The Sheikh’s Royal Wedding

by Cara Albany

  Now, all of that was behind him.

  Now he was a married man. Now he had a wife.

  But, a wife, who did not want him as a husband.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "I've arranged for a TV crew to come to the palace later this morning," Zariq announced over breakfast the next morning. They were sitting across from one another in the dining room. The wide double doors were open and the bright, early morning sunshine made Dakota's eyes narrow. Squinting her eyes like that hid the fact of her tiredness, not having slept much the previous night.

  Dakota peered across the table at him. Her coffee cup hovered in front of her open mouth. "You did what?" she demanded, lowering the cup onto the saucer.

  "They want their interview," Zariq continued. "And I thought this morning might be as good a time as any."

  Dakota glared at Zariq, stunned that he had arranged something they'd both spoken about only days before. Then, she had told him in no uncertain terms that she'd done enough interviews with the media. Was this some kind of punishment for last night? It certainly seemed like it.

  She couldn't believe he'd done this. "We only got married yesterday," she stated. "And you think it's okay to have TV people here, asking awkward questions?"

  Zariq drew in a deep breath and sighed. "The fact that it was only hours since our wedding didn't stop you from locking me out from our room last night," he replied emphatically.

  Dakota's eyes widened and she glanced nervously to the doors, checking that no-one had overheard that remark. "You know why I did that," she breathed.

  He lifted a brow and shook his head. "No, Dakota, I don't," he retorted. The corner of his mouth curled with a sardonic grin. "It wasn't very friendly, was it? Not the kind of thing a new husband expects from his beautiful new wife." He grinned at her, and she wondered if he was just teasing her, or if he'd meant what he'd just said.

  She sighed and busied herself with what was left of her breakfast. "It shouldn't have come as a surprise to you. We both know what we're getting into."

  "Do we?"

  She peered across the table. She could see that his former calm demeanor had changed slightly. Irritation had crept into his voice. He was trying to provoke her. She knew that, and had plenty of recent experience of it. Too much, in fact. "You're not planning on making any dramatic revelations if this interview goes ahead, are you?" she asked.

  She saw him glance at the open doors. "Like, for instance, how my wonderful new wife barred her door against me when I tried to claim my rights?"

  She felt her face color instantly. "You wouldn't dare even hint at such a thing," she snapped. "Would you?"

  He waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, I won't. I have a reputation to maintain."

  She gasped and then laughed out loud. "Of course. The untamed, irresistible sheikh who has had every beautiful woman in Qazhar," she scoffed. "Isn't how they describe you in the media?"

  He shrugged arrogantly. "It's not far off the truth."

  When he was like this he was insufferable, she told herself.

  "Everyone in Qazhar knows your reputation," she countered.

  "And beyond," he repsonded with a grin.

  She groaned and lowered her gaze. Suddenly her breakfast was more interesting than her arrogant husband. "You're insufferable, you know that, don't you? I did the right thing locking you out last night." She lifted her gaze. He had been unmoved by her last remark. "Where did you sleep last night?"

  "I didn't leave the palace, if that's what you mean," he replied. "If you must know, I stayed in my old room."

  "Your former bachelor apartment, you mean?" She lifted a brow. "Trying to hang on to old memories?" she teased.

  "That's what the TV crew want to talk about today," he stated.

  She felt nerves curl in her middle. "What do you mean?"

  Zariq took a sip of coffee and then placed his cup down. "They want the whole story. Not just the snippets they've been fed up until now."

  Once again, those nerves twisted insistently. "Is that woman doing the interview?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer to the question.

  "Elena?" he replied nodding. "She is the leading anchor on the main Qazhar TV station. It's only natural she should do the interview."

  "You said she's a troublemaker," Dakota probed. "That she likes to dish the dirt on people."

  Zariq smiled. "She does. And she's pretty good at her job." For some reason Dakota felt uncomfortable with that smile. There was something appreciative about it. And also in the way he'd said those words. How come he could even have one good thought about a journalist who liked to humiliate the elite of Qazhar society?

  "Why are you even allowing her into the palace?" Dakota asked sharply.

  Zariq gazed across at Dakota. For a moment, she was sure she could see a hint of mischievousness in his eyes. It was a glint of devilry she'd come to recognize. "Elena and I are friends," he announced.

  Dakota was sure her mouth opened, just slightly, with shock. "Are friends? Or used to be friends," she said evenly.

  "Used to be friends," he admitted. "It was a while ago. Before you and I knew each other."

  "Am I supposed to be glad to hear that?" she snapped.

  He lifted a brow. "That's for you to decide, Dakota."

