‘I came here knowing you might not want what you did then. But still I had to explain. I didn’t ask you to leave because I didn’t love you. I loved you too much to have you stay. And I love you now, too much to fight you. Just know that you will always be my reason for being, Johara. Whether you’re with me or not, everything I do will be for you.’
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly, and she tilted her head back to his, facing him. ‘I love you.’
He offered the words so simply, and they pushed inside her, shaking her out of the state she was in. This was really happening. He was standing in front of her pouring his heart out and she was holding onto the anger she’d felt. Was she doing exactly the same thing he had? Pushing him away because she was scared of being hurt again?
Maybe love always brought with it a sense of danger—and the gamble made the pay-off so much sweeter.
‘So what are you saying?’ she asked quietly, surprised her voice sounded so level when her insides were going haywire.
‘Is that not obvious?’
She shook her head. ‘I think I need you to say it.’
He nodded, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed. ‘I wish I could go back to that night and change everything I said and did. I wish I had pulled you into my arms, thanked you for what you were offering and walked hand in hand with you to deal with the problems that faced us. Not me. Us. About our countries.’ Her lips parted as she drew in a shaky breath.
‘But I cannot go back in time, and I cannot change what I did then. So I am promising you my heart, and my future, and everything I can share with you. I am asking you to marry me, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I am asking you to be not just my wife, and the mother of my children, but a ruler at my side. You are brilliant and brave and your instincts are incredible. I would be lucky to have you as my wife, and Ishkana would be blessed to have you as its Queen. I’m asking you to look beyond the past to the future that we could have. And in exchange I promise that I will never again fail you. I will never again fail to see your strength and courage, to understand what you are capable of.’
Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks now. He caught one with the pad of his thumb, then another, wiping her face clean.
‘Don’t cry.’ The words were gruff. ‘Please.’
She laughed, though, a half-sob, a sign of how broken and fixed she felt all at once.
‘Damn it, Amir, I wanted to hate you,’ she said, stamping her foot. ‘I have missed you so much.’
‘I know.’ He groaned, pulling her towards him, holding her close to his body. ‘That is mutual.’
She listened to his heart and knew that it was beating for her, just as it always had. She stayed there with her head pressed to his chest, listening, believing, adjusting to the reality she was living, to the happiness that was within reach. They both had to be brave, but the alternative was too miserable to contemplate.
She blinked up at him, smiling. ‘Let’s go home, Amir.’
He made a growling sound of relief, pleasure, delight, and then he swooped his lips down to kiss her. ‘Yes, inti qamar. Let us go home.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
Amir couldn’t take his eyes off Johara. Through the glass of his bedroom, he watched her sleeping and felt as though nothing and no one could ever hurt him. She was here, in Ishkana, where she belonged. Seven months ago he’d pushed her away, believing the best thing he could do for her was arrange safe passage to Taquul. How wrong he’d been. And how fortunate he was that her heart was so forgiving...
‘We flew back a few hours ago.’ Behind him, the sun was beginning to break into the sky. ‘It’s all agreed.’
‘You cannot marry her. I forbid it.’
‘Your lack of consent will hurt Jo, Malik, but it will do nothing to change our plans.’
Silence met his pronouncement. If the past had taught them anything it was that neither wanted to risk another outbreak of violence. They both knew the cost too well. Malik might be furious, but he would not threaten military action.
‘You must have kidnapped her. Taken her against her will.’
Amir straightened at the very suggestion. ‘I will never, in my life, do anything against your sister’s will. She came here because we are in love, Malik, as you are well aware.’ The gentle rebuke sat between them. It was the reason, after all, that Malik had lied about an impending marriage to Paris.
‘Love,’ Malik spat with disbelief. ‘She is a princess of Taquul. Her place is here.’
‘Her place,’ Amir corrected with a smile that came from deep within his heart, ‘is wherever she wants it to be.’
Inside, Johara caught the statement through the open door, her eyes blinking open. She listened, her breath in a state of suspension as the man she intended to spend the rest of her life with spoke to—she could only presume—her brother.
‘I insist on speaking to her.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Amir agreed. ‘She is still asleep, but I have no doubt she will wish to speak to you about this. The purpose for my call is simple—I wanted to alert you to the state of affairs and to caution you against saying or doing anything to upset her.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘A threat? No. It’s a promise. If you push her away, you will lose her completely, Malik. She has chosen where she wants to be, and with whom.’ He sighed. ‘I love your sister. I plan to make her very happy by giving her everything she could ever want—and we both know that is for us to be, if not exactly friends, capable of existing harmoniously.’
Silence met this statement.
