The Sheikh's Marriage Bargain (Hasan Sheikhs Book 1)

by Leslie North

  “The party to find a bride for the crown prince”—He gestured to himself—“is because we in the royal family have a predicament of our own. My younger brother Yaseen’s situation has put us in some upheaval. He needs to marry the woman who is pregnant with his child, but because of the ancient laws in Raihan, he can’t marry until I do.”

  Laila’s eyes went wide. “So you’re just going to get married? Like that?”

  “To preserve the family’s honor, yes.” His heart beat harder, thinking of it. He was not going to let scandal come to the palace because he couldn’t find a bride—not now, and not ever. “Another ancient law is on our side. It gives the royal family authority to choose any bride, even one outside other royal bloodlines. Or already contracted to marry.”

  Laila looked hard at him, her eyes narrowed. He could fall into those green eyes and keep falling forever. If he let himself. Which he wouldn’t. “What are you saying?”

  “It’s simple. I propose that we marry each other, for a set period of time. Once my brother is married, we can go our separate ways. It solves all our problems. And, of course, I will pay whatever bride price Harb offered for your hand and make sure your grandfather is provided for.”

  Laila sat down heavily on the sofa and looked up at him, green eyes huge, lashes full. The angle hooked him in the ribs and yanked his soul toward her.

  “What...what would be the period of time?”

  Zayid sat in the closest armchair so he wouldn’t have to look down at her. “Twelve weeks. Another ancient law...” She bit her lip. “I know. Another ancient law says that twelve weeks must elapse between royal weddings. My ancestors appear to have been obsessed with weddings.”

  Hope flared in her eyes, making them seem brighter in the soft lamplight. “Why are you doing this? You could have your pick of any woman in the country. Someone from your world.”

  He rubbed his hands over his face, plunging himself into darkness for a split second. Laila was still watching him when he resurfaced. She looked almost delicate, sitting on the antique sofa.

  “All the women at the ball...all the women who have ever approached me about this...they’re hoping for something real. They’re hoping they can convince me to fall in love with them, and they’ll have their very own fairytale. Or their families have a political or financial agenda. Or all of the above. You and I are different.”

  Laila cocked an eyebrow. “We don’t want real marriages?”

  “We want to be free.”

  He heard her subtle intake of breath. Out in the hall, footsteps moved quietly past the door. The aides would be getting antsy. If he didn’t get back to the ballroom soon, his mother would come looking for him herself. His lungs seemed too small. If Laila dismissed this out of hand right now, he’d have no choice but to go find someone at the party. At the end of the hall a grandfather clock that had been passed down for four generations ticked and struck the time—eleven p.m. Not quite Cinderella’s midnight, but he was running out of time to choose a backup bride.

  “I do want to be free,” Laila said softly. “I do.”

  “Good.” That was all he needed—at least for now. He stood up, head humming with plans. “I can give you the night to make your final decision. Wait here for my aides. They’ll take you where you need to go.”

  “Where’s that?” Laila was on her feet in an instant, moving closer. He pushed down the urge to sweep her up into his arms and take her to the helicopter pad himself.

  “Back to the city,” he said, tearing his eyes away from her one last time. “You’ll stay at the palace there. The guest rooms here are full, and I think it will be better if the hopeful guests at the ball are kept in cheerful ignorance of your presence, at least for tonight.”

  5

  Laila rolled and stretched, coming awake under the softest sheets she’d ever touched in her life. This had to be the best bed in the universe. For once, her body felt perfectly rested. She hadn’t spent all night tossing and turning the way she did in her tiny apartment, with its ancient twin mattress. As excited as she’d been after the helicopter ride from one palace to the other, she’d still fallen almost instantly into a deep sleep.

  Now she opened her eyes onto a sunlit guest suite in the private wing of Zayid’s palace. The king and queen, it turned out, spent most of their time at the country palace where the party had been held. Zayid lived here. And for the moment, so did she.