  "Old girlfriend?" she insisted.

  Zariq smiled and laughed quietly. "Are we really going to do this so early in the morning?" He placed his napkin down on the table. "This kind of conversation can ruin a man's digestion."

  "That depends on you," she replied.

  She felt her jaw tighten and she peered across at him. That natural arrogance had returned. It was like a reflex he couldn't control. It was a part of his nature, and she knew she could never do anything that would change it.

  Even though he annoyed her, she had to admit he was handsome. He possessed a feral, animal attraction which she knew women would find impossible to ignore. His features were sculpted male perfection. Deeply ridged brows, an aggressive slash of a nose, broad cheekbones and a firm jaw. His full lips had a permanent defiant twist in the their expression that seemed to declare to the world that he would not back down. His shoulder-length hair was jet black, matching the penetrating gaze of his eyes. All in all, she was sure he was irresistible to every woman in Qazhar. So, why was she so determined to hold him at bay?

  Zariq stood and gazed down at her. Their eyes met, a mutual standoff having developed in an instant. This happened every day, she told herself. There was always some argument which developed, leading to one of them doing something to shut it all down. She allowed her gaze to drift down the length of his tall figure, taking in the wide shoulders, his broad chest, his narrow waist. She could just imagine the taut muscles beneath the white shirt and the dark pants. So far, all she had to rely on was imagination and she idly wondered if that would always be the case.

  Zariq shook his head. "They'll be here in about an hour," he said. "I suggest we both take some time to get ready. We don't want to give the wrong impression, do we?"

  "And what kind of impression would you like us to give to your ex girlfriend?" she said sharply.

  He smiled sardonically and refused to take the bait. "We're supposed to be a newly married couple who are deeply in love with each other," he said evenly. "At least that's the way it was, the last time I checked."

  Now it was his turn to be sarcastic. It was unusual for him to be like that, she told herself. Maybe she'd touched a raw nerve by mentioning one of his past conquests. If, indeed, she had been that, Dakota told herself.

  She watched Zariq make his way out to the terrace. It was clear that the conversation was finished. At least as far as he was concerned. She saw him lean his hands against the marble balustrade and gaze out across the lush greenery of the garden. She thought about going to join him there, but he looked like he wanted to be left alone for the moment.

  Dakota leaned back in her chair. Maybe Zariq and Elena had just been acquaintances. Even as she toyed with
that thought, she knew it couldn't be true. Since arriving in Qazhar, Dakota had learned a lot about Zariq. And the most commonly held opinion about him had been that, before Dakota had come to the country, before his decision to marry, Zariq had lived the wildest imaginable life. A life of pleasure and indulgence of the most extreme kind.

  And now his marriage to Dakota had ended all that. Did he blame her for somehow losing a life to which he'd become accustomed? It wasn't her fault he'd had to marry. It had been a demand placed upon him by his stern father. Protocol had dictated that Zariq should marry, and his father had simply put his foot down, dictating not only Zariq's need to marry, but also the acceptable candidates. There had been only a handful of women deemed suitable. And Dakota had been one of them.

  She could only imagine how difficult that must have been for Zariq to accept. He was naturally rebellious. She'd already been on the receiving end of that character trait on more than one occasion. He liked to make his own choices. So, it must have been hard for him to accept others choosing a wife for him.

  There had been a list. And on that list had been a number of women in Qazhar, drawn from an investigation carried out by genealogical experts. That was normal in royal circles. The desire to keep royal bloodlines pure was deep-rooted in the Qazhar psyche. They worshipped tradition in a way Dakota had never seen before.

  Each woman on the list had some kind of illustrious ancestor. But, ironically, it was the only woman who lived abroad who held the most illustrious connection of all.

  Dakota had been chosen.

  Through her father's line, she was descended from the Great Chieftain who had virtually established Qazhar as a country five centuries ago. It was a bloodline as exclusive as they come. And Dakota had known nothing about it until Zariq's visit to New York. He'd dropped the bombshell and, at first, she'd refused to believe him. But, on further investigation through distant relatives, it had turned out to be true. Incredible, but true. The young American woman who'd already made a name for herself as a model was in fact related to the man who had brought a country into being five centuries before.

  And now, because of that, she had become one of the most famous people in Qazhar. More so now that she was the wife of one of the illustrious Al Kharif family.

  Her life had been turned upside down with one startling revelation. And, on top of that, Zariq had swept her off her feet, bringing her to Qazhar in a whirlwind romance, every moment of which had been greedily captured by a media with an insatiable appetite.

