The Inherited Bride (14 page)

How she felt about him didn’t matter, though. What mattered was honoring the contract, doing the best thing for her people, for Adham’s people. She had already made a mess of things, but she would not compound her sins by turning her back on her duty.

The door to her bedroom opened. Horror stole over her as she turned, half expecting to find Hassan standing there, wanting to stake some sort of claim on his fiancée. There was no way she could do that. No way she could be with him like that now.

Of course she would have to be with him in that way someday. But not now.
Oh, not now.
Not when Adham’s touch still burned on her skin. In her body.

But it wasn’t Hassan. It was Adham, his body still, backlit in the doorway, his broad frame highlighted to perfection. Her stomach tightened with need, desire, want, regret—all swirling together, making her dizzy.

When he walked into the room, his face hard, immovable like stone, a chill emanating from him, she felt her heart drop. He was a stranger now, this man who had touched her, taught her what it was to be a woman. The man she loved. In his place was a man guarded by
stone—a man even more unknowable than the Adham she had first seen standing at her hotel room door, all hell and fire and determined to bring her back to Umarah if he had to do it by force.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, gripping her elbows, trying to keep from shivering, to keep herself from betraying just how much he did to her by merely walking into a room.

“Hassan and I have spoken.”

She noticed his use of the High Sheikh’s first name, not his title. “What did you speak to him about?” Part of her hoped he’d confessed their sins, while another part of her had no idea what to want. What had happened between her and Adham had changed her forever, and yet in the real world it changed nothing. She still had to marry Hassan.

In a strange way her journey of self-discovery was responsible for cementing that in her. Being an adult, being her own person, meant nothing if she didn’t do all she could for her people. Yes, she had been born into royalty—no choice about it—but, like Adham, she was determined to fulfill her purpose, to serve where she was required to serve. She had great power, great influence, and if she didn’t do all that she could with it, it served no purpose.

“Hassan does not wish to marry you.”

Her thoughts stalled completely, her brain refusing to function. “I. He doesn’t. But he had you. What about the contract?” Then her thoughts started again, her mind racing at top speed. “What does this mean for the military alliance? For the trade routes and oil prices? My country is counting on it. My people. Your people. The wedding
has
to go forward.” She said it, and she believed it with a burning conviction even while her emotions, her
heart, her very soul, rejoiced at the thought of not having to marry Hassan.

“You will still marry the ruler of Umarah. But Hassan has decided to step down. He is in love with his mistress and she is carrying his child. Under those circumstances, he has decided he must do what is best for his growing family.”

Heat prickled her arms, the back of her neck. “Who is the new ruler of Umarah? Who am I meant to marry now?”

“You will marry me,
amira.
I am the new High Sheikh of Umarah.”

T
HERE
was no triumph in his voice. No warmth. Nothing to signal that the news he was delivering was positive or negative in any way. It simply was. But that was Adham’s way. If something needed to be done, he did it. He picked up the slack when others failed. He came through when others fell short. It was who he was.

“So now might be a good time to explain your relationship to Hassan, then,” she said, her throat tight and dry like sandpaper.

“He is my brother. Older by two years.”

“I thought your family had been killed.”

“All but Hassan and myself. He is the only family I have left.”

The knife of guilt that had been sticking sharply into her ribs twisted again. He was not simply Adham’s friend, he was his brother. That made those stolen moments at the oasis seem even worse.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” There were a lot of other questions she needed to ask, a lot of other bases to cover, but she had to know that first.

“That I was Hassan’s brother? Because I wanted to gain your trust, and I knew that would not happen if you knew of my relationship to him.”

“So you lied to me?”

“And we both cheated.”

She knew instinctively that it didn’t matter if she was no longer marrying Hassan. What had happened between them was still an aberration in Adham’s eyes. The sin had been committed, and it was not forgiven. And she knew that he would never forget her part in it, or his.

“Yes. We can’t take it back, though.”

