“That isn’t likely to happen,” Rashad said with a smile.
“Why not?” Cara eyed him curiously.
“First and foremost for the obvious reasons.” Rashad’s dark eyes twinkled merrily. “He will never find a woman as beautiful, as charming and as perfect for him as you.”
Cara laughed. “There is an exceptionally large chunk of malarkey in you, Rashad.”
He laughed, as well. “All right, then I’ll tell you another reason why he’s not likely to take another wife. The laws changed some twenty years ago, and polygamy is now against the law.”
Cara was surprised by the relief that fluttered through her, a relief tempered with a touch of irritation that Omar hadn’t mentioned the same little fact.
When she saw him, she would show him just how good and dutiful she could be.
Omar was on his way to the formal gardens to find his wife, when he ran into Hayfa in one of the corridors.
“Mother,” he said respectfully, then leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.
Her face was no longer covered, and she smiled with pleasure as he released her. “My son, it’s so good to have you back where you belong. I miss seeing your face when you’re away.”
“You just miss me because when I’m gone you have nobody to yell at,” he replied teasingly.
“That’s not true. I regularly yell at Malika and Jahara. They often forget their age and act like teenagers.”
Omar laughed and took her arm, and together they walked down the corridor. “So, tell me, Mother, what did you think of my new bride?”
Hayfa hesitated before answering, as if schooling her thoughts. “She’s very beautiful. It’s easy to see why she captured your eye.” She said the words thinly, letting him sense her vague disapproval.
“You didn’t raise me to be so shallow that I would marry a woman for her looks alone,” he chided. “She has a good heart, Hayfa. If you would just give her a chance, she’s bright and funny and spirited.”
“Yes, I know of her spirited nature. The gossip columns have occasionally mentioned her spirited exploits.”
Unfortunately, Omar had no argument against this fact. There were times when he himself struggled with the characterization of Elizabeth Fiona he’d gleaned through gossip magazines and the quite different Elizabeth Fiona he’d gotten to know through her letters and in spending time with her.
“One could say that I was equally spirited,” he finally replied. “I believe on more than one occasion I’ve been written up in those same gossip columns.”
“It’s different for a man,” she replied stiffly.
He laughed and gave her a quick hug. “And you are occasionally an old-fashioned frump.” He released her and grew more serious. “Be kind to her, Hayfa. She’s left her family, her country and all that she knows to be my wife. Your friendship and approval here could make things easier on her.”
She reached up and placed her palm on the side of his face, her eyes warm with love. “I only want to see you happy, and if she makes you happy, I will respect that.”
“She does make me happy.”
Hayfa nodded. “Then, I will be kind.”
Omar kissed her again, then left her and went in search of his wife.
He found her with Rashad in the gardens. He saw them before they saw him, and he paused to drink in the sight of the woman who would be at his side at the end of each day, the woman who would eventually bear his children and grow old with him.
She was laughing at something Rashad had said, and for a moment he desperately wished he had a camera to capture forever the sheer joy that lit her lovely features.
Her dark brown hair shone in the sunlight, sparkling with just a hint of red highlights, and he knew her green eyes would be twinkling.
Desire hit him right in the middle of his gut. It was not just a desire to take her to bed and stroke her nakedness, lose himself in her. Rather, it was also a desire to see her laugh often, to never be the cause of tears in her eyes.
The inertia that had momentarily gripped him broke, and he was suddenly eager to join in the conversation, to get close enough to see the sparkle of her eyes.
He hurried toward them, surprised when he reached them and Elizabeth bowed deeply.
“Your Highness,” she murmured with her head kept down. “How good of you to join us.” She glanced up at him just quickly enough for him to catch a glimpse of those teasing, flirtatious eyes. “Is there anything I can do to please you? I await your command.”
Omar cast a look to Rashad, who shrugged in equal bewilderment. “Elizabeth, what are you doing?”
Again he saw a flash of emerald eyes, then she returned her gaze to his feet. “I am attempting to be a good and dutiful wife so that you will not see the need to marry another woman.”
Rashad, obviously recognizing he was not needed, nodded quickly to Omar, then scurried away.
Omar returned his gaze to her, amusement rippling through him. “This presents a wealth of possibilities to me. Perhaps we could return to our quarters and you can show me just how good and dutiful you can be.”
She raised a hand and smacked him lightly on the chest, her eyes holding the light of indignation. “You are a wicked man not to tell me that polygamy is no longer practiced here in Gaspar.”
She started to smack him again, but he caught her hand and laughingly pulled her to his chest. “I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t know until Rashad told me a little while ago. It was mean of you to let me worry for even one single moment that I might have to share you with another woman.”
“And you would mind that so much?” he asked.
Her eyes flashed darkly. “I don’t like to share,” she said as she wound her arms around his neck.
“Good, because neither do I,” he replied, electrified by the fierceness in her tone and the sweet press of her body against his.
She unwound her arms and stepped back from him. “Good, now that we have that settled, perhaps you’ll show me the rest of the gardens.”
