“More or less,” Tariq said with a nod of his head.
“Look, man, I don’t want you to get hurt either, but relationships have to be built on trust. If you don’t trust her, then you can’t be serious about her.”
“How can I trust a woman who marries a man she’s never met?” He snapped crossly.
“Your mum did it,” Eric contradicted.
“My mother is Assanian. She was betrothed to my father as a teenager, married at twenty. It is all she’s ever known. Rebecca is beautiful, talented, intelligent... She could have been anything she wanted. Married any guy she wanted. Yet she signed herself up for a future with a man who for all she knew, could have been fat, balding, abusive... How can I accept that?” He shifted in his seat. “Have I told you about her dancing?” He asked.
Eric lifted his eyes heavenward. “Only about a thousand times.”
“I’m sorry – am I boring you?” Tariq asked with as much regal command as he could inject into his voice.
“No. You’re confusing me. Who cares about the whys, when you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted?” He said honestly.
“Have I? I’ve got her body. I don’t have her mind. She is locked away from me, always steering away from my questions, making sure things don’t get too serious.”
“I’ve never known you to want much more from a woman than her body. I would have said ‘serious’ was the last thing you’d want something to become,” Eric was still teasing but it cut Tariq to the core.
“That isn’t true.” He frowned. “I suppose I had a habit of dating women who don’t want more than a quick roll in the hay, and some expensive gifts, perhaps. But I’ve always known my relationships had an expiration point. I expected to love my kingdom, not my wife.”
“Are you saying you love Rebecca, Tariq?” Eric leaned forward in his cheer, appraising his friend with surprise.
Tariq shook his head. “I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying, hypothetically, I never doubted that I was born to rule Assan. It is in my blood, it fires my soul. But all I have ever expected of my wife is a pleasant temperament, and a uterus capable of carrying on the family line.”
“Charming,” Eric drawled cynically. “Problem solved. Just repeat that romantic little speech to Rebecca and she’ll fall swooning to your feet.”
He gritted his teeth. “I know you mean well but your sarcastic jokes are starting to wear thin, old friend.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He raised his hands with a small smile. “I do know what you mean. The principle point of your marriage is to procure an heir. Or heirs, as the case may be.”
He mumbled his agreement.
“You’re overthinking it, Tariq. You’ve only known each other a few weeks. Let her get used to all the changes in her life, and see what happens. She might open up to you more as time goes on.”
“Do I strike you as a ‘go with the flow’ kind of man, Eric?” He asked contemptuously, but his contempt was all for himself.
After making love to his wife in the pool that night, he’d fled to Fattid like a coward, and here he remained. That night, she’d avoided him, and he had been filled with fear. It had taken that to make him realise that he was using their sexual chemistry to keep her hooked, hoping that as time went by, she would open up to him about just what made those ice blue eyes cloud over so often.
Using her attraction to him for his own cause was beneath him, and he had known he needed to put some space between himself and the situation. Now, though, in his luxurious inner city office, all he could think about was Rebecca. She might have been a thousand miles from him, but she was also living and breathing right into his soul.
“Let me put it another way. Have you told her how you acquired that rather large gash across your brow?” Eric nodded towards the now almost invisible scar that stretched across half of his forehead.
Tariq frowned. “No. You know I don’t speak about it.”
“That’s my point. Perhaps the lovely Rebecca has things in her past that are equally difficult to speak about. She’s getting to know you, to trust you, as you are her.”
“I don’t like waiting.” He said haughtily and Eric laughed.
“Your problem, your highness, is that you’re too used to everyone obeying you instantaneously. And I’ll bet you’ve damned never had a woman who’s challenged you like she does.”
“I like that she challenges me...”
“You like it sometimes, but you can’t just get her to switch that off at your convenience. She’s independent and thoughtful and when she is ready, she will probably start to share more of herself with you. For now, you just have to put up with what she’s happy to give. And going by the ‘floating on air’ smile I’ve seen on your face a few times today, that’s not too bad.”
He didn’t respond. His thoughts were on his wife, and suddenly, he yearned to be near her again. But he needed the space. He needed her to have space. Maybe apart they’d work out how to be together.
“She’s independent,” he mused, “and yet she’s shy. Sometimes I feel like there are two Rebeccas inside of her. One, full of sass and spark, and the other, afraid and timid, scared of making a scene. Is it possible that her whole personality is a deceit?”
Eric shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve only met her a couple of times, but I’d say it’s natural that she’d be overwhelmed by the changes in her life. It’s odd that she didn’t know her parents had made this arrangement for her.”
Tariq shook his head. “Not really. Her parents died when she was ten. She was raised by her mother’s sister and the sister’s husband. They adopted her. But it’s entirely possible they didn’t know of the contract until my father approached them.”
“And that was only a month or so before your wedding?” Eric queried.
“Correct.”
“So she hasn’t had very long to get used to it.”
“You agree with me, though, don’t you, Eric? What would make her accept the contract? Most women would be terrified to move to a foreign country, live amongst a people whose ways are so different.”