“No. But we will move forward.”

“And you’re intent on marrying me in order to honor the contract? “

“I said that I would.”

She remembered the conversation they’d had on the street in Paris—a conversation that seemed as though it had taken place in another lifetime. He’d said he didn’t want to marry, but that if he had to, if others were dependent on him doing so, he would. She had become to him what Hassan had been to her. It made her feel sick.

“Yes. You did.”

“The country is going to be shaken by this. Hassan is a beloved leader, and though I have served Umarah all my life the people don’t know me well. That is by design. It is easiest for me to conduct my duty if I’m not highprofile. But that will make this transition difficult.”

Isabella took a breath. “I’ll do what I can to help it go smoothly.”

“Our marriage will help. The Umarahn people were expecting you as their Sheikha.”

“There isn’t a better man to rule than you, Adham. I’m certain of that. You have given everything for your country, for your people …”

“I think I have proven that I am as capable of weakness as anyone else.”

She could tell it physically hurt him to say it—that the words scraped raw as they left his throat.

“You’re not weak, Adham,” she whispered.

“I never will be again.”

There was finality in his tone—a coldness that chilled her straight to the bone.

“Hassan and Jamilah are leaving tomorrow. We will stay here while we prepare a formal announcement of the passing on of leadership and our wedding,” he said.

“We won’t go back to the city?”

“Not yet. We will marry in the city, but until then we will stay here. We will be closer to some of the Bedouin encampments, and it would be best if we were to go and visit them. Too often they feel as though they are on the fringe, and yet they’re very much a part of our country. I would have them feel as important as they are.”

Isabella’s heart swelled. Pride, she realized. Because, whether or not this was what Adham had envisioned for himself, he was born to lead. And she would have to find her place. Figure out where she fit, what she could do to help him.

Although she had a feeling he would rather her place were far away from him. The gulf between them had only widened since they’d made love. That moment of closeness—that brief, burning instant that she’d spent in the center of the sun—had been an illusion. And she was paying the price for it. She had lost any real link she’d had with Adham.

He turned to go, and without thinking she put her hand on him, desperate to find some sort of connection with him. “You aren’t staying?”

He turned, his eyebrows locked together, his jaw tense, the muscle of his forearm beneath her hand tight. “I have my own quarters. You will stay in yours.”

His words—harsh, final—were like a physical slap.
“And after the wedding?” she asked, despising herself for the hopeful note in her voice.

“That will depend on whether or not you are pregnant. We didn’t take any precautions.”

She nodded, feeling sick to her core. Now that she had given herself to him he didn’t want her at all. Now that she would be forced to marry him, live with him for the rest of her life, he despised her. Living with Hassan while loving Adham would have been less torturous than having Adham while his heart was locked tightly away from her—being his wife while he didn’t desire her at all.

When he left, closing the door behind him, she sat on the bed, her eyes dry and stinging, her pain too acute for tears. She felt brittle, as though the life was being drained from her.

It was one thing to be denied a life with Adham. But to be given a life with him and have him withhold himself from her … she did not know how she could live with that.

Adham swept a shaking hand over his forehead, disgusted with himself for how hard it was to deny Isabella. Even now he wanted her, after having possessed her only a few short hours ago.

Everything in his life had suddenly changed. All the things he had never desired—a wife, family, becoming High Sheikh—were thrust upon him, and still his most pressing need seemed to be for Isabella’s ripe body.

He despised the weakness in himself. Despised that she had such control over him—a control he could not seem to regain.

Until he could, he would not allow himself to touch her. He had a country to think of. His duty extended
beyond simply protecting borders and rooting out threats. He was now responsible for everything. And he would do it—would do the best thing possible for his people, as he had done during his years of military service.

He would marry Isabella. But he would not allow her to lead him around by vulnerable body parts. He had never given a woman such power over him. Women were women—easy to find and interchangeable. Sex, no matter how much he enjoyed it, was only sex. It was an easy thing for a man of wealth and power to get, should he want it.