  Laila abandoned the comfort of the sheets and took everything in. It had been late enough the night before that she’d climbed straight into bed, but now—now she was in the palace. The palace that had watched over everyone in the city for centuries—including her, for a little while.

  Deep blue wallpaper etched with a thin leaf pattern in gold covered the walls. The bed itself was a massive creation of gleaming dark wood and pristine white sheets. Pillows on pillows. She’d dumped her purse and phone on the matching bedside table. Laila threw open the curtains, letting in another wash of sunlight. The room overlooked the royal gardens, teeming with flowers.

  Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous. The view made her heart race. She threw the curtains shut to cover it up, so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by her circumstances.

  It would be an adventure to marry the crown prince; she couldn’t deny that. But how could she accept it? She didn’t want to get married. That had not been the plan when she bought her ticket to Raihan. Her plan was to go back to London and get a teaching job—preferably one that included making and researching pottery. Marrying Zayid would only be exchanging one marriage contract for another. This one came with its own gilded cage.

  But it was still better than marrying Harb or leaving her grandfather to deal with the fallout. A burst of anger shot through her arms and balled her hands into fists. That man didn’t deserve a marriage contract for scamming her grandfather. He deserved—

  She shuddered away from the dark, vengeful thoughts.

  A soft knock reverberated through the bedroom door, which cracked open an inch. “Ms. Tindall? I heard you moving about. My name is Maha, and I’ll be your personal aide during your stay at the palace. Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she said, wrapping her arms across yesterday’s clothes. “A personal aide? I’m not sure I’ll need help with anything.” Laila hadn’t even considered day-to-day life at the palace. She hadn’t considered that it might last longer than a single night. Yet here she was, talking to her new aide through the door. “Will I?”

  “Sheikh Zayid wanted me to bring you some clothes and make sure you’ve been acquainted with the space. I’ll be with you to guide you through the day.”

  Aha—so she wouldn’t be left to her own devices. That wasn’t surprising. And Maha had a kind, smooth voice. She thought about going back into the city and running into Harb, and her stomach turned. Better to stay here, aide or not.

  “Okay.” How did people live with servants like this? Did they just embrace the awkwardness? Laila would have to. “I’m probably going to shower, then.” The bedroom was only a third of the suite. It also branched off into an en suite bathroom and walk-in closet and had its own separate sitting area.

  “There are fresh towels and cloths in the bathroom,” Maha said. “I’ll leave some clothing choices on the bed.”

  Laila hopped into the shower and lathered up the creamy, expensive shampoo. He had assigned her a servant. An aide. And—what now? Her nerves sparked and sang. She had only ever seen one picture of Zayid, and the royal family didn’t release intimate information about its members. She could be considering marriage to a psychopath.

  But—no. A psychopath wouldn’t have cared if she was hungry. He wouldn’t have brought her a second plate of food. He wouldn’t have offered to take care of her grandfather and free her from the tangles of the other marriage contract. And if she rejected the proposal now, her grandfather would be at the mercy of a man who very well might be the kind of psychopath she was trying to avoid.

  Laila shut off the water. Marriag
e to the sheikh it was. She tried to ignore the happy bang and clash of her heart. Zayid—he was hot. He was so hot. And in the privacy of the bathroom, she let herself blush and feel that heat.

  Once she had dried her hair properly for the first time in weeks—there were no outlets for hair dryers at her apartment—she went back out to the bedroom. Maha had made the bed and left a full wardrobe’s worth of clothes across the foot. She found underthings in her size and slipped them on, relishing the feel of the fabric on her skin. Time to select an outfit.

  She found two traditionally cut kaftans, soft and flowing and subtly shaped. One was a deep wine shade and the other a delicate forest green. Laila ran her hands over each one in turn. So soft. So soft. She chose the green dress and let it drop over her head with a whisper. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Yes—yes. She’d stay here for a while, if only to keep wearing clothes like this. If only to be safe for another hour or two.

