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

Syed’s laugh was a harsh but muted sound. “Then your grandfather did a better job of making you understand the logic of these archaic arrangements than our father did us.”

  Her heart was groaning, begging her to pay it heed, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to. If she started trying to understand the way she felt, she knew she might not recover passably, and the night was not yet officially ended. “Why don’t you want to marry her?”

  He looked at her for a long second with such a piercing stare that she was immediately reminded of Zahir. “I didn’t say that.” And his smile was an effort to return to safer conversational grounds. “My father is leaving.”

  “Oh!” She turned towards the thrones and saw indeed that Adin had stood, helped now by Zahir. Seeing them together did something strange to her. She felt tears sprinkle her eyelashes and she blinked them away. Overcome by emotion, she pushed back further from the crowd. Syed didn’t seem to notice and, grateful for that, she took her opportunity to slip further away from the gathering, charting the fringes of the group with her head bent, until she had reached one of the many glass doors that led onto an elegant balcony.

  She turned the handle, relieved when it gave, and stepped out into the dark night. The city glimmered in the distance but she didn’t notice it. Her feet carried her the length of the balcony until she’d reached a part not easily visible from the ballroom. She propped her elbows on the balustrade and stared at the moon.

  It glowed like silver in the sky; an enormous ball of light and strength.

  She stared at it for a long time. Long enough for the party to empty and the servants to begin cleaning the enormous room. Long enough for Zahir to make enquiries as to his wife’s whereabouts.

  The first she knew of it was a servant appearing at her side.

  “Excuse me, Majesty. His Highness is looking for you,” the young man reported in halting English.

  “Is he?” She responded softly, withdrawing her gaze from the moon reluctantly. She turned to look at the servant at the same time Zahir stepped onto the balcony. He took only a moment to read the situation.

  “Leave us,” he directed the servant, striding across the marble floor.

  Violet didn’t have long enough to quell the emotions that were rioting through her. “Hello.”

  He was angry. She knew him well enough to see that. But she was angrier. All of the emotions that were firing inside of her needed something. Some release. And she knew just what that was.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to another woman?”

  He stared at her, obviously perplexed. “Anna again? We were married.”

  “Not Anna. Princess Charlotte.”

  He made a harsh sound of laughter at the unexpected question. “Charlotte Shareef? Of Kalina? What the hell are you bringing her up for?”

  Before Violet could answer, he laughed again. “Syed?”

  “You didn’t have to marry me,” Violet said whipping away to look at the city. “You could have married her.”

  “I was eleven years old when you were born – hardly old enough to have any say in which of the women I had never met I was betrothed to.”

  It was a valid point that her confusion and over-wrought emotions had prevented her from realising. And that angered her more. “Be that as it may, it still feels like you’ve been lying to me.”

  “I haven’t thought of Charlotte as anything other than Syed’s future wife in a very long time. Why has this upset you?”

  Violet didn’t bother correcting him. “That’s not why I’m upset.”

  The words were a challenge, one he chose to sidestep. “It is late,” he said quietly, his tone perfectly reasonable. “You have had a long night. Let’s go back to our room.”

  “What for?” She snapped, digging her hands into the marble railing. “To go to our separate rooms? To eat dinner without speaking?”

  “To rest,” he kept calm with monumental effort. “You are upset. It can’t be good for you, or the baby …”

  “Oh, stop it!” She stomped her foot on the terrace. “Stop treating me as though I’m some fragile piece of china that might break at any moment. I’m fine. Everything is fine with my health and the baby’s. What’s not fine is this damned marriage.”

  He narrowed his eyes, his face giving nothing away. “I’m sorry you think so, because you are rather stuck in it.”

  “I know that,” she nodded, biting down on her lip and looking away from him. “I know that.” Her grief was a blanket that cloaked them both. He suppressed a shiver as he felt it extend around him.

