The Sheikh's Contract Bride: Theirs was an ancient debt, and the time had come to settle it... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 1)

by Clare Connelly

  Lilly flopped back onto the bed and Violet heard her sob with some satisfaction. At least she was capable of remorse. That was something, wasn’t it?

  “Don’t come to the wedding. It’s only a signing of documents, in any event, and I think you need time to adjust to all this before we attempt any formal events.”

  Violet walked down the corridor of the palace with her back ramrod straight. She avoided eye contact with any of the milling servants – not difficult when they insisted on bowing low to the ground as she passed. But as soon as she entered her suite of rooms, she made a bee-line for her palatial bathroom, clicked the door shut and locked it, then burst into tears.

  Her body wracked with sob after sob.

  Lilly had never been easy. As a small child, Efani had employed a full-time nanny to care solely for her. But she had adored and worshipped her older sister. Violet had loved her right back, treating her almost like her own baby. But with the death of her grandfather, Violet had petitioned for the right to be legal guardian. Despite the fact that she was only sixteen, the courts had granted her the right – so long as she continued to utilise nannies. But being a parent was a lot different to feeling like one. The need to discipline, and place firm boundaries, had all been violently rejected by Lilly.

  Combined with Lilly’s low self-esteem and permanent chip-on-her-shoulder, Violet had been left tearing her hair out.

  She had developed a shield when it came to Lilly’s insults, but the barb about her virginity hurt. What would Zahir say if he knew that, not only had she never had sex, she’d never even been kissed before? Did that make her some kind of sad loser? Lilly seemed to think so.

  “Madam?” A knock at the door had her spinning, her heart racing. Her appearance blurred past in the mirror.

  “What is it?” She called back, reaching for the tap and flicking it on. She lifted handful after handful of water and splashed her face, wiping away the smudged mascara.

  “The couturier has arrived.”

  “Fine. I’ll be right out.” She lathered her hands and finished washing her face, then patted it dry with a towel. She sucked in a deep, shaking breath and wrenched the door inwards.

  The apartment had a simple floorplan. Her bedroom, two bathrooms, a small dining room that had a view of a golf course and the largest room of all, the sitting room. It had tapestries on each wall, though these were different to the ones she’d seen outside Adin’s room. These boasted more feminine weavings, some had floral designs, others were simply abstract patters but in pale green and gold. There was a grand piano in the corner and she wondered if it was always there, or if Zahir had it moved because he remembered that she’d played all her life. There was a wall of bookshelves, and though the books were all in Kalasi, she had resolved to start reading them in an effort to improve her grasp of the language.

  The sitting room, quiet when she’d entered the suite of rooms not ten minutes earlier, was now a hive of activity. A rail-thin woman, at least six feet tall with a dark brown bob and an air of authority stood beside a rack of clothes, each encased in a zipped up garment bag.

  “Ah! Her royal highness,” the woman’s accent was thick. “It is my pleasure to meet you; my honour to help you select your wedding dress.” The woman bowed low. Violet responded with a tight smile, her eyes shifting to the other servants who’d moved into the room. “Ah!” The couturier said. “The hair. Makeup. Shoes.” She turned back to face Violet. “I am Avi.”

  “Avi,” Violet nodded. “I’m Violet.”

  “Miss Covington,” Avi said, almost as though she were correcting the young woman. “I have several dresses to show. But now that I have seen you, I think only one is appropriate. May I?”

  Violet nodded, curious to see the kind of dress a woman like Avi might select for her. Avi’s hands moved over the garment bags before halting on one and removing it from the racks. She unzipped it, an expectant smile on her face. Violet, never a fan of clothes shopping, braced to hate it.

  But when Avi lifted the gown from the bag, Violet’s breath caught in her throat.

  For the dress was utterly perfect. It was nothing like a traditional western wedding gown. It was a shimmering silver colour, and it had long sleeves and fell to the floor, with only a slight flare to the skirt. The fabric had jewels beaded around the collar to form the appearance of a necklace, and the cuffs of the sleeves were similarly detailed.

