Sarah frowned. Though the story was interesting and Syed reading the encyclopaedia to her would have driven shivers up her spine, she didn’t quite see why he was relaying it.
“Did he come back to life?” She asked after a moment.
“No. The father buried his son, and he was a broken man. He stood to lose everything – he was a fisherman who could no longer face going out onto the water. He was full of resentment. Each night, the woman would prepare his meal and wash his feet, and he would drink and curse at her. He’d regret it in the morning, but she’d still appear the next night, not saying a word, simply cooking for him and soothing him.”
“You’re saying you want me to cook for you and massage your feet every night?” She asked, a brow arched, her voice mocking. She smiled to show him she was joking.
“My people believe that when someone dies, they send angels down to earth to look after the grieving loved ones. This woman was the first earth angel my people bear witness to.” He squeezed her hand. “You are my earth angel.”
“You think your mom sent me to you?”
His smile was a flicker. “No. I don’t factually believe this story. But it doesn’t change what you are and what you did for me. The way you locked up my sadness and turned it to joy. The way you made me smile when I thought I had lost that ability altogether.” He sighed. “I was as foolish as the man in the parable. I pushed you away when I should have held you tight.”
Her heart turned over at the perfection in his words. “So why?”
“I told you …”
“I know.” She closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. “The thing is, I was in the same boat. I couldn’t have left you. Not for a million dollars.” The irony of that expression landed on her gut like a tonne of cement. “It wouldn’t have even occurred to me to try.”
“No,” his nod was a slow acknowledgement of that.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a prince?”
“Because you were the first person in my life not to know,” he grinned, sipping his champagne and rubbing his foot against hers beneath the table. “And I loved the way you treated me like an equal.”
“We are equals, right?” She said with steel in the words.
“No, Najin.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d just married the guy and if he was going to pull some archaic nonsense about his masculine superiority then she’d run out of there immediately, to hell with the consequences. “No?”
“I think you are far superior, and I have no doubt you hold all the power in our relationship.”
It was a lie; her heart was weak when it came to Syed, but hearing him say it filled her with hope. Hope and love. So much love.
“Where do you live, in Kalastan?” She changed the subject swiftly, freeing her hand on the pretence of adjusting her crown. Her crown! God, if Cameron could see her now. Or the guys from Larry’s. She bit back a smile at the comments they’d make, forging a mental note to send them a selfie later on.
“I have a residence in the old city,” Syed spoke with an apparently relaxed approach. “An old palace that fell into disrepair. My parents were renovating it when I was a teenager and the first time I stepped into it I was completely taken.”
“Why? What’s it like?”
“Very old,” he murmured. “Ancient. It was originally set up as a watch point to protect the town from Bedouin tribes sweeping across the desert. There are underground tunnels designed to take villagers out to safety. It feels half haunted and half magic. You can feel the ghosts of the past thousand years at your fingertips.”
A shiver danced down Sarah’s spine. “You’re making this up.”
“Nope. You’ll see for yourself one day.”
She wanted that. To see his home, to see him in his element. He was such a big man, so broad and strong, so capable. He belonged in the wild, rugged sand plains of Kalastan. Just him and his strength and wits to keep him alive.
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally.
The waiter approached slowly, cautiously, but Syed nodded his approval so the man increased his speed, depositing two entrees down on the table. Sarah studied hers before pressing a fork into the gelatinous shape.
“It’s a fish pate,” he said quietly. “With spices grown in the palace gardens. You’ll love it,” he promised. “It’s a traditional recipe.”
“So much tradition,” she murmured, the light-hearted rejoinder barely covering anxiety.
“Yes.”
“And I’ll need to know all this? To be a part of it?”
His smile was impossible not to be warmed by. “Eventually. If you want to.”
“I’m just a small town girl, Syed. I can’t be a princess…”
“Really?” He arched a thick, dark brow. “Because I believe you already are, your highness.”
“Lord, the boys at Larry’s would get a kick out of that,” she grinned, tasting her pate without realising, and making a small noise of appreciation. She was so perfect, so beautiful, determination that he had done the right thing was cast from steel.
He stood abruptly, holding his hands down to her. She placed hers in them on autopilot, her face lifted to his. “Dance with me.”
“But the food…” She nodded to the table, then looked back up at Syed.
His expression was intense. “Please.”
She nodded then, her heart tensing as she stood and allowed him to fold her against him. His lips buzzed against the soft flesh at the base of her neck, one hand pressed firmly to the small of her back, holding her tight to him. They moved together, as one, as they always had.
Losing him had shaped her forever; but so had loving him. She kept her face close to his chest, listening to his heart, and slowly, softly, she spoke.
“You’re not the only one who had a deep hole right here,” she said quietly, running her fingers over his chest. “I missed you so much and I had no way of contacting you, no way of seeing you again.” Her eyes met his, fierce blue accusing him.
