say. I thought I wouldn’t.”

  Pleasure flickers in my gut.

  “So? First question?”

  I lean back in the chair, considering that. “That’s easy. Where did you go to school?”

  “I had tutors.”

  “For junior or high school?”

  “Both.”

  “College?”

  “More tutors.”

  I frown.

  “I didn’t have the luxury of being able to study full time, habibti. My education was tailored to my work.”

  “So you studied…politics?”

  His smile is quick and searing. My heart leaps. “Economics and environmental management, actually.”

  I blink, surprised. “See?” I stretch out my legs, unwittingly kicking his calves beneath the table. I startle, and go to pull back, but his legs capture mine, holding them where they are.

  “Think of it as a little incentive,” he says quietly. “To endure your interrogation.”

  I resist an impulse to roll my eyes again, heat shifting through me at the intimacy of the contact.

  “So your degree is in economics?”

  “And environmental management.” He repeats. “But what you would consider senior school was a very tailored programme of learning. I studied world history in depth, as well as Qabid history going back centuries. I toured our cities and learned about each of the peoples that came together to form them, the building materials that were unique to each area, the foods that defined these individual cultures.”

  I exhale softly. “That sounds fascinating.”

  “Does it?”

  “Of course!” I half-laugh. “I know only what I’ve learned from my father. My own memories are patchy at best. I would love to know more about this country.”

  His eyes narrow for a moment and then he nods. “Fine. You shall have a tutor for this.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest he teach me what I want to know, but uncharacteristic nervousness holds me back.

  “Thank you.”

  He dips his head in silent acknowledgement.

  “Aren’t you going to ask about my education?”

  “I could,” he says thoughtfully. “But it would be a waste of time. I already know where you went to school.”

  Surprise shifts through me. “How?”

  His eyes probe mine. “You think I would exile your family without keeping tabs on you?”

  My jaw drops. “You’ve been spying on us?”

  “My security agency constantly monitors all potential threats.”

  I gulp down some juice, slamming the cup back on the table a little too hard. “I’m not a threat. You had no right.”

  “We have discussed this.” He reaches out, putting a hand on mine, his touch sending little arrows of warmth through my blood, contrary to my emotions. “It’s not as though someone had a telescope trained on your bedroom window, Amy. My security agency tracked your movements generally, to be sure you weren’t meeting with any known terrorist associates.”

  But something else he said shifts through my mind. “You knew I’d had boyfriends,” I say quietly.

  “As I said, we tracked your associates.”

  “Wow.” Nausea crests through me.

  “You cannot be surprised by this.”

  “Oh, but I am, more fool me. I feel so…violated.”

  “It wasn’t personal.”

  “Yeah? Well, it is to me.”

  “You really can’t see the necessity of this?”

  My eyes sweep shut on a wave of acceptance. From his perspective, yes, I can see why he’d had me monitored, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “My dad isn’t –,”

  But he shakes his head, squeezing my hand. “Let’s not have that conversation.”

  Bitter tears wet my eyes. I blink them away. “Fine.” But the fun of learning about him has left me. His thumb runs over the back of my hand, drawing invisible circles.

  “There are many things I don’t know about you, things I have been wondering about. Would you care to enlighten me?” He prompts in a voice that is gravelled and soft.

  Hurt must show in my eyes when I look at him. “Such as?”

  “You dated your college boyfriend for two years.”

  I think of Ryan with a soft smile, but it falls when I realise how much of my personal life Zahir is privy to. “Yes?”

  “Why did you break up.”

  “Your spies didn’t tell you?”

  His gaze clashes with mine. “No.”

  I go to pul
l my hand away but he tightens his grip, shifting to lace our fingers together. The touch is doing something to me, pulling at a thread in my belly. I swallow hard and look to the table.

  “We sort of just grew apart,” I say after a while. “We had a lot of fun together, but the relationship ran its course.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  Another smile. “No, none whatsoever. We’re still friends.”

  His thumb pauses for a moment, before resuming its journey.