  “With your eyes, I think it will look almost purple,” Avi was murmuring, clinically examining both Violet and the dress. “Do you like it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Violet nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t need to see anything else.”

  Avi cackled. “They are beautiful too.”

  “No. This is perfect. May I try it on?”

  “I help you,” Avi murmured. “Undress.”

  Violet shook her head. “That’s okay. I can manage on my own.”

  Avi clapped her hands and said, in Kalasi, “Excuse us, all. We require privacy.”

  The room emptied as servant after servant filed out.

  “Just me now,” Avi grinned. “Ready?”

  Violet nodded, and she began to remove the dress she’d been wearing until she was in only her underwear.

  “No bra,” Avi said. “It is in the dress.”

  “Oh, right.” Violet unclipped it, only a little self-conscious at being practically naked in front of this woman she didn’t know.

  “So we will try it on now, then remove it. I will alter as needed and return within the hour for you to dress. While I work, your hair and make up will be done. Okay?”

  “Okay.” But Violet’s head was swimming. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realised how absolutely exhausted she was.

  When her servants filed back in, having tried on the dress and allowed Avi to pin her within an inch of her life, Violet honed in on the only familiar face she could spot. A woman she remembered, vaguely, having been introduced as her valet. “Do you think I might have a coffee? A big pot of it?”

  “Yes, madam.” She bowed.

  Violet bit back her smile. She was going to need to get used to that. “And my sister won’t be joining me today. She’s … jetlagged. Would you please see that she has some occupation?” As an afterthought, one she felt terribly guilty about, she added, “No internet. I need to organise that myself. Please be emphatic about that.”

  Another low bow before Violet’s attention was claimed. It took four women an hour but by the time they’d finished, Violet hardly recognised herself. Oh, it was her, but as she might appear on the cover of Vogue magazine. Not naturally vain, she attributed her stunning appearance solely to their mastery with makeup and hair products.

  Avi returned within the hour, as promised, and again cleared the servants from the room. The dress was beautiful, but on Violet, with the effect of her bridal makeup, she looked like a true princess. She stared at herself for a long moment, not quite able to believe the transformation.

  “Stunning,” Avi agreed. “And then, there is this.” She reached into a crisp white bag and pulled out a large box. “For your head,” she explained, opening the box and lifting out an actual crown. Not a small one either. This went the whole way around the head and had a diamond at its centre that surely couldn’t be real. There were at least a hundred others, all of them as big as her thumb, and black diamonds added the contrast.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, watching in the mirror as Avi placed it on Violet’s head.

  “And heavy too, no?”

  “Very,” Violet didn’t laugh though. She was staring at herself, quite unable to believe this was all happening.

  “And this,” Avi reached back into the bag and pulled out a smaller box. Violet already knew what it would be. The Fiyalshar ring. She let Avi push it onto her finger but didn’t look down at it. It would always be Anna’s ring, just as Zahir would always be Anna’s husband.

  “And lastly,” Avi crouched down and lifted a pair of shoes. “These.”


  They were exquisite. A silver to match the dress, the heels were at least three inches and very fine, and the back of each heels had a thread of gold haphazardly winding its way up and down. Diamonds were threaded along it, making them sparkle.

  “It’s just as well I’m comfortable in heels,” Violet murmured with a wry twist of her lips as she pushed her delicate feet into the shoes. Violet had been short all her life; heels had always given her added gravitas. She was grateful for them now.

  “You look wonderful. An artwork.” Avi grinned, and Violet didn’t doubt it for a second.

  “Thank you for everything,” Violet murmured.

  “It is my job, and my privilege,” Avi answered. “And now, His Highness will be ready.”

  So this was it. Showtime.

  She breathed in and out, in and out, waiting for her nerves to settle. They didn’t, but she knew she couldn’t hide out forever.

