by Leslie North
Chloe thrilled, but it didn’t last. “Feeling really good.” She pushed herself up on the pillows. “You’re not, though. Why?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and ran one hand over the line of her jaw, his eyes tracing the movement. “The honeymoon is off.”
Disappointment beat at her throat like a sudden storm. She tightened her grip on the sheet. “Did the elders—did they find out about our agreement?”
He shook his head. “It’s Chakir’s wedding. He announced the date this morning, and it’s set off a flurry of planning. My brother’s wedding is a state event.”
“It’s not so different from our wedding, is it?”
“One wouldn’t think so. But Chakir is usually the one to handle all the legal and ceremonial aspects of such things. This time, he is the event, and he can’t do it all himself. It’s falling on my shoulders.”
Chloe snorted. “I don’t believe that. He and Hannah gave me a whole binder about our ceremony. They must have ten binders for theirs.”
Kishon laughed. “It’s not Chakir who wants me in charge of all this. It’s the elders. They’re demanding that I take charge, and I can’t tell them no.” Kishon’s eyes searched hers. “Now that we’re married, I need to prove myself.” He took her hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. “Marriage is supposed to make me look strong, and if I leave now, it will weaken my position with the elders. We can’t go now. The trip will have to be postponed.”
Her stomach twisted, dropping right through the bed and onto the floor. “You could still take a vacation and be a strong leader,” she argued. “You don’t have to be at their beck and call all the time.”
A breath huffed through his nose told her that this was maybe the wrong thing to say. “That’s not how it works.” His eyes blazed. “We can’t go to Paris today. I need your understanding about this.”
“I understand,” Chloe said quickly. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her eyes to the sheets. It wasn’t really a honeymoon anyway, only an all-expenses-paid trip to Paris. They didn’t have anything to moon over. But now, with a thump from her heart, she realized it was more than just painting she’d been looking forward to. It was alone time with Kishon. She missed the talks they’d had, late at night when he was one of the last people in the bar. She missed when he was just a devastatingly handsome man and she was just a flirty bartender basking in his light, like it was the sun. His position as king had come between them.
“Chloe.”
She raised her eyes at the soft tone of his voice. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have to apologize. I know this must be a disappointment.” He drew her face toward his and kissed her forehead. “Perhaps while I sort out all these wedding duties, you could pick up your ideas for the youth center. You were excited about that.”
She heard the plea in his voice. If she were really his queen, it would be up to her to roll with the punches of royal life. Members of royal families probably had their honeymoons cancelled all the time for responsibilities of the state, and was she going to complain about it? The tulle canopy above the bed swayed gently above them. For one night, she’d been the bride of the king, without a care in the world. How could she let this news get to her now?
“Consider it some unexpected free time.” An encouraging smile danced across Kishon’s face. “If it helps.”
She returned his smile and saw the relief in his eyes “I like the sound of that. If we’re not going to travel, then I don’t want to be left with nothing to do all day.”
“I’m a bit offended that you think I’d leave you with nothing to do all day,” Kishon said. “Paris or not, I have some demands upon your time.”
“Do you?” she said haughtily. “Like what?” Chloe tipped her head back against the pillows. “I’m your queen now. Can you really demand anything from me?”
He gave a low laugh that was like a match held to the desire already kindling in her belly. The bright side was that she was married to Kishon, of all the men in the world. Kishon, whose voice made her want to throw the sheets back, take him into her arms, and have her way with him. And then let him have his way with her. “I demand your pleasure.” With fire in his eyes, he slipped his hand away from her face and down to the sheet, peeling it back. “I order it.”
Chloe shivered. “I like the sound of that even more.”
He cupped one of her breasts, drawing the pad of his thumb over her nipple until it peaked, then moved to the other. The air between them hummed and crackled with want. Kishon’s hands moved down to her waist, and he leaned in closer to press a kiss to the curve of her neck. She made a noise in the back of her throat—somewhere between a moan and a purr.
“I like the sound of that,” murmured Kishon against her skin. “Hmm. How can I make it happen again?”
“I’m not sure,” she said breathlessly, trying her best to play the game. “Maybe you could—” He stroked a hand over her hip, lightning fast, and brushed between her legs. “Yes. That did it.” Chloe hooked her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He kissed her with a laugh on his lips, the kiss turning warm, then hot, then scorching.
Kishon stood up and reached for the buttons of his shirt. “Don’t move,” he told her. “I want—”
A knock at the door stilled his hands, and a fresh wave of disappointment swamped Chloe.
“Yes?” shouted Kishon.
“It’s me. The elders are calling a meeting. Do you have your phone?” It was Chakir. “They’re expecting us both down here.”
Kishon leaned down and kissed her again while he buttoned his shirt back up. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here,” Chloe said. And then she was alone in the quiet again.
11
Chloe stuck the cap of her pen between her teeth and looked out the window of Kishon’s rooms at the city below. It was too quiet to think in here, honestly. Somehow, she was still used to the constant background noise of the bar—glasses against tables, the rise and fall of people’s voice, the muted scrape of stools against the floor. Even when she had the time to paint in DC, the parks she had visited had almost always been filled with other people.