  She wanted him to touch her. To hold her. To kiss her and reassure her. To comfort her body with his. To make her feel powerful and womanly again. But instead he took a step away from her. “You need to come now, qalil.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” she whispered. “I’m not dear or little. I’m just the wife you ended up with.”

  The words hung on the terrace long after they’d left. They sat as an accusation that chased Zahir to their room, eventually, and tormented his dreams.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Violet woke up in the same mood she’d gone to bed. Their argument on the terrace by the fantastic staterooms filled her with a sense of frustration she couldn’t rid herself of. She showered, aggressively soaping her body and rinsing it, and then crankily dismissing the attendants who had gathered to dress her for the day.

  How frustrated she was by the way she was being treated with kid gloves by everyone in her life.

  Zahir hadn’t wanted to marry her. She understood that. And he sure as hell hadn’t wanted a baby. But he’d got both – her as his wife, and their baby on the way. The one piece of the puzzle that was wholly unexpected was the way they’d connected in a genuine way. Violet hadn’t just fallen in love with the legend of Zahir. She’d fallen in love with all of him. His laugh, his power, his charisma, his charm – she loved him body and soul. And she would have put money on the fact that he had been starting to feel the same way for her.

  Surely their connection couldn’t be faked? Or had it been normal for him? Had he experienced this many times before? Had he felt it with Anna? He’d loved her enough to marry her. He’d admitted to looking forward to Anna’s pregnancy.

  But he was afraid now. Afraid of losing Violet. Because he felt guilty? Or because he cared for her, too? And did he still want her? He had barely touched her in weeks. The night before, at the ball, was the closest they’d been, and it had been enough to set her pulse racing ever since.

  With a small sound of impatience, she pulled the skirt on that had been prepared for her, and then thought better of it. She dressed in only her silky underwear, making a mental note that she would have to arrange a fitting with Avi, the couturier, so that she could get some bras that accommodated her rapidly expanding cleavage.

  She pushed her head out of the bathroom door, scanning what she could see of their suite. “Zahir?”

  A deep grumble showed he was still somewhere close by.

  “Can you come here a moment please?”

  The sound of a chair being scraped back, then footsteps. She moved away from the door and paused deep enough into the bathroom that he wouldn’t be able to see her in the reflection, so that when he stepped confidently into the tiled space and turned to locate her, she saw his surprise as he took in her near naked form.

  Violet had limited experience, but she was pretty sure the way his eyes widened and then narrowed expressed some kind of attraction. He couldn’t have switched off what they felt, could he?

  “What is it, Violet? I was about to leave.”

  Her heart was in knots but she told herself to be brave. “I was just getting dressed and then I thought perhaps you could help me?”

  She saw the way his dark, stubbled neck corded as he swallowed. “You’ve been dressing yourself for some two decades. Have you suddenly lost the ability?”

  Judging herself for manipulating his concerns, she said quietly, “No, but I felt a little
unsteady as I stepped into my skirt. Would you mind?”

  He was instantly contrite – a strange emotion to see pass across the bearing of a man like Zahir. “Of course. My apologies. My meetings will wait. Where are your clothes?”

  She bit down on her lip, feeling officially lousy now for the lie that had brought such a quick submission from him. But if the ends justified the means? She pointed to the skirt and he crouched to collect it, then held it for her to step into.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “Mind if I…?” She pointed at his shoulder.

  “Of course.”

  Violet brought her body close to his, and instead of simply resting a hand on his shoulder, she put both around his neck. If he knew what she was doing, he didn’t dare accuse her of anything other than wanting to get dressed.

  But Violet was playing for keeps now. She stood still as he pulled the skirt up her legs, his fingertips brushing paths of goose bumps as they went, until he’d tightened it around her waist, and then as he stood, she moved closer, so that his face brushed her breasts through the cotton fabric of her bra.

  He made a sound low in his throat and his eyes clashed with hers. “Do you have a top?”

  She nodded, but kept her hands around his neck. “Zahir?”