Though he knew he would not find another woman. Not now that he was going to marry Isabella. He would be faithful to her, as he would demand faithfulness of her.

But first he had to gain control of the wild heat that seemed to overcome him when he was in her presence.

The next morning Adham sat at the head of the breakfast table, preparing a formal announcement, while Hassan and his mistress sat in the middle, the woman’s eyes downcast, Hassan avoiding Isabella’s gaze. Isabella was seated at the end, with aides and servants buzzing around her, the conversation in rapid Arabic moving too quickly for her to follow.

She put her head down and concentrated on eating her hot cereal. She couldn’t imagine a more awkward moment. And she’d never felt more like a commodity than she did right then, with Hassan sitting next to the woman of his choice, caressing her tenderly, making sure she was well. And there
she
was, sitting leagues away from her new fiancé—the fiancé who didn’t want her, who wouldn’t even look at her. Who had inherited her as part of a package deal with his new kingdom.

Her ears perked up, picking up the word
wedding
when spoken by Adham’s deep voice. “I see no reason it should not take place as planned.”

Hassan nodded. “It will give the people a sense of security.”

Oh, good. She was a security blanket for the people.

She sighed. It seemed ridiculous that she had been prepared for this with Hassan, but that now it was Adham it seemed … worse. Worse because she actually wanted Adham, because she loved him, and because she knew he was now stuck in a life, a position, he had not wanted. And she was a part of that.

She loved the man, and seeing him now, seated at the head of the table, going through massive stacks of paperwork, was like watching a tiger that had been caged. Adham would be a wonderful king. The best. And yet it was not what he had wanted for himself. And hadn’t he given enough?

She was just another sacrifice he was being forced to make.

“Isabella, where is your ring?” Adham spoke directly to her for the first time since she’d sat down at the table.

She flexed her fingers. “Oh … I thought that …” She looked at Hassan, then back to Adham. “It seemed inappropriate.”

“The ring was designed specifically for you by the palace jeweler.”

Designed for her? By whose standards? Her mother’s? Her father’s? The ring was a brilliant solitaire, beautiful in its perfection, but it had nothing whatsoever to do with her as a person. And it had been Hassan’s ring. She wanted Adham’s. More than that she wanted his
heart. He didn’t seem prepared to give her either, or even understand why it might be important.

For the first time Jamilah spoke. “You can’t expect Isabella to wear a ring that was given to her by another man.”

“Actually,” Isabella said crisply, “it was delivered to me by courier. So I suppose it’s impersonal enough that it should not matter.”

“But it does,” Jamilah insisted. “Men are foolish when it comes to such matters.”

On that she could wholeheartedly agree with her. And, since Jamilah was to be her sister-in-law, she was glad that she and the other woman had something other than a fiancé in common.

Hassan cleared his throat. “Yes, men are foolish. It takes us extra time to see what we truly need sometimes.”

Isabella felt her heart squeeze tight, seeing the love that passed between Hassan and Jamilah. Isabella blinked back hot tears and cleared her throat. Seeing Hassan in love, seeing the way he looked at Jamilah.it brought to light just how far she was from that place with Adham.

She stood, pushing her bowl back, tired of the pretense of enjoying breakfast while life swirled around her, out of her control. “I’m finished. Nice to meet you, Jamilah.”

She turned and walked from the room, unable to say anything to Adham for fear she might break down entirely. Everything should feel perfect now. She was marrying the man she loved. But it wasn’t perfect. It was a mockery of her feelings. The man she loved was being forced into a union with her, and being a part of his unhappiness was worse than not having him at all.

A gentle touch on her shoulder stopped her. “Isabella.” It was Jamilah, her liquid dark eyes full of concern. “I
hope that you are all right, Isabella. I know what it’s like to lose the man you love … or to think you will. I would hate it if you were heartbroken over this.”