Woman in a Sheikh's World

by Sarah Morgan

  She stalked into the room, her heels tapping on the marble floor of the Palace that had housed his ancestors for centuries. She’d come to reject him, as a small part of him had known she would—reject her role as his lover, his wife, his princess.

  The irony was she looked regal; this woman who had turned his life upside down from the moment he’d met her walked with the confidence of a Queen.

  The moment the door closed behind the last Council member, she pounced. ‘In the middle of planning this party, I had a very illuminating conversation with one of the Palace staff. Were you going to tell me?’

  He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. ‘I was afraid you would misinterpret the facts.’

  ‘That is not an answer. Were you going to tell me?’

  ‘I hoped I wouldn’t need to.’

  ‘So if I hadn’t found out, that would have been all right?’

  ‘Yes, because it has nothing to do with my feelings for you. It has nothing to do with us.’

  ‘But it has everything to do with our marriage, doesn’t it?’ Her voice was a traumatized whisper. ‘You demanded that I trust you, and I did. I’ve never done that before, but with you I made that leap.’

  ‘Avery—’

  ‘You told me so much about yourself, Mal. But you didn’t tell me the most important thing of all, did you? That you have to be married, and that your marriage has to take place by the end of the month. And it seems everyone knows that but me.’ Her laugh was agonised. ‘Whenever I felt doubts, I looked at the evidence to prove that you loved me. I said to myself, He can’t wait to marry me.’

  ‘That is true. I do love you and I can’t wait to marry you.’

  ‘But the reason you can’t wait has nothing to do with the depth of your feelings and everything to do with the terms of your late uncle’s will.’

  ‘I made no secret of the fact that I have to marry.’

  ‘No, but you made it sound like a general thing, not something specific. You didn’t mention the will. You didn’t mention that you have to have a bride by a fixed date. It doesn’t even matter who the bride is, does it?’ Her voice rose. ‘Just any bride will do in order to fulfil the terms of your uncle’s will.’

  ‘I repeat, that has no bearing on us.’

  ‘So, postpone the wedding. Change the date.’

  He didn’t tell her that he’d been trying to do exactly that. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand that I was a pawn and so was Kalila.’

  ‘Kalila was an attempt by the Council to fulfil the terms of my uncle’s will, that’s true, but she was fully apprised of the reasons behind the marriage right from the start.’

  ‘So you were happy to tell her and not me?’

  ‘The circumstances were different. The only reason I proposed marriage to Kalila was to fulfil the terms of my uncle’s will.’

  ‘No wonder she ran.’ Her chin lifted. ‘What I don’t understand is why you felt able to tell her, and not me.’

  ‘I was honest with her about the terms of our marriage and I have been equally honest with you.’

  ‘That isn’t true.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes at his savage response but he was past caring. Past hiding anything. ‘My reason for marrying you was love, but because you never believed in that love, because you never believed in us, I didn’t dare tell you about the terms of my uncle’s will. I knew you would use that as more food for your wretched insecurities as you have done before, so I told myself that I would tell you when our relationship had progressed a little further, when we had strengthened the bond, when I was confident that what we had could withstand a confession like that.’

  She stood still, absorbing that. Her chest rising and falling as she breathed. ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘Apart from the element of full disclosure, my uncle’s will had no bearing on our future. I would have married you anyway. The timing of that is immaterial.’

  ‘But it isn’t immaterial, is it?’

  ‘I will tell you a story and you will judge.’ Mal paced to the far side of the room and stared out of the pretty arched window that looked down on the stables. ‘My grandfather had two sons. Twins. The right of succession naturally passes to the eldest twin—’ he turned, watching her face to be sure she understood the impact of his words ‘—but no one knew who that was.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There was a crisis during the birth. An obstetric emergency. People were so concerned about the welfare of the mother that somehow the midwife who delivered the twins lost track of which was born first. A matter of little importance, you might think, but you’d be wrong. Unable to think of any other solution, my grandfather decided to divide Zubran and give one half to each son, on the understanding that whichever of them had a son first, he would be the successor. It meant that ultimately the land would be united again. And that was me. My uncle had no children, so there was only me and he was concerned by my partying and what he saw as my decadent lifestyle.’ His mouth twisted as he recalled the bitter exchanges they’d had over that particular subject over the years. ‘My father tried to assure him that my actions were nothing more than the normal behaviour of a young man. For a short time they fell out over it, but then they agreed a compromise. My uncle agreed to name me as his successor in his will, providing that I was married by the age of thirty-two. If by that age I hadn’t settled down, then the succession would go to a distant cousin.’

  ‘Which would keep the land divided.’

  ‘Yes. I always knew I would have to marry because it was essential that Zubran be reunited as one country, but I’d always assumed it would be a political marriage based on nothing more than economic gain. I’ve met many women, but not a single one who I would have wanted to spend a lifetime with. Until I met you.’

  Her eyes met his. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me this before?’