  “Yes, Violet?” He was the epitome of patience, but it was all a study. She could feel his heart racing, so close to hers.

  “I miss you. I want you.”

  The confession was unnerving for both of them. Her, because she was so far out on a limb she couldn’t believe it, and Zahir because he didn’t want to feel anything for Violet any more.

  “Where is your shirt?”

  She bit down on her lip and tilted her head. “Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”

  “Violet.” It was a groan and for a sweet moment she believed he was about to give into her request. She could feel the tension and desire that throbbed around the room; it wasn’t just coming from her, surely.

  But he reached up and disentangled her arms from his neck, dropping them by her side unceremoniously.

  “I’m not going to break,” she promised, biting down on her lip.

  He stared at her as though she were poison, but she couldn’t – wouldn’t – back down.

  “I’m asking you to kiss me. Just like when we were first married. I want you to kiss me. Now. Kiss me, Zahir.”

  “I will not do this.”

  “Why? Why not?”

  He stalked across the room and grabbed the flimsy cotton shirt. “I trust you’re capable of finishing this yourself?”

  She bit down on her lip, the indignation and embarrassment swelling inside of her. “Can you do it?”

  “No, Violet. If you need help, I’ll send your attendants back. The ones who are supposed to be helping you dress each day.”

  It was a slap-down that she’d deserved. After all, he was right. She did have attendants and she had dismissed them. So far as seduction ploys went, it had not been particularly effective.

  He extended his arm and she took the shirt, biting down on her lip to stop the sob of mortification from escaping. She ripped the shirt on and by the time her head had popped out of the neckline, he was gone. The slamming of the door seconds later showed her to be alone. Absolutely, utterly, and forever – all alone.

  * * *

  “God, it’s hotter than hell.”

  Violet sent Lilly a look of disapproval. “Darling, please try not to use that kind of language when servants are milling.”

  “Oh, jeez. Is hell on the banned list now too?”

  Violet paused, midway through removing her kaftan, and turned to face her younger sister. “Yes, come to think of it. Is your bad attitude going to be joining us all afternoon or do you think we can spend time together without arguing for once?”

  Lilly startled at the unusually tart rejoinder from the generally unflappable Violet. It was a question that had been well-deserved; Lilly had been spoiling for a fight from the minute Violet had arrived in her room and suggested an early afternoon dip in the stunning infinity pool.

  But Violet had been more so.

  Her body was on fire. Memories of the way Zahir’s fingers had brushed her legs that morning had lit her up. Recalling his rejection should have doused the flames of need, but nothing could. Her body was burning. She craved Zahir.

  She certainly didn’t have the mental space to deal with Lilly’s childish behaviour.

  “Jesus Chist, Vi.”

  Violet startled at Lilly’s loud exclamation, tossing her kaftan onto a lounger beside the pool.

  “What is it now?”

  “You’re… I mean… you look like a centrefold for Playboy or something. Have you had implants?”

  Violet’s cheeks flamed electric. She looked down at her cleavage in dismay and shook her head. “Of course I haven’t.”

  “But … you’re usually kind of tiny. And now you’re like …”

  Violet squeezed her eyes shut and hastily reached for the kaftan. She pulled it back on over her head. “It’s not that bad.”

  Lilly laughed. “I didn’t say it was bad. Just … pronounced.”

  Violet sat onto the lounger, her cheeks still flaming. Silence stretched between the two sisters for a long time.

  “Vi? I wanted to talk to you about something?”

  “Other than my weight gain?”

  “I didn’t say you’d gained weight! Except in your breasts. And that’s not a bad thing.”

  Violet shook her head testily. “Forget it. What did you want to speak about?”

  But Lilly was losing her nerve. She hadn’t been prepared to deal with this version of her sister – the cranky one she very rarely saw. “It can wait. I might go for a swim. Like I said, it’s hotter than … the sun today.” Her smile was nervous and that cut Violet right in half.