  Maha waited for her in the sitting room. She stood up when Laila entered and dipped her head in a subtle bow. Heat roared across Laila’s cheeks.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m—I’m definitely not royalty.”

  The other woman looked at her with a twinkle in her eye. “You are an honored guest of Prince Zayid, which is all that matters to me.”

  Laila cleared her throat. “Speaking of Prince Zayid...where is he? I’d like to talk to him.”

  Maha gave her a gentle smile. “The sheikh will speak to you in his own time.”

  Laila considered this. “Could you send him a message for me?”

  “Of course.” Maha’s expression was open and ready. Laila had never felt so out of place in her life. “Whenever you have word to send, I’m happy to pass it along to him.”

  Laila cast around for a piece of paper and pen, but what was the point? She’d already said as much to Maha. “Tell him I’d like to see him,” she said. “Just so he knows.”

  “Right away.” Maha stepped outside, and Laila had the acute sense that she’d be back in a matter of seconds. She was. “I’ve sent one of the other aides with the message. Now.” She folded her hands in front of her, smiling. “Sheikh Zayid has requested that I give you a short tour of the palace.”

  Laila tried to pay attention as Maha led her out of the private wing to the gardens her room overlooked. They wended their way through the paths, admiring the flowers in bloom. Laila kept waiting for Zayid to appear from behind every corner. A hot irritation sizzled through her, followed by a breathless attraction. It was almost too much. Pay attention, she thought. Maha gave her plenty to pay attention to. In the public-facing wing of the palace, they went through three art galleries, then circled back to the private quarters.

  Maha ticked off the rooms as they passed by. “A private dining area,” she said. “Another set of guest suites. Down that hallway is a fully equipped gym and pool.” They rounded another corner. “And—ah, Sheikh Zayid.”

  At the sound of his name, all the hairs on Laila’s skin stood up. Zayid waited outside the door to her guest suite, hands in his pockets, feet planted. Somehow his jaw seemed even sharper, his muscles more defined, than last night. She felt his eyes on her like two embers.

  “Sheikh Zayid,” Laila said. They drew up in front of him. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “I gather you felt a bit impatient about our meeting today.”

  That same twist of irritation mixed with desire curled through her like a ribbon. “Did you get the message I sent?”

  “I did.” Now a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I had other obligations to attend to first.”

  “I don’t have a charger for my phone,” she blurted out. “That was one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Zayid gave her a slow nod. “Maha, thank you.”

  Maha murmured something in Arabic and was gone in a breath of lavender-scented air. The atmosphere around them seemed charged, electric, and Laila was relieved when Zayid spoke again.

  “I think there’s more to discuss than a charging cable.” He opened the door to her room. “But for the record, that’s been taken care of.” Her phone waited for her on a side table snugged up next to the sofa, plugged into a slim white cable. “Was there someone you needed to call?”

  She put the phone down. “Not yet.” Facing Zayid was like staring into the sun. “Let’s talk first.”

  Zayid gestured for her to sit, and this time she didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself easily into a chair across from her. “I assume you’ve made your decision.”

  “I’m almost there. I have a few questions.”

  He inclined his head, and Laila fought the urge to leap across the coffee table and throw her arms around his neck. He could catch her. Easily. No doubt about that.

  “First,” she said, her old instinct for adventure kicking in, “if I were to accept your proposal, what would my role in this marriage be?”

  He held her gaze. “Because it’s a short-term arrangement, I would only need you to perform a few social duties. There would be nothing else required of you, except for those public appearances. We’ll keep our relationship platonic and remain friendly acquaintances.”

  Laila nodded crisply, ignoring the twinge of disappointment she felt at her core. “And my grandfather.” Her throat tightened, and another wave of heat threatened her cheeks. “You said you’d take care of him. What does that mean?” She cleared her throat, trying to sound less like she was on the verge of tears. “How are you going do to that?” Laila sat up straight and rearranged her hands in her lap.