  ‘If I’d said to you, “I have to be married by the time I’m thirty-two,” would you have listened to anything else I said? You, who are always looking for evidence to endorse your view that all relationships are doomed? Tell me you wouldn’t have interpreted that as a sign I was pursuing you for less than romantic reasons, just as you are now.’ He saw her shift slightly and gave a derisive smile. ‘Precisely. I would have lost you on day one and I had no intention of doing that. So I kept quiet until day two, and then until day three and I let the relationship run and hoped that if you found out, when you found out, the bond we shared would be sufficiently deep for you to trust me. Yes, the date by which I have to marry is almost here. It matters to my father and my people that Zubran becomes one country again. And it matters to me. But none of that has any bearing on my feelings for you and that is why I didn’t mention it.’

  ‘And if I had said no? What then?’

  It was a question he hadn’t wanted her to ask. A question he hadn’t even wanted to ask himself because there really was only one answer. ‘I would have married someone else. When you’re wealthy and well connected there is always someone who is willing to sacrifice romance for reality. And now, no doubt, you will go away and add that to your armoury of reasons why our marriage would fail. No doubt you will hear the voice of your mother warning you that a man who needs to marry is a man whose marriage is doomed.’ He threw it out there and waited for her to throw it back at him, to tell him that of course she didn’t think that, but she was ominously silent and he saw the telltale sheen in her eyes.

  ‘Mal—’

  He was afraid to let her speak in case this was the moment when she told him it was over. ‘Has it occurred to you that your mother could have been wrong? You’re not even willing to entertain the idea of contacting your father, but it might be helpful. It might shed light on their relationship. Perhaps it wasn’t all him, perhaps it was her; have you thought of that? Perhaps she killed her own relationship, the way she has tried to kill all of yours simply by the way she raised you.�
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  Her face was white, as if he’d suggested something shocking.

  Watching her with a mixture of exasperation and despair, Mal wondered why this was such a block for her.

  Was she afraid that she’d track down her father, only for him to reject her all over again?

  Was that what he was seeing in those beautiful blue eyes?

  She stood still as if she wanted to say something and then she gave a little shake of her head, turned and walked towards the door.

  Mal resisted the temptation to stride after her and turn the key in the lock. ‘This isn’t about the fact I didn’t tell you about my deadline to get married. It isn’t about any of that. It’s about you, Avery. You. Once again you are looking for excuses to run. You are expecting it to fall apart, just as your mother no doubt did with your father. Are you really going to kill what we have in the same way that she did?’

  Say no. Say no and stop walking.

  But she didn’t stop walking and he felt a heaviness in his chest, an ache that refused to go away.

  ‘I will be there tomorrow, ready to marry you,’ he said in a thickened tone, ‘because that is what I want and because I believe in us. Despite everything, I believe in us. The question is, do you believe in us too, habibti?’

  Finally her steps slowed. He saw her shoulders move as the breath rippled through her and then she increased the pace again and walked from the room without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT was a night without sleep. She stayed up. Saw both sunset and sunrise as she sat alone in the water garden, feet bare, hair loose, tucked away in a place that no one would think of looking, apart from Mal, and he hadn’t bothered.

  I will be there tomorrow, ready to marry you.

  But how could she do that now that she knew he had to get married? It explained everything. The speed with which he’d put that ring on her finger; the fact that he’d asked her so quickly after his relationship with Kalila had collapsed. It wasn’t to do with the depth of his love for her. It was all to do with his uncle’s will.

  He hadn’t been honest.

  Avery turned her head. Inside the Palace, lights burned as an army of staff busied themselves with final preparations for the wedding of the Crown Prince and Miss Avery Scott. Miss Avery Scott, the woman who’d been raised to believe that a woman was stronger without a man, that a life was happier, and more secure, if it were lived alone. That the only guarantees and promises worth believing were the ones you made to yourself.

  No, he hadn’t been honest with her. But she hadn’t been honest with him either, had she?

  As if on cue, her phone beeped and she found a text from her mother. They hadn’t spoken for months. She opened it—there was only one line

  Heard rumour you’re getting married. Don’t do anything stupid.

  Don’t do anything stupid …

  Her eyes filled. It was exactly what she needed to see. What had she been thinking? What had she been doing? There was no way she could put herself through that pain again.

  Avery stared at that message for a long time. Then she slipped on her shoes. Even the tranquil sound of the fountains in the water garden couldn’t soothe her.

  Her mother was right.

  It was really important not to do something stupid.

  She found Mal sprawled on the balcony of his bedroom, apparently oblivious to the buzz of excitement that gripped the rest of the Palace. But that was because only the two of them understood that this wedding might not happen.

  He took one look at her, his dark gaze sweeping over her, taking in her jeans and the casual shirt she was wearing and his sensual mouth hardened. ‘So that is your decision. Thank you for not waiting until I was standing in front of a thousand guests to break the news to me.’

  ‘I’m not here about the wedding. I’m not here to talk about us. This is about me. There’s something I have to tell you about me.’ She took in the roughness of his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes. ‘You didn’t sleep last night either.’

  ‘Did you really think I would? Just say what you have to say, Avery.’ The chill in his voice was less than encouraging but somehow she forced the words out.

  ‘I have to tell you about my father. I should have told you before, but it’s not something I’ve ever discussed with anyone.’ And it felt terrifying to discuss it now but he was already sitting up. Paying attention.