“Well, for one thing, she probably did an internet search on you before accepting. So that would mean she knew you weren’t fat, balding, or horrible. Also, she would have seen that you studied abroad and are, to all intents and purposes, as much a man of the west as I am.”
“And then, there’s the money,” he drawled cynically.
“So what, Tariq! You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you think the only reason she married you was for wealth. And even if it was the reason she initially accepted a contract that had been signed twenty four years earlier, her affection for you seems genuine now. Isn’t that what an arranged marriage is predicated on? The growing of affection over time?”
“Yes.” He snapped with a wave of his hand in the air.
“Your ego is bruised because, for once, a woman might not have fallen for your charm alone. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t fallen for your charm now.”
“But I can’t let myself feel what I want to with her.” He shook his head, but his eyes showed his implacable determination. “My first assessment of Rebecca was that she was a mercenary, and I don’t see any evidence now to contradict that. I will always know that had circumstances been different, if I were just a poor librarian or waiter, she wouldn’t have given me a passing glance.”
Despite his friend’s obvious slump, Eric couldn’t stifle his laugh. “You – a librarian?”
Tariq lifted his head proudly. “She has never had a boyfriend, Eric. You and I both know a woman as beautiful as Rebecca would have been besieged by offers. What held her back? Could it be that she’s always been waiting for the biggest fish she could hook?”
“Well, if that’s the case, she did well to wait for you. Royalty is quite a catch.” Eric rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous, my friend. I could buy into your theory if she knew about the marriage contract, but she didn’t. What woman would spend her youth lying in w
ait for a prince that might never arrive?”
“I don’t think she intended on marrying royalty. A CEO probably would have done it. A wealthy individual who could give her a good life.”
“Tariq, listen to yourself. For the first time since I’ve known you, you’re not making any sense. You told me yourself only five minutes ago that Rebecca hasn’t spent any of your money. And, as you point out, she’s stunningly attractive and interesting to boot. If she was intent only on snaffling a rich husband, she would have done so well before now.”
Although Eric’s rational words were perfectly logical, Tariq couldn’t quell the sense of unease that there was so much more to his wife than he knew. The only thing that explained why she had married him was a hankering for wealth and position, and those were qualities he couldn’t admire. His wife was dangerous. She represented a greater danger to him than any other he could imagine. She made him vulnerable in a way a leader should not be. She weakened him. He knew that, if she caught him in the right moment and asked it of him, he would throw over his kingdom and run away with her. Only, she wouldn’t want that, would she? Rebecca, his sheikha, wanted the kingdom, and all the trappings that went with it. Despite having no firm proof, he was sure of it.
So long as he remembered what she wanted from him – money – then he could carry on as he had before. Sex was obviously something she viewed as a part of their transaction. So be it.
Sex and money. And lots of both. Yes. Just as long as he enforced the boundaries of their relationship, this could still work.
His stomach rolled with the unpleasant emotions coursing through him. He had to remember her true motivations. Hardening his heart, he stood from behind his desk. It was an abrupt signal to Eric. Conversation closed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ten days he’d been away.
Ten days and ten long, lonely nights.
She twirled her blonde hair over her shoulder, trying to concentrate on the proposal she was planning to make to Tariq, upon his return. Whenever that might be.
She shook her head to clear away the constant pain that pricked at her heart.
In a few short weeks, she had come to need Tariq almost as much as she needed air or water. When she’d entered into the marriage, she had no expectation beyond civility, but now... now she wanted it all.
She loved him.
At least, she thought she did.
Having never loved anyone in her life, with the exception of her parents and grandfather, of course, she was a total novice.
But he consumed her every thought, his face dancing tantalisingly in her memory day and night, and wherever she was, her eyes were scanning for his familiar dark head and intelligent, assessing eyes.
She squeezed her own blue eyes shut and took in a deep, shaky breath.
He couldn’t have made his own indifference any clearer.
He hadn’t even had the courtesy to say goodbye before leaving. A servant had informed her that His Highness had flown to Fattid late in the night, after they’d sensationally come together in the pool.
Rebecca groaned as she remembered that night and her rather pointless show of independence. Hadn’t it backfired spectacularly? He’d gone ahead and proved that he could still have her whenever he wanted, and then he’d disappeared.
Was he alone?
She shivered. Unlikely. She’d witnessed his spectacular libido and stamina for herself. Reports she’d read of Tariq on the internet before they’d married had shown that he was a man rarely without a woman on his arm.
So far, she’d resisted the urge to go on the internet, but her strength of will was at war with her wifely need-to-know.
What good would it do to find out for sure? So he might have been snapped with a glamorous woman. Would that really help her? No. Better not to know. Just to be tortured by her own imaginings of the worst. If only she hadn’t gone and fallen in love with him, it would be so much easier to navigate their marriage. As King of Assan, she had always expected there would be periods of lengthy absence. In fact, before she’d got to know him, she’d rather relished the solitude her marriage would afford. For the first time in her life, she would be accountable to herself. No Winona and Greg breathing down her neck, demanding to know what she’d been doing and then telling her that none of it was good enough.
Well, whatever else, at least she had finally escaped them.
She pushed up from her seat with an impatient huff. It was no good. She had been staring at the screen of her laptop for over an hour and the words she needed just wouldn’t come.