  She was taking her frustration out on Lilly. She should have known better. She watched the young girl walk to the edge of the pool and then slide into it. Her arms carried her the length of it easily, her legs kicking gently beneath the surface.

  Lilly had been doing well in Kalastan. Her tutors only had positive feedback, her servants reported that she was eating well and sleeping well. On the whole, she’d been happy enough – a little bit of a pain in the backside, but in the ordinary way of teenagers. If anything, she’d adapted far more easily to their new lives than Violet had.

  Guilt filled Violet. She should have been able to take better care of her sister and instead all she’d done was think about herself.

  Despite the fact the pool was utterly private, accessible only to the family, Violet threw a quick look over her shoulder to be sure no one other than Lilly was nearby, before removing her kaftan. She walked to the water’s edge and slipped in quickly, self-conscious now about the changes that were taking place to her figure. The sooner they told people the better, but Zahir had suggested waiting until they were past the first trimester, and Violet had been happy to fall in with his plans.

  Until she’d realised that her body was going to make that almost impossible.

  The water was a perfect temperature. Salty and cool enough to be refreshing without being startlingly cold, Violet moved deeper into the pool until she was up to her neck, then waited for Lilly to stop swimming.

  “This is nice,” Violet forced a smile, trying to reinstate their usual dynamic.

  Lilly was unusually cautious. “Yes,” she nodded. “Just the thing on a day like this.”

  “I’ve been so busy lately, Lilly. I haven’t asked how you’re going? Are you settling into the palace?”

  Lilly nodded. “Yes.”

  Violet ran her hands over the water, enjoying the sensation of the lapping against her fingertips. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Lilly nodded, pulling her lip between her teeth. “Sort of.”

  “Well? What is it?”

  Lilly’s cheeks were a shade of pink that Violet suspected might match her own.

  “I … it�
��s Simon’s birthday in a couple of weeks.”

  Violet paused in the water, but her already fragile temper was rising.

  “You mean the boy who passed a naked photograph of you around to everyone he knows?”

  “He didn’t!” Lilly exclaimed angrily. Her voice was loud enough to catch the attention of Zahir and Syed as they passed through a nearby breezeway. “I told you. His phone was stolen.”

  Zahir paused, lifting a hand to silence Syed. They stood under the awning a moment, and the conversation between Lilly and Violet travelled to them easily.

  “So how did he get his phone back then? And why was it only that photograph? And why did it go around your school? Honestly, Lilly, don’t be so obtuse.”

  “I’m not being obtuse! You’re being vile! How can you say this about Si?”

  “You got expelled because of him. I don’t like that boy. I don’t trust him. And you’re to have nothing to do with him.”

  “That’s what you think.” There was a loud splash that denoted an angry removal from the water. A second later, Lilly came into view, hands on hips, staring at the pool. “I’m going to London for his birthday.”

  “Absolutely not,” Violet responded, her voice lowered. Zahir detected the strength of emotion in it though and had to steel himself to stop from interrupting. “You won’t do so much as send a card.”

  “Well, we both know I can’t email him thanks to you.”

  “That’s right. And until you grow up and show me that you understand how badly you behaved, I will not be changing my mind.”

  “You’re such a …”

  “Don’t,” Violet interrupted warningly. “Don’t say it. I’m not in the mood today.”

  “Fine.” Lilly stormed off noisily, a door to the palace slamming in her wake and Violet flinched.

  It was the second door that had been slammed against her that day; she was becoming used to it.

  “What was that all about?” Syed asked with a look of obvious bemusement.

  “Excuse me,” Zahir responded, barely comprehending his brother’s question.

  “Of course.”

  Zahir was already walking away though, his whole being focussed on the pool. When he arrived, Violet was swimming, her body moving elegantly through the water, her stroke elegant, her figure elfin. He stared at her for several moments before crouching down on the coping. He waited for her to reach the edge and then he lowered his hand in the water, snaking it around her wrist. She startled to standing, her eyes meeting his angrily.