She shouldn’t complain about the luxurious quiet of Kishon’s suite, even in her thoughts. The rooms were so quiet because of the plush carpeting that molded to her feet like memory foam. They were quiet because of the elegant—and still comfortable—overstuffed furniture, chosen by Hamari’s best designer. The quiet was…aspirational.
The youth center should give people aspirations, too. Yes. That’s what she’d been trying to focus on before the whisper of the central air system had caught her attention. As much as she wanted to be spending her days making art outside, it was too much of a shame for that building to go to waste. There was a place and time for sidewalk chalk. And there was a place and time for learning what the rest of the world had to offer.
The youth center’s vitality was a matter of programming, probably.
Chloe glanced over the legal pad in the hefty black-leather folio. She’d asked for a notebook from the staff, and the folio had appeared fifteen minutes later. She couldn’t decide if the staff had felt sorry for her about her honeymoon being canceled, or if members of the royal family always wanted everything to be so over-the-top. She’d ask Kishon about it when he was done with his meetings.
Meetings, the day after their wedding. She huffed a laugh. Being the king certainly didn’t guarantee any downtime, that was for sure.
A knock sounded at the door. She got to her feet without thinking, the pen slipping from between her teeth and falling to the coffee table with a clatter. “Coming,” she called, her heart giving an answering knock against her rib cage. Kishon never announced himself by knocking, so it wasn’t him. Maybe now that they were married, she should get into the habit of people coming in and out of his suite.
She opened the door and looked out at…
A maid?
The woman who stood just outside the door wore a pla
in outfit very similar to the tunic and close-fitting pants the maids wore. Chloe had asked her personal attendant about the uniforms just that morning, after Kishon had jetted off to see about wedding preparations. Only…it wasn’t quite that outfit.
“Hello,” said Chloe, remembering that she was supposed to be the gracious queen of Hamari and nothing less to anyone who saw her in the palace or in public. “Hi.” She was doing a fantastic job. “What can I do for you?”
The woman’s ponytail, dark and shining, bobbed in a perfect fall behind her head as she cocked her head to the side. “Good morning,” the woman said, her tone casual and light and American. “Is Sheikh Kishon in?”
“No, just me.” What did she want?
The woman squinted at Chloe. “Are you working in Kishon’s rooms today?”
The familiarity in her voice stabbed into Chloe’s gut. “I am,” she said, letting frost creep into her voice. “I’m working in here today, so I’m not going out. Is there something you wanted?”
“Oh, no.” She let out a laugh. “I’m old friends with Kishon. I just wanted to congratulate him on his wedding. His bride was stunning, don’t you think?”
Chloe had never been so hotly aware of how not stunning she must look in her own tunic and leggings, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Did this woman truly not recognize her? They’d been married in full sight of the country just yesterday. She gave a little wave. “That would be me.”
“Oh, god,” groaned the woman, shock flashing onto her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course. Of course that’s you, you’re married, of course you’re here.” The woman dipped her head. “Chloe. My name is Nina, and I—” A loud ringing made her jump, and she slapped a hand to her forehead. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” She slipped the phone from her pocket and swiped at the screen, already turning away.
“Nice to meet you,” Chloe whispered. The other woman moved down the hall, and Chloe, stomach twisting, cheeks hot, drew herself up to her full height, even though no one was there to see it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the entryway mirror.
Leggings or not, flyaway hair or not, she was still the sheikh’s wife. Chloe could angst away in private about the risks of falling for the sheikh—falling for the king—because behind closed doors, they both knew the truth about their arrangement. But one step into the hallway, where that woman Nina had been standing, their marriage was as real as anything else. If she wanted to call a servant right now and find out who Nina was, she could do that. If she wanted to keep Nina out of the private wing, she could do that. Probably.
She swept through the room, heart beating steadily with the rhythm of her footsteps. If she couldn’t be in Pairs, she’d start her queenly duties now. Today.
Chloe picked up the phone and dialed Matek. He was her head of security now, too.
“Chloe. What can I do for you?”
She cleared her throat. “I’d like to arrange for an escort to the youth center. In an hour, please. Call ahead and tell them I’m coming.”
“Should I let Kishon know?”
“Don’t bother him.” She had to cling to this good feeling while it lasted. “I’ve got this.”
“I have to say, once more, how grateful all of us are to the royal family for the facility.” Iyad’s dark eyes never left Chloe’s, and he held his shoulders high and tense. “I would never want you to think it was a matter of—”
Chloe held up a hand. “I completely understand. But I’m here because I think it’s better to be able to use the facility to its full extent.
Iyad, head of the non-existent faculty at the youth center, nodded. They stood in the gleaming, sun-soaked lobby of the building, their voices echoing in the nearly empty space. He’d been jittery when Chloe arrived. Adamant that they weren’t complaining. Only now were they finally getting somewhere.
