by Jane Porter
Rou realized she was smiling. “Yes, please. I’m curious to see what’s outside these palace walls, too.”
“I can meet you here at seven.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready.”
Rou was dressed and ready by six-thirty. Manar had helped her choose the long pink-and-orange Michael Kors gown, the delicate silk fabric painted with dashes of gold and crusted with bright jewels at the plunging neckline, and then found long, gold, chandelier-style earrings for her to wear. Manar insisted Rou leave her blond hair loose but went over the ends with a flat iron to make her hair shiny, polished and smooth.
Zayed’s smile was worth the effort, Rou thought, catching sight of his face as he arrived in the living room at seven sharp in a black suit, white shirt and elegant dark tie.
“You’re simply stunning,” he said.
She blushed and plucked at the pink-and-orange skirt. “I guess I do like some pink things.”
“Well, it suits you.” He smiled at her and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
“Yes, please.”
Out front, their driver waited next to a black Mercedes sedan with tinted windows. Rou had a feeling as she got in the back and scooted across the seat that this was one of those armored cars with bulletproof glass. The Fehr family only traveled in the safest of vehicles.
The soft, supple leather seat gave slightly as Zayed climbed in and sat next to her. Rou’s pulse quickened at Zayed’s nearness. He was so close that their thighs were almost touching, and Rou pressed her knees tightly together to keep from bumping him. Was it really only a few days since their last car journey together? How much had changed between them since then!
As the driver started the car and pulled away from the palace, Zayed shot her a swift knowing glance which sent heat surging to her cheeks. “Uncomfortable?” he drawled.
She took a quick glance out the window at the palm trees lining the palace drive and shook her head. “No, just excited. I’ve been here a few days now, and I still know so little about your country. You’ll have to give me a brief overview so people don’t think you’ve married a terribly ignorant woman.”
His lips curved. “You’re far from ignorant, and I suppose I thought Sharif had told you about our country.”
“No.” Her shoulders shifted. “He never talked about himself. In fact, I didn’t even know who he was for years. It wasn’t until I read a story in Hello! magazine about his coronation that I realized he was a prince.”
“And yet you called him a mentor.”
“He was so good to me. He was like a big brother, or a fairy godfather. The only thing he ever asked of me was to give back to others however I could.”
“So you have, by marrying me.”
She felt a tightness in her chest. “I haven’t been altruistic, though, have I? I exacted a price.”
“Every royal bride has a price. And compared to some Fehr brides, you were quite reasonable.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sharif’s first wife, Zulima, was a twenty-million-dollar bride. My father wasn’t thrilled, but my mother insisted Zulima was the right woman for Sharif.”
She studied Zayed’s profile in the increasingly dim light, as dusk was just now falling and the streetlamps hadn’t yet come on. “Was she?”
“No. Sharif was already in love with Jesslyn, but my mother wouldn’t have it. She went to Jesslyn behind Sharif’s back and sent her packing. Six months later, Sharif was engaged to Zulima, and despite their three daughters, it wasn’t a happy marriage. Sharif loved Jesslyn. He’d always loved her, and even though he treated Zulima well, and loved her to the best of his ability, it wasn’t enough for Zulima and she never forgave Sharif for loving Jesslyn first.”
“But they, Jesslyn and Sharif, found each other again.”
His gaze was fixed on the city street with its modern office buildings, throng of taxis and crowded sidewalks. “It wasn’t long enough,” he said after a moment. “Not after nine years apart. They should have had more time.”
The lump was back in her throat. “It’s probably small comfort for you, but at least their love will carry on. They made Prince Tahir and he’s an incredible little boy. Smart, beautiful, mischievous. He’ll be a great comfort to Jesslyn as he grows older.”
“To all of us,” Zayed added, turning to look at her, his expression grim. “In my ceremony last night I vowed to protect my nephew and my country until Tahir is old enough to take the throne. I was honored to have so many of our friends and neighbors there pledging their support, and vowing to guard my nephew as their own—King Malik Nuri of Baraka, his brother Kalen Nuri, Sultan of Ouaha, Sheikh Tair, the great desert chieftain.” Zayed’s voice roughened. “They have all promised to protect Sarq and young Tahir until he is of age to rule. Their loyalty is a testament to their feelings for my late brother.”
She reached out, covered his hand with hers. “He was very loved, and he would be very grateful that you have come home to serve in his place.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the back. “Thank you, laeela. But this is supposed to be a celebration of our marriage, and yet all I do is talk about my family.”
“But I want to know about your family. I want to know as much as I can.”
He forced a smile, but it failed to reach his eyes. “Then let me tell you about Sarq and Isi, the capital city.”
For the next few minutes he told her that Sarq, a small country that bordered part of the Arabian Sea, was ninety percent Muslim, and yet it was a very tolerant country, very open and receptive to all people and all cultures. Because of its proximity to the Arabian Sea, Sarq was enjoying its new reputation as a year-round resort destination.