  “What about you?”

  His lips quirk in a cynical expression. “You want to know about my love life?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “There is not much to tell. I’ve been involved with women, never seriously.”

  “You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

  He considers this, then shakes his head. “Not by the definition you’re using.”

  I fight a smile. “How do you define ‘girlfriend’?”

  “A woman I spend time with.”

  “Is that a euphemism for sex?”

  His gaze shows agreement.

  I can’t help but laugh. “I see.” I sober quickly. “So you’ve never been in love?”

  His shoulders tighten. “No.”

  We’re both quiet and reflective. He speaks first. “There’s nothing that matters more to me than my country. I have always known my marriage would serve only to further my country’s interests. Love isn’t something I’ve ever indulged the idea of. I don’t have time for it – nor any interest in it.”

  I shake my head at that. “How sad.”

  “Why? You think it’s not enough that I serve my country with my dying breath?”

  “I don’t know why you can’t have both.”

  “Because if I married for love I could never have married you, and then the threat of the Hassan family would have continued, for one.”

  It’s stupid to be offended by his meaningless comments, but I am. They’re just so blunt!

  I bring the conversation back to safer ground. “So none of these women ever meant anything to you?”

  “No. It was sex.”

  “Jeez. If we do end up sleeping together, please remind me of your attitude to it, just in case I forget.”

  “You won’t.”

  I shrug, but I’m not convinced. Everything’s happened so quickly, I’m still trying to get to grips with all the changes, but I know one thing: Zahir and I are two totally different people, especially when it comes to the heart. I’ve never been in love. I mean, I loved Ryan, but in a way that was based on friendship and camaraderie rather than passion. But not having been in love personally doesn’t mean I don’t know it exists.

  “My father loved my mother, so much,” I say quietly. “Did you know he was supposed to marry someone else?”

  Zahir’s eyes glitter as he nods. “A woman from another powerful family.”

  I get the subtext. More about the plot to dethrone him.

  “But he met mom and fell head over heels. He proposed two days later; they were married within a month. When she died, I honestly thought I’d lose him too. He was so broken, Zahir. The only way I could bring him back to life again was to talk about her. I talked about her constantly, telling him the story of how they met, of their wedding, the day I was born – all the stories they’d told me when I was small.” My smile is wistful. “It’s a shame you had to marry me instead of being allowed to fall in love.”

  “I told you, I have no interest in love.”

  “One day, you might regret that.”

  “I doubt it. You studied marketing at college?”

  The lightning fast conversation change hurts my brain. I take a second to digest it, then nod.

  “Why marketing?”

  “I knew I’d be able to get a job when I graduated.”

  “So pragmatic.”

  “We don’t all have the luxury of being born into this kind of wealth,” I say, gesturing around the tent. “I needed to study in a field with good career prospects.”

  “What would you have done if you could have studied anything – practical or not?”

  “Actually, that would be history.” I’m more than a little jealous of what he described. “I’ve always been drawn to the ancient world. The stories my dad would tell me – myths and legends of Qabadi men and women through the ages, the ancient temples in the south, the caves in the mountain ranges…” I look wistfully towards the door. “But I couldn’t see how that would lead to work and we needed money, so I studied marketing and fast-tracked my course.”

  “Why?”

  “So I could finish quicker.”

  “I meant, why did you need the money?”

  “I thought you knew everything about me?” I can’t help the sassy rejoinder.

  He leans forward, bringing his face tantalisingly close to mine. “No, Amy. Definitely not.”

  Why does that simple statement make my pulse race?

  I clear my throat but my voice still emerges as a hoarse whisper. “My mom was sick a long time. We had lots of hospital bills. I had a part-time job through school, but we never seemed able to make inroads.”

  “Your father worked?”

  “Low paying jobs, despite his education.” I bristle. “He didn’t speak much English, and found it hard to get employment. He’s not great with technology, so that rules out a lot of occupations. We got by, but that’s about it.”

  Zahir’s eyes glitter as they meet mine.

