Surgeon Prince, Cinderella Bride

by Ann Mcintosh

  “You can use my office, Sir.”

  Dr. Andrade made the offer but Farhan, who had already taken out his cellphone, just shook his head.

  “Thank you, but I think the verandah will be fine. Sara?”

  She preceded him back through the ward to the open doors leading to the wraparound balcony. There was one corner, near a set of stairs, that seemed to offer a bit of privacy, so she made a beeline there.

  If she was going to get a talking-to, she wanted as few people as possible to overhear.

  Farhan was saying into the phone, “Kavan, sorry to bother you so soon after you got home, but could you pick up Princess Sara at the hospital and take her back to the palace? Thank you... I’ll let her know.”

  As he touched the screen to hang up, he said in a distant tone, “Kavan will be here to pick you up in about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, braced for whatever would come next.

  Farhan’s eyebrows dipped together. “What’s wrong?”

  Might as well get it out in the open, and take whatever he had to say on the chin.

  “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I didn’t think it through. It’s just that she’s going to die if nothing gets done soon.”

  The words were rushed, and little more than a strained whisper through a throat tight with stress. Farhan’s frown deepened, and her heart sank. Putting her hands behind her back, she clasped her fingers together and squeezed, hard, using the pain to center herself.

  Farhan’s expression lightened, and he shook his head. “I was angry with you earlier when you rushed into the stampede, and I’m upset with the surgeon who’s missing in action. I’m even annoyed that no one told me about this patient sooner, but I’m definitely not angry with you. You did the right thing.”

  Relief arced through her, making her scalp tingle and her legs wobbly. Why it was so strong, she didn’t know, but she was forced to turn away so he couldn’t see the moisture gathering in her eyes.

  She heard his footsteps approaching, but wasn’t prepared for the weight of his arm across her shoulders, or the safety and contentment the gesture immediately brought. When he bent his head and placed his lips close to her ear, Sara stiffened, not with surprise but in an effort to suppress the shiver creeping up her spine.

  “I know we don’t know each other as well as we could, but never doubt that my first responsibility is to the people of Kalyana. It is my duty to do all I can for them, and that includes using my medical training.”

  His arm tightened around her shoulders for an instant, and goosebumps fired along her arms and up her torso.

  “If anything,” he continued softly, “I should apologize to you.”

  “Wh-what for?”

  “For leaving you to face my family alone this evening. There’s no way I’ll get finished in Theatre in time for dinner, but thank goodness it’s not formal, just my parents, Maazin, and some close family friends.”

  It was daunting, just the type of situation that should send her anxiety levels through the roof and have her ulcer burning, and yet...

  “Your parents are a little scary, especially your father, but somehow I’m not too worried.”

  “Really?”

  The touch of humor in his voice made her smile.

  “Maybe because of our arrangement, I know it doesn’t really matter whether your parents like or approve of me or not,” she replied, recognizing the truth in that statement.

  And wondering why, then, Farhan’s approval meant so much!

  * * *

  King Uttam had a favorite phrase.

  Punctuality is imperative.

  He was also known to elaborate on this philosophy.

  “If you are five minutes early, you are already ten minutes late.”

  The King didn’t make those statements lightly. In fact, each of his sons had, at one time or another, been on the receiving end of a lecture, or gone without supper, for being tardy.

  In the palace the standing rule was: if you are not going to be on time, do not turn up at all, as you will not be welcome.

  Normally Farhan adhered to that rule, because although he was no longer the young, awestruck boy who feared his father, it was just simpler. As an adult he recognized his mother’s discomfiture when his father made cutting remarks and the atmosphere turned cold, and tried to spare her when he could.

  So on the few occasions he had to miss a family gathering because he was in the operating room, Farhan stayed away.

  Tonight, however, was different.

  Sara deserved his attendance, even though she’d assured him she’d be fine.

  Even if his late arrival had the potential to make King Uttam apoplectic.

  Having showered and changed into dinner clothes, Farhan strode into the dining room, a determined smile on his face.

  The assembled group was already having dessert, and silence fell, as though no one could believe his temerity. Cheerfully he greeted his parents, their friends, and Maazin, before walking directly to Sara. He bent and kissed her cheek, and she stiffened slightly, although she didn’t pull away. Probably he should’ve made the salutation brief, but he instead let his mouth linger for a moment longer than necessary, enjoying the soft warmth beneath his lips.

  “How did the operation go?” she murmured.

  “It went well. She has a long road ahead, but I’m assured she’ll recover fully.”

  The smile she gave him more than made up for his father’s glower.

  “I’m afraid you’re too late for dinner, Farhan.” There was no doubt about the annoyance and command in his father’s voice.

  “That’s fine, Father. They kindly fed me at the hospital. I would, however, love some of that trifle.”

  For a second he thought his father was going to tell him it would not be allowed, but when the King merely frowned before taking another bite of his own dessert, the butler hurried to bring a serving of trifle for Farhan.

  “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat? There must be some lamb left, if you’re still hungry,” said Sara.