“After a fifteen-year building boom, we now have more luxury beach resorts than any other Middle Eastern country outside of Dubai and the U.A.E.” Zayed’s eyes narrowed as they paused at the corner for a red light and a trio of girls in veils dashed across the street giggling. “I was part of that building boom. I’m probably the largest investor in the five biggest luxury resorts, but I’m beginning to think it was a mistake. My father was the one who first opened the door to development, and Sharif inherited my father’s liberal policies, but I think he should have limited the growth more than he did.”
“It must have been hard for Sharif to say no to you.”
“I certainly didn’t make it easy, and Khalid and I had quite a few rows about what I was doing to the environment. I thought Khalid was ridiculous—protecting sand dunes when we could turn Sarq into a thriving and competitive world economy—but now I think he’s right. The vanishing sand dunes represent vanishing wildlife and I hate to think of my children growing up in a country without nature, or the animals and plants I knew as a boy.”
They were passing through a quieter neighborhood now, away from the bustle of hotels and the business district. The buildings were older here and typical of historic Islamic architecture with whitewashed facades marked by arches, turrets and columns.
Moments later, the limousine drew to a stop outside a residential-looking building. Rou peered out the window at the semidark street. Expensive homes lined the street. She saw no sign of a restaurant or public facility. “I thought we were going out for dinner.”
“We are. You’ll see.”
Outside, on the pavement, they climbed three steps to an elegant front door. The door looked like any door in a residential area, but when the sheikh rang the doorbell, it opened silently and they entered into a square hall painted the darkest chocolate, the only light that of an enormous chandelier.
A dark-suited man appeared, bowed. “King Fehr, welcome. I have a table waiting.”
“Where are we?” she whispered as Zayed took her elbow.
“It’s a private club, very exclusive.”
“Very exclusive if no one knows it’s here.”
“Membership is steep,” he conceded, “but people are happy to pay it if they can be assured of privacy. Security. Peace of mind.” The edge of
his mouth lifted. “For many in my circle, peace of mind is a precious commodity and worth every penny.”
She shot him a knowing glance. “You own the club, don’t you? And twenty more like it around the world.”
He wasn’t quite able to hide his surprise. “How do you know?”
“I went online this morning and read your company’s profile and researched your investment portfolio.” She saw the look he gave her, and she added, “I thought I should know as much as I could about my husband.”
“Smart woman,” he said with a soft laugh.
They passed through a room with low couches covered in leopard print. Candles flickered on equally low square tables, and the room smelled fresh, crisp, like green apples crossed with freshly mown grass, and it was a tantalizing scent.
Six to eight white lacquered tables were scattered around the dining room, while the walls were upholstered in rich brown suede. Silver chargers and candles gleamed on all the tables, even the empty ones.
“We practically have the place to ourselves,” Rou noted as she sat down at their corner table.
“A luxury I’m very grateful for tonight,” he answered, and for the first time Rou saw traces of fatigue in his face. Lines at his eyes, shadows beneath his eyes.
“This is a huge change for you, isn’t it?”
“It’s a job I certainly never wanted, not even as a boy. Father made it clear that the job was an all-consuming one, as well as weighted with enormous responsibilities, and yet Sharif never complained, nor made us younger brothers feel guilty that he was the one with so much pressure on his shoulders.”
She studied his face in the restaurant’s candlelight. The new fine lines and shadows she was seeing there only heightened his appeal. He looked older, stronger, more mature. “You will miss your old life, I think.”
His lips twisted. “I loved living in Monte Carlo and having apartments in London and New York. I enjoyed business and travel. But I think what I loved best was that my family seemed safe. I realize now it was an illusion—anything bad can happen at any time—but I was under the impression that as long as I stayed away, they were protected.” His bitter smile faded. “I will miss that secure thought more than Monte Carlo or my freedom. I know now none of us will ever be safe.”
“Life is never safe,” she said softly. “But just because it’s not safe, doesn’t mean it’s cursed.”
“No, I am cursed. I know the moment it happened. Even my family will tell you.”
She pushed her empty water glass away from her. “Jesslyn did say something,” she admitted.
“When?”
“The morning of our wedding. She came to my room with a gift, and as she was leaving she told me not to listen to the gossip about you…about the curse.” Rou looked at him, unable to hide her worry. “I understand from the little she said that something happened in your past. She didn’t go into details and I didn’t ask, but I’d like to know what this dark cloud is that hangs above you.”
“It’s more than a dark cloud. The curse has struck again. It killed Sharif.”
“Jesslyn said Sharif didn’t believe in the curse.”
He made a rough sound. “Fine. He didn’t believe in the curse, but where is he today?”
Her eyes met his and held. “Tell me what happened. Please.”
“It’s a terrible story, especially for a romantic night out.”
“But we have time, and no one will interrupt us.”
His gaze searched hers. “It might change how you feel about me.”
She made a face. “Maybe for the better.”
He grimaced. “Was that a joke, Dr. Tornell?”
“A bad one.”
“Well, I liked it. A little humor can go a long way when things are difficult.” He reached out, took her hand in his and held it for a moment before letting it go. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll give you the short version. It’s all I think I can manage tonight.” He paused, stared off across the restaurant, already lost in thought.