  “He used to talk about the wealth he had in Qabid. Wealth that’s still tied up here.”

  “Because of me,” he finishes my thought.

  I lower my eyes so he doesn’t see the accusation there.

  “Starving your father of resources was one way to ensure he didn’t cause more trouble.” Something shifts across his face, a look I don’t quite understand. “I had no intention of you experiencing the ramifications of that.”

  “You couldn’t have known my mom would require such a lengthy hospitalisation, nor that we’d be crippled with sky-high bills ‘til kingdom come.”

  “Is your debt paid now?”

  I bite down on my lower lip, thinking of the stress of that, the angst I’ve felt at needing to clear the ledger. “No.”

  “You will be able to remedy this with your wedding settlement.”

  Too bad I’d already resolved not to touch the money. I grimace, shaking my head. “I didn’t marry you for money, Zahir. I think that unnecessarily confuses matters. The only thing I ask of you is that you allow my father to return. That’s the sum total of what I want from all this.”

  His eyes burn me with their intensity. “And yet, you can relieve yourself of this debt immediately, removing that worry for yourself and your father. Why would you not do that?”

  I lift one shoulder. “I just – don’t like the idea of it.”

  His frown pulls at something in my gut, so I find it hard to look at him and impossible to look away. It isn’t just that he’s handsome, it’s that he’s fascinating and mysterious, all at once. Before he can question me further, I change the subject.

  “Why doesn’t Aliya like me?”

  His eyes widen. “Your aid?”

  I nod.

  Beneath the table, he shifts his legs, capturing mine again. I fight a wave of desire, concentrating on our conversation with all my might.

  “She is traditional.”

  “And I’m American.”

  “It has less to do with that than the fact you’re a Hassan. Her parents served my parents. She’s seen too much to welcome you with open arms.”

  I consider that. “So why did you appoint her to me?”

  Again, he shows surprise. “She is one of the most senior female members of the household staff. It was appropriate, given her experience.” He pauses, considering that for a moment. “If she makes you uncomfortable, I will have her removed from duties.”

  “No, no,” I shake my head, instantly mortified at the idea of the other woman losing her job
because of me. “Don’t be silly. I can handle it. She does her work well, it’s just apparent that she doesn’t think very highly of me.”

  “She doesn’t know you,” he points out. “All she has to go on is your parenthood, and the ancient hatred that exists between our families.”

  “Much like you,” I remind him quietly.

  He leans across the table and I hold my breath, because it feels as though he’s going to kiss me, and I want that, so, so badly. “I am starting to know you, azeezi.”

  “And?” I whisper, leaning closer myself, wanting to close the distance between us completely.

  His smile is laced with cynicism. “And you are nothing like I expected.”

  5

  Zahir

  I KNOW ONE THING FOR CERTAIN.

  I can’t stay in this tent with her another night. It’s a miracle I made it through a second night in this too-narrow bed. Owing to the heat, Amy wore even less– a pair of briefs and a singlet top, and I suspect she knows exactly what her choice of sleepwear did to my heartrate.

  Somehow though, I made it through, and all I could think was that I need to get back to the palace where I can put some goddamned space between her and me. A lot of space. American Football fields of it.

  At first light, I get out of the bed and begin quietly packing down the tent, replacing items we’ve used, neatening it while she sleeps. Anything to keep my attention away from the fact she’s thrown the sheet off and is lying with her limbs sprawled, hair like a skein of gold.

  This is ridiculous.

  The honeymoon was a terrible idea. I don’t want to know my wife like this. I don’t want to think about her like this, yet she’s under my skin and I know that has to be because of our proximity. The palace will bring relief.

  “Good morning.” Her voice is husky.

  I grunt in response.

  “You’re packing?” I hear the frown in her words and turn to face her, determined to keep my eyes on her face.

  “I have to get back to the palace.”

  She pouts, lifting a hand to push back her hair from her brow. Her shirt lifts to reveal her midriff. I return to my task, more focussed than ever.

  “Right away?”