His expression was unreadable. Only his dark eyes showed a glimmer of shared pain. His voice too was husky and raw. “I told myself you’d move on. I wanted to come back to you. Six months after leaving, I even flew to America intending to arrive on your doorstep.”
“Why didn’t you?”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. The truth would infuriate her. No, offend her. He didn’t want to be an instrument of any further pain to this woman. “I couldn’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He locked his gaze to her. “I thought of what you had in life and I felt you wouldn’t be happy with me. Not knowing who I truly am, and the life I lead.” His eyes assumed a faraway quality as he studied her thoughtfully. “You were so full of joi de vivre, so vibrant and alive. The most truly spectacular woman I had ever known. Palace life would have been like caging a magnificent bird. I sacrificed what I wanted in the hopes you would be happier without me.”
She tilted her head away from him, her profile set and determined, her eyes showing the slightest hint of glassiness from the tears that were cloying in her throat.
“And now you don’t care about that?”
A flicker of impatience ran across his face. “Of course I care, Sarah. But I was wrong then. You would have been happier with me than you have been; your life in my palace would have avoided all of this you have dealt with on your own. But more importantly, I would have been with you, by your side, as your partner.”
“And if I’d gone with you? Lexi would have died, for certain.” Sarah swallowed past the horrible, unimaginable notion, pasting a smile on her face. “So maybe this all happened for a reason.”
He compressed his lips. “I don’t believe that, you know. I don’t believe all things happen for a reason. I am glad you were with her though.” He studied Sarah thoughtfully. “She’s so like you. It’s unusual, if you and your sister were only half-biologically related? And there’s her father, too.”
Sarah nodded. �
�I guess Cam and I were really alike. Just like our mom.” Her cheeks darkened. “Anyway. I guess you probably don’t want me talking too much about my family when we get to your … country.”
Her embarrassment shamed him. “I want you to be yourself. You’re who I married. Sarah Smith.”
“Sarah Smith who grew up poor as poor comes? Who can barely cover her bills? Sarah Smith who works in a bar serving beer to hard-working blue-collar guys?” She lifted her face to his, her eyes sparking despite the weary dejection he detected in her beautiful features. “That’s who you want me to be?”
“It’s who you are,” he said honestly. “You are also brilliant and beautiful. Kind and smart.” He lifted his hands to cup her face, and they stilled, standing so close but no longer moving. “You’re my wife.”
11
She felt as though she’d run a marathon. Sarah’s eyes were heavy, glued together by invisible mod podge, or so it seemed. She forced them open with a soft groan, blinking, trying to remember where she was, and why.
Her eyes settled on the blinds across the room. It was still pitch black outside, save for the buzz of electric lighting that always lit the sky here. In Manhattan.
In Syed’s home.
No, not his home. A place he stayed in America.
“Mommy?” The tremulous little voice had her sitting bolt upright at just the same moment Syed did. “I can’t sleep.”
“Okay, baby,” Sarah murmured, putting a hand on the bedside table to steady herself.
Only Syed stood first, scooping Lexi up. “You go back to sleep, Sarah. It’s fine.”
Sarah stared at the two of them, her heart squeezing with so many strong emotions. In the week since their hasty marriage, she’d seen for herself how good Syed was with Lexi. How kind and caring, gentle and patient. She nodded groggily and fell back against the pillows.
“Now, why can’t you sleep, Little Princess Starlight?”
Sarah smiled as they left the room, the name landing right in the middle of her chest for how perfectly it suited Lexi.
“Well, it’s cold in my room.”
“Is it? We’ll have to turn the heating up then.”
“And I had a bad dream.”
“A bad dream, huh?” He carried her towards the kitchen, depositing her on the counter and smiling at her reassuringly. She was so like Sarah it was impossible not to adore her. That was before one factored in the four-year-old’s perennially sunny disposition.
“You know, when I was a boy, I used to have bad dreams.”
“Did you?” Lexi looked unconvinced.
“You don’t believe me?” Syed reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk, sloshing a good measure into a mug before placing it into the microwave.
“I don’t know. I get scared when I have bad dreams.”
“So did I.”
Lexi tilted her head to one side, consideringly. “I can’t imagine you being scared of anything.”
“Oh, I was terrified. Of snakes and monsters, and even storms.”
“Storms?” Lexi giggled.
Syed pulled the milk from the microwave and stirred in a good measure of honey then checked the temperature. It was warm, not hot. Perfect for a little girl in need of settling. “Here you go, little star.” He handed the drink to her, propping his hip on the bench beside her.
“I don’t think storms are scary,” she prompted, her curiosity obviously not diminished.
“That’s good; they’re not. But when you’re young, sometimes even perfectly harmless things can frighten you. Like curtains that blow in the breeze, or sounds you can’t explain.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The important thing to remember is that you’re here with us, and we’ll keep you safe.”
Lexi’s grin was contagious. “I like it here.” She looked around the lounge room, her eyes huge in her face. So like Sarah’s.
“Yeah? I’m glad.”