After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it without uttering a word. Zayed shook his head slowly, rubbed his brow, and then his lip and then looked at Rou. “I fell in love with a neighbor’s wife. I was seventeen. She was twenty-four. She was very beautiful. Very, very beautiful. And very elegant and kind and charming. When she laughed I thought it was the most wonderful sound in the world.”
He stopped, looked down at the table where his hand was splayed, fingers pressed to the surface. “Nur was from Dubai, a princess, and her marriage to this neighboring sheikh was arranged. Her husband wasn’t a close friend of my father’s, but an acquaintance, and we would see them several times a year. I never spent time alone with her, just bumping into her at the horse races, at parties, formal dinners, things like that.”
Rou watched his face as he talked, watched the emotion and agony flicker across, one after the other. She couldn’t have interrupted him now even if she wanted to.
“Being seventeen, I had to let her know how I felt. I loved her. I loved her as much as I have ever loved anyone. I knew she was married. But I wanted her for myself.”
He looked up, into Rou’s eyes. “We never slept together. I never even kissed her. There was no physical contact, nothing other than my professed love…” His voice faded, and he sat, jaw clenched, skin pulled taut over hard cheekbones. “And then she disappeared. Gone. For a couple weeks no one knew what had happened. And then word came that she was dead. Her husband, suspecting her of infidelity, had her killed.”
Zayed’s jaw worked, eyes narrowed in tangible pain. “I would have given my life for her. I wanted nothing more than to love her. And my love, my stupidity, my impulsiveness and arrogance killed her. He had her stoned all because I lacked self-control.”
Rou sat, hands pressed to her chest. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t. She’d dealt with guilt and tragedies as part of her practice, but this, this was the kind of guilt that crushed a man.
“She was innocent,” he added quietly. “She viewed me as a younger brother. She treated me kindly, and yes, she’d smile her dazzling smiles at me, but it was because I amused her. And I still sometimes think of her, and her final day…her final hours. I imagine her terror. I can almost feel her pain.”
“But if you didn’t ever touch her…if you never slept with her…?” Rou whispered her questions.
“It was a matter of shame. Hshuma,” he said, using the Arabic word, his long black eyelashes dropping, brushing the sweep of his high, hard cheekbones. “It’s a concept you don’t have in the West, not the way we do. While you may have guilt, we have hshuma, and it means that others know you’ve done wrong, and that is for us the worst sin of all. One must make atonement, set things right, and the way you do that is to destroy what has brought shame on you. If your eye has sinned, you pluck out the eye. If the hand has sinned, you cut off the hand.”
“And if the wife has sinned?”
He smiled a ghostly smile, while the gold eyes revealed hatred and horror. “You put her to death.”
She knew he was being sarcastic, but still, his words sent a shudder down her spine.
“Her husband and his family feel they acted properly,” he continued after a moment. “But I paid no price. So we were cursed.”
“But you did pay a price,” she said softly after a moment. “You lost the person you loved most. No price could be greater than that.”
“There are many who believe it wasn’t enough. Our neighbor, the sheikh, demanded my father hold me accountable. My father refused to condemn me to death. Instead he sent me away to England to finish school. People believe that my father’s refusal to hold me accountable cursed us. Thus the deaths of my sisters, my father, and now Sharif.”
It made sense in a terribly nightmarish, stomach-churning sort of way. It also finally explained why Zayed avoided close ties and ended relationships when they turned serious. And little wonder he asked her to
find him a bride when it became apparent he needed to marry. He wasn’t marrying for love, he wasn’t offering his heart, he couldn’t. He was still in love with Nur.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, thinking the words sounded pathetic at best. “I’m sorry for all of you—”
“Don’t be sorry for me,” he interrupted, eyes blazing. “I deserve every wretched punishment, but my family, especially my sisters, my brother…they were innocent, just like Nur.”
“What if it’s not a curse? What if it’s just really lousy luck?”
“Another Western word for fate or karma.”
“Yes, there’s cause and effect, everything has cause and effect, but no one in your family believes that you have anything to do with the family’s losses.”
“But I believe, and that is enough.”
In that moment, all the pieces came together for Rou. She saw him clearly, the outline and shape as well as the smaller pieces that made the man.
He wasn’t cold and arrogant, wasn’t selfish. He wasn’t spoiled and egotistical. He was a man who was alone and lonely, a man tormented by a past, a man so afraid of hurting those he loved that he’d closed himself off from everyone.
This is why she’d been so afraid of him. He was hurt just like her.
It broke another bit of her heart, damaging that armor she’d once kept so tightly around herself. What armor could protect her against him?
Her chest tightened, ached, and she realized that little by little she was falling for him. A man who would never love her back.
As the waiter approached, Rou told herself that she didn’t need his love. She told herself that a partnership would be enough. Maybe romantic love wasn’t as important in this case, not if they respected and supported each other.
Maybe respect and shared goals would be enough.
There was a very good chance it’d have to be enough.
Suppressing her doubts, suppressing her emotions, suppressing all her needs, she reached for his hand. Zayed needed a wife. She would find a way to be that wife.
“Let’s eat and leave,” she said softly. “Let’s just go back to the palace and be quiet and not think. Not think about curses or losses, not tonight. There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow.”