  “Oh! I don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “A servant will take you.” Avi walked with Violet to the door and then spoke in Kalasi to another of the women that Violet vaguely remembered was presented to her late the night before, when they’d arrived at the palace.

  The servant nodded then bowed at Violet. “This way, please, madam.”

  Violet walked beside her, keeping pace easily with the servant’s quick pace. But after several minutes, as the décor slowly shifted to be both noticeably more masculine and more modern, the attendant slowed down. “It is this door,” she said, not meeting Violet’s eyes.

  “Thank you.” Violet stared at it, her heart hammering in her chest, her blood pounding.

  She moved one more step, wondering if she should knock? But the servant did that for her, then stepped away, leaving Violet standing on one side, her expression sombre, her eyes wide.

  The door was pulled inwards by yet another palace attendant, this one dressed in a robe. The room was empty; at least, so far as Violet could see. But as she moved deeper, she heard voices. She turned towards them instinctively. Though there was a group of five men, her eyes instantly found him.

  Zahir.

  Her groom.

  The man who would be her husband.

  If she had been surprised by her transformation into royal bride, then he was more so, if the look on his face was anything to go by. He immediately stopped speaking and stepped away from the group, his eyes locked to hers for a long, tense pause, before they drifted lower. His inspection was steady and detailed. The swell of her breasts beneath the bejewelled fabric, her neat waist, the shoes, and back to her face. He walked towards her, his expression dark.

  He had changed too, this time into a robe she knew to be ceremonial for the gold thread that had been weaved around his neck and sleeves. It was a white robe, and he wore a crown too. Not as ornate as hers; it was almost pure gold.

  “Violet,” he said, his voice thick.

  She would not let him see how nervous she was. Her smile was serene – for the most part. Lilly might have been able to detect the undercurrent of tension but that was only because they’d known one another for so long. Zahir saw exactly what she wanted him to – a woman who had made a decision, and who was bravely and happily going through with it.

  “Am I late?” She asked quietly, finally giving her attention to the men gathered around a desk. They were watching her, but with curiosity rather than … Violet couldn’t have said exactly how Zahir was staring at her, but it was sending her nerves spiralling out of control.

  “Not at all,” he assured her. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded. “Are you?”

  His smile was like a catapult of pebbles hitting her gut. He was so handsome. It really wasn’t fair.

  “Yes.”

  He put a hand out and she stared at it. Memories from earlier that day were heavy in her mind. His touch – the impact it had on her body. The desolation she’d felt when it was removed. Slowly, she lifted hers, and at the moment she placed it in his palm and he wrapped his fingers around it, she felt fireworks explode inside of her. It was almost too much.

  He didn’t seem to feel it, though. He walked towards the others, bringing her with him.

  “Violet, I would like to introduce you to my brother Syed.” A man every bit as tall, dark and handsome as Zahir smiled back at her. “And our cousin Ash.” She turned to the other man, similarly handsome though cast from a different mold to the other men. His eyes were green, rather than dark, and his smile was broader. Both were gorgeous specimens of masculinity, but neither made her bones dust to ash with the intensity of desire.

  “Pleased to meet you both,” she said, nerves making the words faint.

  “And Counsel Farook,” he nodded towards another man. “He is to formalise our union.”

  She nodded, talking beyond her now.

  As it happened, the signing of the documents took fewer than five minutes. There were seven pages in total that they both needed to initial and then sign. She added her marks to the pages, beside his, until Farook nodded with satisfaction.

  “Is that it?” She was numb through. The bizarre circumstances were beginning to etch across her.

  “Almost,” Zahir murmured, his eyes not leaving her face.

  “Before these witnesses,” Council Farook spoke in halting English. “You are to pledge yourselves as husband and wife. As divinely guided to form a union as any before you. To rule this land and one another’s hearts with fairness, compassion and restraint. To remember your duties, your faithfulness, your integrity and patience, even when life is difficult and times become tough. Do you so pledge this?”