“I would be delighted.” He took her arm in his, and together they walked at a leisurely pace. “Have you given any thought to your plans for tomorrow? Have you decided to go shopping with my father’s wives?”
“I didn’t want to plan anything until I spoke with you. We haven’t really discussed what our daily schedule will be, what my duties and responsibilities as your wife are. Other than acting as hostess at palace functions. And there must be more than that for me to do,” she protested. “I don’t want to be simply a decoration on your arm, Omar.”
“You can plan menus with the cook for our evening meals and oversee the housekeeping staff.”
He was surprised to see a frown dashing across her face. “Those aren’t the kinds of things I’m talking about,” she replied. “I can do those, but I want to do more. I’d like to get involved in some charity work, either work on existing programs or create new ones to take care of the needs of the people of Gaspar.”
She continued to amaze him. How had he ever entertained the possibility that she might be shallow or frivolous? He tightened his grip on her arm, pleasure sweeping through him as he realized she truly wanted to be a part of his life, a part of Gaspar.
“If you’re interested in doing charity work, then the person to speak with is Hayfa. She’s been coordinating several charities for many years. And speaking of Hayfa, if you’d like to go shopping tomorrow, that works fine with my schedule. Unfortunately, my day will be quite busy with meetings.”
“Then, I guess I’m going shopping,” she replied. Again she frowned. “Omar—”
“Sheik Omar,” Rashad called from the distance, interrupting whatever Elizabeth had been about to say.
Omar looked at Elizabeth. “I had hoped to be able to spend time today showing you around, but because it is my first day back in the country, there is a lot of business to attend to. I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize,” she replied, and smiled the lovely
smile that never failed to light a flame inside him. “I knew what I was getting into when I married you, Omar. I knew you would have enormous demands on your time and attention.”
“I’m a lucky man, darling,” he said, and kissed her on her temple. “Feel free to wander wherever you wish within the palace, and perhaps day after tomorrow we can take a tour of the countryside.”
For the first time in his life, as Omar left her there amid the blossoming flowers, he was almost sorry he was a sheik. For just a moment he wished he were nothing more than a simple man who could spend the day in the company of his lovely wife.
Ten
Cara stood before the mirror in the luxurious bathroom, giving herself a final once-over as she waited for Omar’s stepmothers to meet her for a day of shopping.
She was nervous about the day ahead, but nothing could detract from the happiness in her heart. After her brief tour of the formal gardens the day before, when Omar had left her, she’d returned here to their private quarters, and had met with the staff, whom she found respectful yet friendly.
After meeting with them, she wandered from room to room, familiarizing herself with the layout and attempting to make the opulent, grand place feel like home.
It felt like home only when Omar had returned and they shared a simple dinner in the breakfast nook. Afterward they sat in their private little garden and she listened as he told her about his activities of the day.
Over and over she reminded herself that she had to tell him the truth, that each day that passed only made her lie worse. A dozen times the night before, she’d tried to bring the words of truth to her lips, but as she’d seen the gentleness in his eyes and the tender smile curving his lips, the words simply refused to come.
She turned away from her reflection, unexpected tears burning her eyes. It had all begun as something of a lark, but now it had become painful.
The happiness she’d found with Omar felt fragile and she was afraid that by telling him the truth, that happiness would be shattered, never to be put back together again.
As she left the master bath, she heard a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” she told the maid, who nodded and returned to her task of dusting.
She opened the door and was surprised to see Rashad. “Rashad! I was expecting Omar’s stepmothers.”
“They are awaiting you in the car,” he explained. “I am to accompany you on your shopping trip today.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” she replied. “At least I’ll be assured of one friendly face.”
“Surely you aren’t nervous,” he exclaimed. “You are the wife of our sheik. They should be nervous about spending time with you.”
Cara grabbed his thin arm and gave it a grateful squeeze as they left the quarters. “Rashad, what on earth would I do without you?”
“I think you would be just fine,” he replied. “I have a feeling you are a woman of strength and purpose. You will be an asset not only to Sheik Omar, but to the country, as well.”
She nodded, although she didn’t feel strong at all. She felt weak and weepy and filled with remorse. She wished desperately that she could go back in time, back to that moment when Omar had appeared on her doorstep—she would immediately tell him the truth about everything.
She had allowed her desire to have someone of her own to override everything else, and what worried her more than anything was the fear that the price she would eventually pay would be enormous.
The car was a huge limo, and as she and Rashad approached, she saw Hayfa, Jahara and Malika already inside.
“I will be up front with the driver,” he said. “And you will be fine.” He opened the door to admit her into the back with the rest of the women.
“Please, Elizabeth, sit here,” Jahara said, patting the seat next to her. Elizabeth slid onto the seat facing Hayfa and Malika.
“Good morning to you all,” she said, noting that this morning Hayfa didn’t have her face covered.
“Good morning to you,” Malika replied and smiled. “We’re going to have such fun. We’re taking you to our favorite dress shop, then to our favorite restaurant for lunch.”