  Not a surprised silence now, but one of shock at her egregious breach of protocol—although Farhan doubted Sara noticed. She was completely focused on him, the concern in her dark eyes filling him with joy and the kind of tenderness he’d never thought himself capable of. There was a spluttering sound from Maazin’s direction—probably a stifled laugh—but Farhan couldn’t tear his gaze from Sara’s. Tingling warmth spread through his belly and up his spine.

  “Anyone who is late to my table does not get fed.”

  His father’s cold words thankfully broke the spell. Sara blinked, then turned her attention to the King. Farhan expected her to blush, or stammer, the way she did when he spoke to her, but, instead, she just smiled faintly.

  “And no doubt that discipline was instrumental in your sons becoming the men they are now. I wish my parents had been stricter with us, for just that reason.”

  Farhan snapped his head around so fast to see his father’s reaction it was surprising he didn’t get whiplash. Yet what was truly shocking was watching Uttam’s lips twitch at the corners.

  “Perhaps the first time I’ve ever heard a child say such a thing about their parents.” Looking down at his trifle, the King continued. “Farhan, Maazin, I suggest that you listen carefully to everything Sara says from now on. She’s obviously extremely intelligent and may even be a good influence on you.”

  They all stared at him, Farhan wondering who this man smiling down into his pudding was, and where his father had disappeared to.

  Then his mother giggled, the sound so unexpected, so sweet Farhan found himself joining in. Sara lost it next, with Maazin and his parents’ guests following right after, until the entire dining room rang with laughter.

  It was like being in a dream, surreal. Especially wh
en he looked at his father and found him still smiling into his beard.

  Uttam had never been particularly congenial, and what vestige of humor he’d once possessed had seemed to have died with Ali.

  To see him like this was a revelation...

  And a relief.

  Somehow the woman sitting across from him, her face glowing with humor, had already made a huge change in all their lives.

  Especially his.

  Now all he had to figure out was why she exerted such a pull on him, and how he could resist.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DINNER WAS A lot less stressful than she’d expected, but Sara knew part of that was her own attitude toward the entire royalty issue.

  Frankly she couldn’t give a hoot about whether they could trace their lineage back a thousand years, or that they ruled an entire—albeit small—country. If her parents had successfully taught her anything, it was that everyone deserved the same respect.

  That attitude was coming in mighty handy just about now. But although she was fine with treating King Uttam as though he were her elderly next-door neighbor, and Maazin like a brother, she couldn’t get over her hyper-awareness of Farhan.

  From the moment he’d walked in her calm had all but deserted her, leaving instead a tingle dancing just under her skin. Knowing he was putting on a show for the others when he kissed her cheek didn’t stop her heart from jumping, or her traitorous body from wanting to melt at his feet.

  Telling herself it was just because he was so incredibly handsome didn’t help, or even ring true. While they were different in appearance, some people would say Maazin was even more attractive than Farhan, but Sara’s pulse didn’t race when she saw him. Electricity didn’t spark through her system, neither did sexual tension tighten her nerves.

  No, Maazin did nothing for her in that regard, whereas Farhan made her think thoughts so naughty she was sure her cheeks were constantly aflame whenever he was around.

  She’d never had anyone affect her that way before, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. Ignoring it would probably be the best thing, but there was no way to stop her visceral reaction to his scent, his nearness, his dark, often mysterious gaze.

  Even now, hours later, she could easily recall the sensation of those gorgeous lips on her cheek and the memory made her nipples tighten, warmth filling her belly.

  Thankfully, when they cited their long day and said goodnight to the older couples, leaving them to their after-dinner cocktails, Maazin excused himself too.

  “I’ll walk with you,” he said, as they exited the sitting room, not into the corridor but onto the verandah outside.

  “Going out this evening?” Farhan asked.

  Maazin gave him a strange look, one that Sara couldn’t decipher.

  “No, I have some paperwork to finish up. I thought I’d go back to my office and get it done.”

  “All work and no play...”

  Maazin just shook his head and bent to kiss Sara’s cheeks.

  “Goodnight, little sister, and most annoying older brother.”

  “What was that all about?” Sara asked, as Maazin strode off toward the east wing, where she supposed his office was located.

  Farhan didn’t answer immediately, just took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, to lead her along the softly lit walkway.

  Thinking he wasn’t going to answer, she tried to ignore the heat of arousal building in her body by looking out over the extensive parklands stretching away from the palace. Beautifully landscaped, they sloped down into a small valley and gleamed softly in the light of the waxing, gibbous moon rising beyond the distant hills. A lovely floral aroma wafted on the warm breeze, but it wasn’t enough to mask Farhan’s masculine scent, which went straight to Sara’s head like a shot of rum.

  “Maazin has no social life, hasn’t had one for years. He’s a workaholic, getting old before his time, trying to make up for something I, personally, believe he should forgive himself for.”

  “What did he do?” Perhaps now she’d learn what that sadness was she saw in Maazin’s gaze when he thought no one was looking.