“I like you,” she said quietly. “You’re kind.”
His heart did a funny flip flop. “Thanks.”
“And you make mommy happy. She smiles a lot now.”
Flip flop, flip flop. His stomach felt like it was on a bad acid trip. “Yeah?” A gravelled question. “Didn’t she used to?”
Lexi wrinkled her nose then sipped her milk.
“Smile?” She asked thoughtfully. “Sometimes.”
He resisted – barely – the urge to ask her more. To find out just when Sarah smiled, when she didn’t. To ask the four-year-old about their lives before he’d swooped in and brought them with him.
It didn’t feel right to pump an innocent kid for information. “Okay, starlight. Are you less afraid now?”
She nodded slowly. “I guess so.” But her voice was timid again.
“Do you know, when I was young and afraid, my mother would sing a song to calm me down. Would you like to hear it?”
She nodded, her eyes scanning his face with undisguised curiosity.
“Then go back into bed and I’ll sing it for you.” He lifted Lexi down, expecting her to walk ahead to her bedroom. But to Syed’s surprise, she lifted a hand and placed it trustingly in his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. As though they’d been friends forever.
His heart squished again. He walked beside her, and when she was tucked into bed, he crouched beside her.
The song was three verses long and he sung it twice, the strange, foreign words that Lexi couldn’t possibly understand didn’t matter. It was a slow song, gentle and quiet, about a bird that flies over the dessert looking for its mate, only finding it as the sun is setting and winter is bringing coldness to the land.
It was a beautiful voice, deep and melodious, and Sarah stirred in her sleep, a smile touching her lips. Seconds later, she realised that the voice belonged to Syed. Her husband, and she sat up, curling her knees to her chest and resting her chin against them.
She didn’t understand a word of what he was saying but somehow the words soothed her. He stopped singing, and there was silence, then just the gentle pad of feet over carpet as Syed returned. He paused in the door frame, his eyes running over her slender body, curled like a conch shell, her short hair rioting around her petite face.
“You’re awake.” A low, soft question.
“Was Lexi okay? Does she need me?”
“Fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of castles and fairies and mermaids and mysterious gardens.”
“Ah, that sounds right. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He walked towards the bed, his eyes holding hers and all the air in the room seemed to evaporate. Sarah sucked in a deep breath and as he reached for her, she pushed up, her mouth seeking his.
She kissed him as though he were her dying breath; she kissed him with all the love that weighed down her heart.
He brought his body down on hers and the ability to think disappeared from her mind completely.
“So it’s true?” Zahir’s fury was a wave and it rolled around the walls of the embassy. “You have married her?” His dark eyes spit black fire; coal and embers danced between them like relics of what was.
“Yes.” Syed crossed his arms over his broad chest, his eyes meeting his brother’s without fear. It had been a long time since they’d engaged in a physical fight but Syed had no doubt of his ability to match his brother’s strength.
“Then unmarry her! It will be annulled, by my orders.”
Syed’s jaw clenched. “Sarah is my wife, and she will stay that way until death do us part.”
“Don’t give me any ideas,” Zahir barked, thrusting his hands onto his hips in disbelief. “You know how I feel about her! And how father feels. How could you do this?”
“Just because you married as father dictated doesn’t mean I intend to.”
Zahir’s skin paled beneath his all-over tan. “Father’s suggestion had very little to do with my marriage.”
“Bullshit,” Syed snapped. “At one time, you were furious at the very idea of mar
rying Violet. And yet you have done it, because father wished it. Where is your backbone, Zahir? Your courage?”
Zahir’s eyes narrowed. “Careful. You are walking a dangerous ground.”
“And you’re not?” Syed returned angrily. “By suggesting I annul my marriage?”
“Marriage? You are sexually infatuated with the woman. So make her your mistress, not your damned wife.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Because you followed your dick not your head.”
Syed pulled himself up to his full height, his nostrils flaring as he breathed angrily. “She’s my wife. Like it or not, that position requires you to treat her with a degree of respect. I will not stand here and let you insult her.”
“She’s not right for you!” Zahir responded, the words measured even as his temper was exploding. “She couldn’t possibly understand the rigours of your life; the importance of your work.”
“Because she’s a foreigner?”
“That plays a part, yes.” Zahir dipped his head forward.
“Your own wife is British!”
“She’s part Kalastani and she was raised to be my bride!” He snapped. “You were in a dark place five years ago. I know how losing our mother affected you.”
“We all grieved,” Syed answered softly.
“But you most of all.”
“Grief is not a competition,” Syed groaned with an intense anger. “And if it were, I don’t think it’s one I would seek to win.”
Zahir continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, his mind dragged back to the past by ghosts he didn’t often allow access. “You were her favourite. Anyone who had seen the two of you together understood the bond you shared.” Zahir shook his head to clear the memories, and tried to school his features into an expression of acceptance.
Marrying for his Royal Heir & The Terms of Their Affair (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 7) Page 12