“Where you will certainly eat too much, then complain for the rest of the afternoon,” Hayfa said to the younger woman.
Malika seemed to take no offense. She laughed and winked one of her dark, beautiful eyes at Cara. “She’s just jealous because my food does not ultimately rest on my hips.”
Hayfa sniffed and turned her attention out the window. Jahara touched Cara’s hand and smiled. “Tell us about Texas,” she said. “I hear it is a state filled with strong, handsome cowboys.”
Cara laughed. “Well, not everybody who lives in Texas is a cowboy,” she explained. For the remainder of the ride Cara told them about her home state. She described to them the ranch where she had been born and raised, and in the back of her mind she wondered if eventually she would return there, divorced and disgraced by the lie she had perpetrated.
By the time the car pulled to a halt, she was feeling a bit more at ease. She’d even managed to coax a small smile from Hayfa.
There was nothing like a shopping spree to bond women together, she thought as the four of them got out of the car and entered the establishment simply named Fadoul’s.
They appeared to be the only shoppers, and it wasn’t until Cara saw the guards on either side of the door that she realized there would be no other shoppers as long as the sheik’s wife was inside.
A tall, thin man with a full beard greeted them, bowing so deeply Cara was afraid he might brush his pointy nose to the floor. “It is my honor to welcome you to my humble establishment,” he said. “It is my great honor to be of service to Sheik Abdar’s new bride. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you in—”
“Enough, Fadoul,” Hayfa exclaimed impatiently. “We have come to shop, not to listen to your orating skills.”
Cara nearly giggled aloud at the look of shock that crossed Fadoul’s face. “My new daughter-in-law requires a dress for a celebration next Saturday night. I trust you have something suitable?”
Fadoul bowed once again. “I will leave you in the hands of my wife, who has served you all so many times before.” He disappeared behind a curtain near the back of the shop, and a moment later an attractive women approached them.
“Hayfa, it is good to see you again,” she said. “And Jahara and Malika, it’s always a pleasure to serve you.” She turned to Cara and smiled. “I am Safia and I am pleased to meet you. My husband said that Sheik Omar’s new bride would be easy to dress, and I see what he means. You are quite beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Cara murmured.
With introductions over, the women began to explore the clothes that hung on racks and on displays around the shop. Most of the clothing was of eastern fashion although there was some western wear mixed in.
Cara decided the best thing she could do for the celebration on Saturday night was to wear something traditional to Gaspar. Hayfa explained to her that the traditional dress of Gaspar was called a jalabiya, a long-sleeved, floor-length gown with matching haremlike pants beneath.
Safia showed Cara the selection, and as she thumbed through the various garments, Cara found herself appreciating the simple yet sophisticated look of the gowns. There was a wide variety of colors, with use of gems and embroidery for decorative touches.
“I have been working on a jalabiya that I have in the back room,” Safia said. “Perhaps you would like to see it.”
“All right,” she agreed. As the other women chose clothing to try on and disappeared into the dressing rooms, Cara followed Safia to the back room.
She saw the jalabiya immediately and knew it was what she wanted to wear for the celebration. The fabric was a deep, royal purple silk and the neck was encrusted with tiny seed pearls.
“Oh, Safia, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. “And you could have it finished in time for the celebration a week from Saturday night?”
“If you try
it on now, we can do a fitting and I can assure you I’ll have it finished in time.”
Cara had just slipped the gown on, when Hayfa appeared in the doorway. “A good choice,” she said with approval. “Not only do you honor the women of Gaspar by wearing traditional dress, you honor all people of Gaspar by choosing a dress of the royal colors.”
Cara smiled at the older woman. “As long as Omar likes it, I’ll be happy.”
Safia left the room for a moment, and Cara was aware of Hayfa’s gaze lingering on her with speculation. “You love my son?”
Cara held her gaze. “More than anyone I’ve ever loved in my life.”
“I’ve studied the gossip columns, have seen some reports of your love life and spirited nature. A sheik needs a wife who is not fodder for gossip, a woman who has a good head on her shoulders and will support him through the good times and bad.”
Cara knew the gossip Hayfa had read had been about Fiona, not her. A quiet, unobtrusive teacher’s life was hardly worth reporting about. But how could she explain that to Hayfa when she hadn’t yet told Omar?
“Hayfa, I am not the same woman that you read about in the papers. Things happen…people change. And all I want to do now is build a future with Omar.”
Just then, Malika and Jahara entered the back room, exclaiming with excitement over Cara’s dress and showing her what they had picked out.
The morning passed swiftly as they finished shopping for matching shoes and accessories. It didn’t take long for Cara to get a sense of each woman’s personality.
Jahara was a ray of sunshine, bright and bubbly and, from what the other two explained, an expert at belly dancing. Malika was a bit more serious but no less friendly. Then there was Hayfa, who mothered the other two with a touch of amused indulgence.
The relationship the three of them shared was obviously strong and based on mutual affection and friendship and Cara found herself wondering why three lovely, capable women would choose to share one man’s love.
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