“Are you okay, Rebecca?” Monique’s voice called from the other side of the room. She was reading a novel in a large armchair, framed perfectly by a stained glass window.
“Yes.” Rebecca was unintentionally curt and she softened it with a smile. “I’ve been sitting too long. I think I’ll go for a swim.”
“Would you like me to join you?”
Rebecca was tempted. She needed a girlfriend to speak to about everything that was on her mind, but something told her Monique was not a wise choice. She shook her head slowly. “I just need to be alone. Please have my guard wait outside the pool area for me.”
Monique nodded. “Of course, Rebecca. Enjoy your dip.”
That was a laugh. Every stroke through the water reminded her of Tariq. Her body tingled with the physical need he stoked in her. She couldn’t go near the step they’d made love on.
She pulled up in the shaded end of the water and unconsciously turned to the balcony of his bedroom. It was identical to her balcony, just about fifty metres over. Her eyes scanned the wrought iron balustrade, and the sheer white curtains billowed out from within. Then, she felt her heart kerthunk painfully into her rib cage, as Tariq appeared, like a figment from her imagination.
Immediately, his eyes met hers. Had he been watching her? She’d been swimming for twenty minutes, he had had plenty of opportunity to. Or had he just happened to step out at the exact time she was taking her first swim since that night.
Her throat felt suddenly dry and she couldn’t bear to look into his lightly mocking eyes any longer. She spun away from him and gracefully pulled her body out of the water. Self-consciously, she crossed to the timber benches and wrapped a towel around herself.
Having not seen him for ten days, she was at once aching to touch him, and yet desperate to get away. The certainty that she loved him was strong. The certainty that he didn’t love her was even stronger.
She towelled her hair brusquely, not caring that the action was so firm it almost hurt.
The desire to see him won out and, wrapped in only a towel, she took the steps with a determined speed. She didn’t pause outside his bedroom door to re-think the wisdom of her actions.
She pushed in without knocking, surprising Tariq’s valet in the act of unpacking clothes. Beyond the startled servant, was her husband, and at this distance, when their eyes met, sparks flew. There was animosity and there was passion, and barely concealed need.
Tariq took one look at Rebecca’s beautiful, elfin face and he knew she was pissed. Fair enough. He could have called. Then he remembered the resolve he’d made it Fattid – to remember that she had married him for money alone, and his sympathy evaporated. Sympathy, but not desire.
“Leave us,” he commanded quietly to Jawed, his long-serving attendant.
“Yes, sir.” Jawed bowed out of the bedroom silently.
Tariq watched, fascinated, as Rebecca crossed her arms across her chest and stared over at him. “Well? Have you had a good time?” She demanded, tapping her foot in an exaggerated gesture of annoyance.
Careful not to react, he stood perfectly still. “I did not go to Fattid to have a good time. I had business to attend to.”
“I see. Well. Welcome back.” She muttered, suddenly feeling very foolish indeed. What had she expected? That he’d swoop across his bedroom and pull her into his arms?
“Thank you.” He nodded, but his expression was bland, his tone disi
nterested.
She stared at him across the chasm of the room. Something imperceptible had shifted between them. There was a distance in him now that she had not known before. It made her insides clench together painfully. She could fight with him, she could stomach his anger, but not his cool disdain. She opened her mouth to say something but his face was so guarded that she closed it again. Feeling all sorts of awkward, she turned silently and left his bedroom.
When she reached her own room, she let out a long shaky breath, knowing tears weren’t far away.
“Monique?” She spoke into the intercom on one side of her bed. “I’m not feeling well. Please ask that I not be disturbed this afternoon.”
“I will bring you some honey tea --.”
“No, no thank you. I just need to close my eyes. Thank you.”
She disconnected their call and lay down, still wet from the pool, on her bed.
The timber fan overhead circulated a breeze and she could hear the sound of splashing coming from the pool below. She resisted the urge to peek. It had to be her husband.
She moaned quietly and pulled a pillow over her head.
Somehow, Rebecca slept. She had been finding sleep almost impossible with Tariq away, and now that he was back, she was bone weary. A hand on her shoulder woke her some time later, and she blinked into the now dark room.
Her first thought and hope was that it was Tariq, but Monique’s face hovered a little above hers. “Rebecca, are you feeling better?”
She forced a smile. “Yes, thank you. I must have been tired.”
Monique nodded understandingly. “His Highness has asked if you will be joining him for dinner?”
Rebecca swallowed. “What is scheduled?”
“A private dinner, just you and Tariq, if you wish.”
He was daring her not to show up, she realised. Well, no way. She’d acted on instinct this afternoon, and come off looking like an insipid fool. But now, she was prepared. He was back. For the sake of her own self-esteem, she had to show him that she could be just as unmoved by his presence as he obviously was by hers.
She’d had years of practice pretending not to feel. When Winona had berated her and insulted her, Rebecca had gradually learned not to react. Winona loved to see her cry, and the only small power Rebecca held was that of her self-control. While Winona and Greg’s insults and punishments had become increasingly hurtful, she had simply toughened her willpower.
The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... Page 8