  Farhan moved her hand from his elbow and, instead, entwined his fingers with hers, linking them in a way that intensified the intimacy of their conversation.

  “He was a hell raiser when he was young, and fell in with a bad crowd. One night he went to a party out in the countryside, got drunk and fell asleep. When he woke up, his friends had left him. He walked far enough to get cell signal and called our brother, Ali, asking him to come and get him. I think he knew if he called one of the guards, or anyone else, they’d tell Father what had happened, but Ali always looked out for us.”

  She knew what was coming, wished she didn’t have to hear it.

  “They got into an accident on the way home. Ali and his wife, Chandni, who’d gone with him, were killed instantly, while Maazin only had a badly dislocated shoulder.”

  “I’m so sorry, Farhan.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Don’t feel badly. It was a long time ago, and it’s time Maazin got past it.”

  Yet, even with his factual recitation and acknowledgement of Maazin’s pain, she knew his brother wasn’t the only one still adversely affected. She’d only just met them, but she was sure it explained so much she’d already noticed. The way the family interacted, as though each inhabited a bubble the others could see through but never penetrate.

  “Easier said than done, I should think. The same for the rest of you too. You were away when it happened?”

  Now he stopped to rest his back against the balustrade, turning her so she stood in front of him, their fingers still linked. Though he made no move to urge her closer, Sara wanted to lean into him, the magnetic pull she always felt suddenly overwhelmingly strong.

  His face was partially shadowed, but his gaze still easily snagged and held hers.

  “I was in med school, in Sydney. I came back as soon as I could, expecting to have to stay and take up where Ali left off, even though I was already working toward my fellowship.”

  There was a sense of having to tread gently, but he had brought it up, so she asked the obvious.

  “Why didn’t you stay?”

  His lips thinned for an instant, then he replied, “My father said it wasn’t necessary; told me to go and complete my surgical training.”

  It had hurt him. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was sure of it.

  “You all must have been grieving so horribly then. Shock and pain make people say things, make decisions they might not have otherwise.” Here in the moonlight, it was easy to open up to him. “When my grandpa died, my mother’s family pretty much imploded for a while.”

  His gaze was searching.

  “What happened? Was your nonni heartbroken?”

  The sound she instinctively made was derisive, and she regretted it as soon as it came out. She’d tried to make peace with her feelings for Nonni, but obviously she hadn’t succeeded.

  “No, although she was the source of the rifts that opened up. You see, she’d run off and left Grandpa and her three children something like twenty years before. No one knew where she was in all that time, until she turned up one day at Aunt Jackie’s, asking if she could stay with her to recover from a bad motorcycle accident. Aunt Jackie didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to be disloyal to Grandpa but, being the youngest—she was only six when Nonni took off—she wasn’t as angry, I guess, as Mom or my Uncle Ed.

  “Plus, Aunt Jackie’s marriage had just ended. It was a bad time for her, and she ended up taking Nonni in, after getting Grandpa’s blessing. About six months later, Grandpa had a massive heart attack, a widow-maker, and that’s when things fell apart.”

  She could still remember it, as though it had happened the day before. Uncle Ed shouting that Aunt Jackie had broken Grandpa’s heart by taking Nonni in; Non
ni making things worse by not staying out of it.

  “What happened?”

  Sara shook her head, trying to push the memories back.

  “My uncle blamed Nonni and Aunt Jackie for Grandpa’s death, and said he was done with the family. Never wanted to see any of us again.”

  Farhan squeezed her fingers.

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight, almost nine.” She inhaled, then let the air out in a rush. “It was pretty traumatic, to be honest. There was a lot of dirty laundry aired, and a lot of mean things said. For about a year Mom didn’t speak to Nonni or Aunt Jackie either, and it took Uncle Ed five, maybe six years to speak to either of his siblings again.”

  “Did your grandmother at least try to smooth things over?”

  “That isn’t her way, or wasn’t before she developed dementia. She was the type of person who said whatever she wanted, and damn the consequences. I think she enjoyed making people angry. At least I’m sure that wasn’t your father’s intention when he said what he said to you.”

  Farhan’s lips firmed into a hard line, but then they relaxed again into a sad smile.

  “Ali was...special. The perfect son. The best of brothers. I think, when Father told me to go back, I used it as an excuse to not try to fill Ali’s shoes, because I knew I couldn’t. Not in a million years. Staying away was easy after that.”

  But why hadn’t his father asked him to come back or, as she suspected would be more King Uttam’s way, commanded him? Sara suspected Farhan thought it was because, in King Uttam’s eyes too, he wasn’t worthy to take his brother’s place.

  “I’m sure Ali was special, but you have so much to offer Kalyana too. Maybe what you bring to the table is different, but don’t sell yourself short.”

  Farhan didn’t reply, just stared at her for a long moment. The air between them seemed infused with electricity, so the fine hairs on Sara’s arms lifted, and, although she felt suddenly shy, she couldn’t look away.

  Then he turned his head, as though looking out over the gardens, and when he looked back at her, her breath hitched in her throat, although she didn’t know why.