  There was only one catch. In coming to Qazhar, Dakota had made enemies. And not just the man who was standing out there on the terrace. The man who had been forced to marry her against his will.

  Qazhar society was tight-knit. There were many others who could claim connection to the same prestigious lineage. And some of them felt that they were as deserving as the beautiful foreigner whose face was seldom missing from the TV or magazines. She'd sensed that enmity in some of the guests at the wedding reception yesterday. Furtive looks had been put her way. Jealous glances. Resentful eyes that burned with barely concealed anger.

  Not everyone was pleased that Dakota had married the very eligible, extremely handsome sheikh. Not everyone was happy that she had claimed what they thought could have been theirs.

  So, today, with the visit of one of his ex-girlfriends, Dakota knew she was going to be asked some very awkward questions. Did she think she deserved to marry Zariq? Did she even belong in Qazhar? Would she ever fit in? Did she feel any connection to her ancestor, one of the most important men in the history of Qazhar?

  All of these questions had hovered at the back of her mind for weeks now. And they were about to get a very public airing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The TV crew arrived an hour later. Some simple lights were set up on the terrace overlooking the garden. From her modeling days, Dakota knew that such equipment was necessary, even on the brightest of days. She hung around on the terrace while the three men set up their equipment. Zariq had gone outside to the front of the palace to greet the crew and, no doubt, Elena.

  Dakota wondered what the woman would be like. She couldn't recall having met the woman in person, although she was pretty sure she would have seen her on TV before. And, sure enough, when Zariq ushered Elena into the room, Dakota immediately recognized the TV presenter.

  She was beautiful, Dakota told herself, as she watched Elena and Zariq make their way toward the terrace. Elena had dark hair, even features and piercing brown eyes that looked straight through Dakota. Elena moved with an easy grace. She wore an elegant light blue dress. Dakota could understand why Zariq had made Elena one of his choices before Dakota's time.

  Elena extended a hand and smiled. "Dakota. Nice to meet you at last."

  "And you," Dakota said, although she really didn't mean it. This whole idea was as far away from what she wanted on this, her first day of marriage to Zariq.

  Elena dumped her shoulder bag on a seat. Elena glanced around the terrace, nodding approvingly to one of her male colleagues. She spoke a few words in the Qazhar tongue and the man raced away quickly. Elena looked like she knew how to exert control over a man. Dakota wondered if Zariq had submitted quite as easily as the colleague had just done. Dakota doubted it. Zariq wasn't the kind of man to submit to a woman.

  Elena turned and faced Dakota. "So, how does it feel to be married to a royal sheikh?" she asked.

  Dakota smiled at Zariq. He was watching her carefully. "It feels great. The wedding went smoothly. And everyone seemed to enjoy themselves."

  Elena glanced at Zariq. "And you, sheikh Al Kharif. Is married life all you thought it would be?"

  Dakota frowned. What had Elena meant by choosing those words?

  Zariq nodded appreciatively and came to Dakota, curling an arm around her waist. She felt him tug her closer to him. She did nothing to show any resistance. Elena was watching very closely. No sense in giving the journalist an easy story, Dakota told herself.

  "I couldn't be happier," he declared and then looked warmly at Dakota. "We're just so well-suited to one another, aren't we, Dakota?" he said.

  "Sure," Dakota replied, gazing into his eyes and seeing the unspoken instruction in them. He wanted her to co-operate with this charade. She could see that. "We've been together for a few months now," she continued. "But, we're still discovering new things about each other. Isn't that right, Zariq?" she concluded.

  He nodded and smiled at Elena. "Married life is looking good already."

  When Dakota glanced at Elena she was sure she saw a flash of skepticism in the other woman's eyes. Why had that been there? Was Elena still harboring a lingering attraction to Zariq? Zariq had explained to Dakota that he and Elena had only gone out together a few times. That there had been nothing in it. Dakota knew she would have to trust Zariq on that. But, as she glanced at the woman, she was sure she could see a hint of something in the woman's gaze. It was hard to put a finger on it, but there was definitely something going on in Elena's mind. And it might just be about Dakota's new husband.

  "So, how is this going to work?" Dakota asked.

  Elena folded her arms and glanced at the chairs which had been set up beneath the lighting rig. "You two make yourself comfortable there and I'll just chat with you and ask you the kind of questions viewers want answered."

  "What kind of questions?" Dakota asked sharply. She felt Zariq's arm tighten around her waist.

  Elena's eyes narrowed. "You know, the usual," she said with a shrug. "How did you meet? What was it like to fall in love with a sheikh? How did he ask you to marry him?" Elena peered at Dakota. "That kind of stuff."