  ‘What about your father?’

  She could hear the splash of water from the fountain that formed the centrepiece in the courtyard beneath them. ‘He didn’t leave, Mal. He didn’t walk out on me or abandon me. He wasn’t a high-powered businessman frequently out of town, which is what I used to tell my school friends.’ One by one she sliced through the lies she’d created over the years and watched them fall, leaving only the truth. ‘I’m not afraid of marriage because my own parents’ marriage failed. That isn’t what happened.’ She’d come this far but, even so, saying those last words felt hard. She waited for him to say something. To prompt her in some way, but he didn’t.

  He just watched and waited and in the end she turned away slightly because saying this was hard enough without saying it while looking at him.

  ‘The man who fathered me was never part of my life. Or part of my mother’s life.’

  ‘He was a one-night stand? Your mother became pregnant by accident?’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident.’ Did she sound bitter? She was amazed that, after so many years, she could have an emotion left on the topic. ‘My mother doesn’t have accidents. Everything she does in life is calculated. She plans everything. She controls everything. Her relationship with my father played out exactly the way she wanted it to play out.’

  ‘And he was fine with that? He made her pregnant and wasn’t interested in being part of your life?’

  ‘That’s right.’ The condemnation in his voice made her nervous about telling him the rest. She paused, trying to find words that didn’t make it seem quite so cold and clinical. ‘But it wasn’t the way you’re imagining it. My mother didn’t have a relationship with anyone. I don’t know my father’s name.’

  ‘He was a stranger?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. I may not know his name, but I do know his clinic code.’

  ‘Clinic code?’ He looked confused and she couldn’t blame him for that. It was hardly the first thing that came to mind when discussing someone’s parentage.

  ‘My mother used donated sperm.’ It was easier to say than she’d thought it would be, given that she’d never said it before.

  ‘Donor sperm? She had infertility issues?’

  ‘No. No infertility issues. Just man issues. She wanted to cut the “man” part out of the deal.’ She glanced at him, looking for shock, disgust, any of the emotions she’d anticipated seeing, but there was nothing.

  ‘She struggled to trust men so when she chose to have a child of her own, she chose to have one alone?’

  If only. Avery felt her throat thicken. ‘That wasn’t it, either. I truly wish it were. At least then I would have known I was loved by at least one of my parents. But the truth is I was another of my mother’s social statements. She wanted to prove that a woman doesn’t need a man for anything, not even to produce a baby, although obviously that wasn’t what she told them in the clinic. She was determined to prove that she could do it all by herself, and she did. The trouble was, she forgot that her experiment was permanent. Once she’d proved her point, she was stuck with me. Not that she let that interfere with her lifestyle, you understand.’

  As Mal rose to his feet, she backed away with a quick shake of her head.

  ‘Don’t speak. I n-need to finish this now or I won’t ever say it,’ she stammered. ‘I’ve never said it before and it’s …

  hard because I’m used to being a confident person and I am confident in my work, just not about this.’

  ‘Avery—’

  ‘My childhood was nothing like yours. It was nothing like anyone’s.
Your family was close and tight-knit. You had two parents, cousins, uncles and aunts. Even when you disagreed, you were a unit. And yes, I’m sure there were huge pressures, but you shared those pressures. I’m sure that being a Prince must occasionally have been lonely but even when you were lonely you knew there were people around you who loved you. You knew who you were and what was expected of you. You belonged.’

  He opened his mouth, but then caught her desperate look and closed it again.

  Avery’s mouth was dry. ‘I didn’t have that. On the outside my family looked fine. Single mother. No biggie. Loads of people have that, right? I hid the truth about my father because I thought it was so shaming that my mother couldn’t sustain a relationship for long enough even for a single bout of sex, but what really affected me wasn’t the fact that I didn’t have a father, but the fact that I didn’t have a mother, either. All I had was a woman who taught me how to be a version of her.’

  ‘Avery—’

  ‘Most of the time I hated her.’ It was the first time she’d ever admitted that. ‘There was no affection because she saw that as weakness. No involvement in my life. We spent mealtimes together, during which she talked about her work and about how lucky we were to have avoided that complex relationship trauma. And I vowed I wasn’t going to be like that. I vowed that my relationships would be normal, but she’d done her job well and the only thing that was ever in my head at the start of a relationship was, How will this end? She taught me how to live alone. She didn’t tell me how to live with other people. And it never really mattered. Until I met you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ His tone was raw and this time when he pulled her into his arms she didn’t resist. ‘All that time we spent together—all the times I brought up the subject of your father and you never once mentioned it.’

  ‘Because I’ve kept it a secret for so long from everyone. And you mattered to me more than anyone I’d ever met. It wasn’t just that I was ashamed. I was afraid that if you knew, it would kill what we had.’ Admitting it was agony. ‘I was afraid that if you knew the truth about me, you wouldn’t want me any more. You know who you are. Your ancestors are Sultans and Princes. You can trace your family back for centuries. And I’m—’ Her voice cracked and she gave a despairing shrug. ‘I don’t even know who I am. I’m a … I’m the result of my mother’s unofficial social experiment.’