‘She and I are to marry. She will carry my children, the heirs to Ishkana. They will be your nieces and nephews. Can you think of anyone who will benefit from continued estrangement?’
Inside the bedroom, Johara smiled, her eyes fluttering closed. She was exactly where she wanted to be and, with all her heart, she knew that the decision she’d made had been the right one. The only one she could ever make. Her heart, the skies, fate and future had guided her here—it was where she was meant to be.
EPILOGUE
AMIR HAD BEEN WRONG. He had believed his people, and the people of Taquul, would revolt at the very idea of a union between himself and Johara. He had braced for that, and prepared Johara for the inevitable splashback.
There had been none.
Nothing but euphoric delight and anticipation. Every detail of their union was discussed at length. He could not turn on the television without catching some talk-show host speculating about which tiara she would wear down the aisle, and whether the jewel for her ring would be of Taquul or Ishkana.
Billboards were pasted across the city with a smiling photo of Johara, welcoming her to Ishkana. Despite the pain his people had felt—or perhaps because of it—they welcomed her, knowing that lasting peace was truly at hand. With this marriage, the war became impossible. Their union bonded the countries in a way no peace treaty alone ever could. They were family now. His children would be a mix of them, and of their countries, and he had every intention of their being raised in the light of both countries and cultures.
Separation was not the way forward. Unity was. Just as Johara had said.
In the end, she wore a tiara that had belonged to her mother, and a wedding ring that had been his mother’s. Her dress was made of spider’s silk, lace and beads, and when she walked towards him, he felt as though it were just him and her, and no one else in the world. When she walked towards him, he felt as though he might be about to soar into the heavens.
She smiled at him and he felt a thousand and one things—gladness, love, pleasure, relief, and a small part of him felt sorrow that his parents would never know her. But in a way, their happiness would be a part of this, because through their example he’d finally understood that being fearless was a necessity to love.
A year af
ter their wedding, to the day, they were blessed with the birth of a son. Two years later, twin daughters followed. And for all the years into the future they’d hoped for, peace, happiness and prosperity favoured not only Amir and Johara, but the people of their kingdoms as well.
There was, as it turned out, never a story with less woe than that of Amir and his Jo.
Coming next month
CLAIMING HIS BOLLYWOOD CINDERELLA
Tara Pammi
The scent of her hit him first. A subtle blend of jasmine and her that he’d remember for the rest of his life. And equate with honesty and irreverence and passion and laughter. There was a joy about this woman, despite her insecurities and vulnerabilities, that he found almost magical.
The mask she wore was black satin with elaborate gold threading at the edges and was woven tightly into her hair, leaving just enough of her beautiful dark brown eyes visible. The bridge of her small nose was revealed as was the slice of her cheekbones. For a few seconds, Vikram had the overwhelming urge to tear it off. He wanted to see her face. Not because he wanted to find out her identity.
He wanted to see her face because he wanted to know this woman. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted… With a rueful shake of his head, he pushed away the urge. It was more than clear that men had only ever disappointed her. He was damned if he was going to be counted as one of them. He wanted to be different in her memory.
When she remembered him after tonight, he wanted her to smile. He wanted her to crave more of him. Just as he would crave more of her. He knew this before their lips even touched. And he would find a way to discover her identity. He was just as sure of that too.
Her mouth was completely uncovered. Her lipstick was mostly gone leaving a faint pink smudge that he wanted to lick away with his tongue.
She held the edge of her silk dress with one hand and as she’d lifted it to move, he got a flash of a thigh. Soft and smooth and silky. It was like receiving a jolt of electricity, with every inch he discovered of this woman. The dress swooped low in the front, baring the upper curves of her breasts in a tantalizing display.
And then there she was, within touching distance. Sitting with her legs folded beneath her, looking straight into his eyes. One arm held the sofa while the other smoothed repeatedly over the slight curve of her belly. She was nervous and he found it both endearing and incredibly arousing. She wanted to please herself. And him. And he’d never wanted more for a woman to discover pleasure with him.
Her warm breath hit him somewhere between his mouth and jaw in silky strokes that resonated with his heartbeat. This close, he could see the tiny scar on the other corner of her mouth.
“Are you going to do anything?” she asked after a couple of seconds, sounding completely put out.
He wanted to laugh and tug that pouty lower lip with his teeth. Instead he forced himself to take a breath. He was never going to smell jasmine and not think of her ever again. “It’s your kiss, darling. You take it.”
Continue reading
CLAIMING HIS BOLLYWOOD CINDERELLA
Tara Pammi
Available next month
Copyright ©2020 Tara Pammi
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Their Impossible Desert Match (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 17