  All the traces of amusement disappeared from Zayid’s expression, leaving behind a cold determination. “Labeeb will be treated as a member of the royal family, with all its protections extended to him. Upon the moment of our marriage, the contract with the other man will be null and void.”

  “Then I accept. The proposal,” she said quickly, relief cascading over her in a breathless rush. “I’ll marry you. The sooner the better.”

  Zayid leaned forward, eyes searching hers. “Are you quite sure? I wanted to allow you time to sleep on it.” Laila saw a crack of vulnerability move across his face, quicker than lightning. “Was it enough?” Zayid rubbed at his forehead with the pad of his thumb. “I spent all of last night evading proposals, so the sooner we make our decision, the better.”

  She let out a laugh. “You know, if it weren’t for all these ancient laws, neither of us would be in this position.” She let herself sink back against the sofa. “Raihan has been a mountain of trouble since the moment I set foot here.” And I don’t know how to get out, a part of her howled. Laila jolted upright, realizing too late what she’d said. “Wait, I—I didn’t mean—”

  Zayid came around the table with sure, long strides and she pulled back, bracing for anger. But instead he dropped onto the sofa next to her. “You’re right. If it weren’t for the laws, we wouldn’t be in this room together.” The low baritone of his voice wrapped around her and made her wish she could sink into it like a blanket. Speaking of the room—was there any air in it left at all? Her pulse fluttered in her temples. “But we are. And for all its trouble, Raihan is one of the most beautiful places on Earth.” The crown prince held up a hand, and Laila held her breath. He brushed a lock of her hair gently away from her face, his eyes tracing its path before settling back on hers. “You’ll come to appreciate its splendor.”

  Laila gulped in a breath, catching the sunlight scent of his cologne. “Will I?” Will everything be all right?

  “I’ll see to it.”

  She felt herself leaning into him at the same time she held herself back, the tension singing through the room so powerfully it hurt her ears. Kiss me, she thought wildly. Kiss me now. And then marry me. But kiss me first.

  Zayid didn’t kiss her.

  But when he dropped his hand, he brushed all the way down the side of her neck, shoulder, and wrist, leaving a trail of heat as he went.

  6

  Laila’s mother, S
adia, couldn’t take her eyes off Laila’s new apartment—the “princess consort’s” suite, she’d been told. Her mother stood in the center of the vast sitting room and soaked everything in—the high ceilings, the towering windows overlooking the city, the exquisite furniture.

  “This is quite something,” she said softly. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Neither can I.” Laila pushed her hair back from her face. It was more than a little surreal, having her parents in her royal apartments in Raihan. The royal apartments where she had staff. Three assistants worked on finalizing the seating chart for the wedding now, as she greeted her parents. “It’s a dream come true.” The lie tasted sour on her tongue.

  “It’s been so long since we were here,” said her father, a tall blond man who had to have all his suits tailored to fit his lean frame. “I never expected to see you in the palace.”

  “I know.” Laila gave an exhausted laugh. “It’s been a real whirlwind.”

  Her mother clasped Laila’s hands in hers, then brought her in for a hug. “I’m just so happy for you, darling.” Sadia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “A prince. You deserve it. You’ve been so brave.”

  “I haven’t, really,” Laila murmured into her mother’s shoulder.

  “You’ve always been brave,” laughed Sadia. “I spent so many sleepless nights wishing you’d be more cautious.”

  Laila patted her mom on the shoulder and straightened up. “Life works in mysterious ways.”

  “Does it?” Jacob milled around the room, eyes falling on different pieces of furniture and darting back to the picture windows overlooking the city. “Are you satisfied with those mysterious ways?” Jacob turned to look her in the eye. “You can be honest with us, you know. If this isn’t something you want to do, you only need to say the word. We’ll take you home today.”

  Part of her longed to rush into Jacob’s arms and tell him the whole story, but Laila held herself back. That was an old, childish thing, and she’d given it up by the time she hit kindergarten. “I want to be here.”