  Zahir nodded. “I do.”

  Violet bit down on her lower lip and stared at her husband. At least, he would be her husband as soon as she uttered those words. But only on loan; only for a time. And never properly. Never in the truest sense. What would her life be like afterwards? Would she exist in her glamorous suite, a pseudo parent to her sister, a spinster forever? A virgin forever? What if Adin lived for far longer than expected and their marriage lasted a decade? Would Zahir touch her? Would he want her? Or would she never know what it was to be loved and possessed?

  “Violet?” He prompted, squeezing her hand lightly.

  She nodded, jerking her eyes up to his. They were such fascinating eyes, glowing with feeling and emotion. Had his first wife, his real wife, stared into them until she felt she was losing herself? Until her footing was slipping and she was no longer a woman, so much as a part of their couple?

  “Madam?” Counsel Farook leaned closer. “Do you need something?”

  “No,” she forced a bright smile to her face. “I’m sorry.” She turned back to Zahir. “I do. Of course I do.”

  His relief had more, no doubt, to do with having been able to save face rather than any dramatic gladness that she was going to marry him.

  “And so it is,” Farook beamed. “You are husband and wife, made so by law. Let no man set asunder the union that the Kingdom has ordained.” He paused. “You have my congratulations.”

  That was it? Violet blinked her eyes, her long lashes fanning against her cheeks. Where was the ‘you may kiss the bride’ part? Syed and Ash were clapping politely. And so it was over.

  As if sensing her disappointment, Zahir’s mocking smile curled her toes. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss against her cheek.

  Her blood pressure soared at the nearness of him; the masculine scent of him.

  “It is done,” he spoke with obvious relief, and she wondered then how much of a toll his father’s illness and decline had taken on him. She forced a tight smile to her face.

  “Congratulations. I may now call you my sister,” Syed grinned, wrapping Violet in an embrace that contained about ten times the genuine warmth of Zahir’s. And though he was gorgeous, she felt nothing. The minute his arms wrapped around her body and pulled her to him, and he kissed both her cheeks, her heart didn’t so much as show a flicker of interest.

  So too when Ash gave his welcome. />
  Her penchant then for sexy Sheikhs had a very narrow beam focus. In fact, it was one man she wanted – one man she’d always wanted.

  “I’ll let the staff know. We shall have champagne.”

  Zahir’s look was one of impatience. “We have formal photographs to take.”

  “A glass before you go. To toast your bride,” Syed insisted.

  Zahir looked at the woman beside him, so breath-takingly beautiful - undoubtedly a woman, not a girl - and nodded. There was a current of emotion running through her that worried him – almost as though she might have a panic attack the moment she realised what she’d just done. “Violet?”

  She lifted her face to his and he felt it. Confusion. Exhaustion. Concern. She nodded, though he wasn’t sure she knew what he’d asked her.

  “A good idea,” he murmured to Syed, swallowing heavily.

  “Good,” Syed strode confidently across the room, leaving Ash with them.

  “I hear you are a librarian,” he said with a smile designed to draw Violet from her shell. At the invitation to discuss something so familiar to her, she did relax visibly – if only a little.

  “Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “Though not in the traditional sense.”

  Ash’s eyebrow lifted, silently urging her to continue. But it was a gesture so like Zahir’s that she was momentarily wrong-footed. Syed returned at that moment anyway, followed by a small brigade of uniformed servants. The first held a bottle of champagne wrapped with a crisp white cloth. The next a tray of champagne flutes, and then two followed behind, each with a tray of bite-sized delicacies.

  And Violet was hungry. Starving in fact. She eyed off the trays but forced herself to wait until one was offered to her. She chose a pathataki, a sweet bread filled with chopped figs and quince paste and breathed in its heavenly aroma.

  “It is a pathataki,” Syed commented kindly.

  “Yes,” she bit into it and, once finished, grinned at him. “My favourite.”