He blew out a sharp breath, seeming to consciously relax his shoulders. “The supports just aren’t there for the kind of programming the kids want. There are too few of us. They want art programs, dance lessons, a robotics team—”
“That sounds like something I would have wanted as a kid.”
A smile flashed across Iyad’s face. “Me too.” It faded as quickly as it had come. “The current budget doesn’t support hiring those kinds of instructors. At least not in a way that would make it worthwhile for the people we hired.” He rubbed a thumb in tiny circles on the outside of his pointer finger. “I don’t feel right about asking for a bigger budget. Not when they’ve just built the new center. I can’t imagine—” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine going to the king and saying, the building is wonderful, but the state-of-the-art facilities aren’t enough. We need more.”
“Good news,” said Chloe. “You don’t have to do that. I’m going to fix this for you.” Pride swelled in her chest. She could do this. This was what it meant to make the most of an opportunity like the one she’d seized with both hands back in Washington. “I’ll be in touch.”
Iyad walked her to the front door and out into the joyful racket of the children playing on the playground. Chloe could feel the hope radiating from his skin. She wasn’t going to let him down.
The SUV whisked her back to the palace, excitement thrumming under her skin. Getting the youth center working at its full potential would be her gift to Kishon. It would be repayment for the opportunities he was giving her. When this was all over, they would both have given equally. And she would have accomplished something other than marriage, which had never been the end goal for her.
Chloe found him in his rooms—their rooms—and she came in on a gust of optimism that she saw reflected in his face.
“Hi.” He took her into his arms, and a shiver of satisfaction fluttered through her. “I heard you visited the youth center.”
“I have plans.” Chloe smiled up into his face, her heart missing a beat at the blue of his eyes, then rocketing back into its rhythm. “The programs…”
“Tell me about the programs.” He took her face in his hands, studying her. “I want to hear what’s made you so excited.”
She breathed in the scent of him, and desire pooled low in her belly. “Right now, it’s you.”
He kissed her, a glancing press of his lips that teased her into throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. How many times had she imagined this while she stood behind the bar in DC? A hundred. A thousand. And nothing in her imagination had even come close to the reality of him. “Take me to bed,” she said breathlessly. “We can talk later.”
“If you insist,” said Kishon, his voice blazing through her.
She did.
12
“I’m seeing a lot of this lately,” Chakir said carefully, his voice caught up in what sounded like a breeze on the other end of the phone connection. “I wanted to be sure you were aware of it.”
Kishon scrolled through the screen in front of him. “It’s tabloid nonsense.”
Chakir laughed. “Is it really?”
He bristled. “Yes, Chakir. I didn’t marry Chloe as part of a sponsored deal.”
“But you have to admit that it was a publicity stunt more than anything,” Chakir pressed on. “Totally understandable, in the heat of the moment, but—”
“Thanks for keeping me informed.” Kishon ended the call. He’d been planning to ask his brother where he was, exactly. He’d considered having Chakir come down to look at the more egregious articles with him and decide on a plan of attack. But the way Chakir had so flippantly dismissed his wedding, and his marriage…
He swallowed a strange ache in his throat. Chakir was right, though he wasn’t about to admit that on the phone. He’d doubled down on his claim that Chloe was his fiancée because of the press.
And the press had turned on him at record speed.
He tried to focus on something else. His computer pinged at him to announce a new email—from Chloe, who had taken to sending him all her new ideas for the youth center. Guilt still stung at the center of him for
the canceled honeymoon, and now he’d put her to work. Granted, she seemed to genuinely enjoy it, and any improvement to the youth center would look good. He trusted the staff to direct her energies and the carte blanche budget he’d given her to where they needed them.
He read her ideas at lightning speed. Good, good, and good. He wasn’t going to question her too much—he had given her permission to do what she liked when it came to the youth center, and that meant letting her do it.
But it was hard to focus on the email with all the tabloid news nagging at the back of his mind. The paparazzi had been pissed when their trip to Paris was canceled. Several of them had gone there to stake out the airports and get the first honeymoon shots of the newly married royalty. Now they were busy spreading rumors that the wedding had been staged—maybe the king of Hamari wasn’t quite so enamored with his American bride as they pretended, if he couldn’t be bothered to take her on a honeymoon.
His desk phone rang. Kishon reached for it without taking his eyes off the computer screen. “Yes?”
“Sheikh Kishon.”
“Qamar.” He sat up straighter, even though nobody was in his office to see him. Kishon worked hard to maintain a good rapport with the elders—it was one of the foremost duties of a king in Hamari, after all—but hearing Qamar’s voice still sent a rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. “What can I do for you?”
“We’ve become aware of some disturbing news reports,” Qamar said.
“So have I.” Kishon laughed. “I hope you knew already that I would never plan a wedding and honeymoon as part of a PR campaign of any kind.” A beat of silence passed between them, and a chill blinked through Kishon’s gut. “Qamar?”
“We’re troubled by rumors that the engagement was perhaps not legitimate. That it was faked.” The leader of the elders bit off the last word as if its very existence had offended him.