by Dani Collins
With regret, he squatted and swept his hand across the nap of the carpet, erasing where his own footprints faced the impression of her knees.
As he squatted there, from this vantage, he was the height he had been when his father had sat at that desk, rambling about things Karim hadn’t even comprehended.
I love her. Do you understand? Your mother can never know. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand what this kind of love is like. Pray you never experience it, my son. It destroys your soul. And now she says it’s over. How do I go on? I can’t. Do you understand, Karim? I cannot live without her. I’m sorry, but I can’t.
Karim hadn’t understood. But the memory was a timely reminder as to why he had been trying to avoid giving in to his desire for Galila. Such intense passion could very easily become addictive. Obsessive and soul-destroying.
As he straightened, he pulled on the cloak of control he’d been wearing since bringing her here, determined to set her at a distance and keep her there. Permanently this time.
It wasn’t easy. An hour later, she arrived at his side wearing a hijab, since the ambassador and his wife were Muslim. Somehow her conservative gown and face framed in closely draped indigo were more provocative than one of her knee-length skirts with a fitted jacket.
Galila was beautiful no matter what she wore, but he could barely keep his gaze off the lips that had left a stain of pink on his flesh, or the lashes that had framed the wide eyes that had looked up at him.
He quickly made a remark about a political situation and drew the ambassador aside so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by becoming freshly aroused.
This constant flow of dinners and entertaining had been partly a series of prescheduled meetings, but also a necessary means of introducing his wife to key dignitaries before the celebration that would cement her as his wife and queen. Their marriage had been surprise enough. With all the rumblings of concern at lower levels, he had to ensure she was accepted.
Galila, he had to acknowledge, had a particular gift for charming people onto her side. She flowed effortlessly from small talk over the best shoe designer in Milan to a policy discussion. If she had a question, she asked it in a way that never seemed impertinent. If she had an opinion, she always managed to voice it in a way that was nonconfrontational but made her point.
As for the reports he received daily on the various decisions she was making as queen, well, he was grateful to have fewer things to worry about so he could concentrate on the ones that had broader impact.
“Oh, you know my father?” she asked with surprise now, voice drawing Karim back to the dinner and the conversation.
“That’s an overstatement,” the ambassador said with an embarrassed wave of his hand. “I met him, well, it must have been thirty years ago? I was quite young, just starting my first career as a translator. He came to our country as part of a diplomatic tour. He has such a sharp mind. I very much admired him and only wanted to express my concern for his health, given he stepped aside recently. I hope he’s well?”
“Grieving my mother.” Galila stiffened slightly, just enough for Karim to notice, but this was another area where she seemed to finesse her way without a misstep.
“I expect he was quite heartbroken. I’m sure you all are, but, well, it was obvious to me, even back then, how much he loved her. He cut short his tour to be with her. I remember it so clearly because I couldn’t imagine having a woman in my life whom I couldn’t bear to be apart from. Then I met one.” He smiled at his wife.
She blushed and told him not to embarrass them.
Galila offered a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She stared off into the middle distance a moment, murmuring, “I didn’t realize he had ever been apart from her for any length of time. It certainly never happened in my memory, but that would have been before I was born.”
If she did the math and realized Karim’s father had killed himself roughly thirty years ago...
“We need to add a discussion on your country’s foreign banking regulations to tomorrow’s agenda,” Karim cut in, changing the subject.
Moments later, the women had moved on to an innocuous topic and the rest of the evening passed without incident. He realized, however, that this was another angle of vulnerability he had to protect himself against. His marriage of expedience was a minefield of potential disaster.
* * *
Galila excused herself the moment their guests were gone. She had a lot to think about. Deep down, she was still reeling from her experience with Karim, feeling self-conscious about the way she had behaved.
When she saw him at dinner with the ambassador, he had once again been the remote man who revealed only the barest hint of regard toward her. His indifference crushed her soul into the dust, but she hadn’t allowed herself to look him in the eye or her gaze to linger on his expression. She had fought all evening to hide her aching soul, asking mindless questions and pretending an interest in the wife’s dog-breeding techniques.
Then the ambassador had made that remark about her father’s trip thirty years ago.
She had enough going on with her new marriage that she shouldn’t have room for obsessing over her mother’s lover, but she couldn’t help but wonder. She couldn’t ask her father about his trip, but she sent an email to both her brothers, keeping her inquiry very vague, asking if they knew anything about that particular trip their father had taken. She doubted they would. Malak hadn’t been born and Zufar had been a toddler.
Still, she sighed with disappointment when she received their blunt “No” replies the next morning.
“What’s wrong?” Karim asked as he nodded to accept more coffee.
“Nothing. I asked my brothers if they knew anything about that diplomatic tour my father went on, the one the ambassador mentioned. They don’t.”
“Why?”
She looked at him, conveying with a flick of her lashes that it probably wasn’t a topic that should be raised in front of the servants. “I’m curious about it.”
He knew exactly what she was telegraphing and said dismissively, “I don’t see that it matters.”
“With all due respect,” she said in a carefully level tone, “it wouldn’t seem important to you because it doesn’t concern your parent. I have questions, however.”
The listening ears would think she was still talking about her father, but she meant her mother and Adir. Perhaps Karim took offense at her remark despite her attempt to maintain a suitable amount of deference. His fingers tightened on the handle of his coffee mug.
“Surely you have more important things to do with your time. How are the reception plans coming?”
She knew when she was being patronized and flipped her hair. “Perfectly. Your excellent staff would provide nothing less.” She smiled at the hovering assistants.
The party was only days away, and much as she enjoyed being the center of attention, she was quite nervous. Everything would be exquisite, she had no doubt at all, but Karim intended for them to consummate their marriage that night and she was having mixed feelings about that.
She had wanted to prove something to him yesterday, but she wasn’t sure what. That she was brave? That she would be a lover who would satisfy him? That he couldn’t resist her?
What she had discovered was that even when she took the initiative, she had no control over her reaction. No modesty or inhibition.
In fact, the more she thought about their encounter, the more anxious she became. She kept seeing herself as besotted as her father was with her mother. Loyal as a hound, he’d loved his spouse into her death despite the fact she had committed adultery and never gave more than passing consideration to the children she had made with him.
Even more of a fearful thought was that she might become as dependent on Karim’s regard as she had been on her mother’s. For a time, she might be his sexual pet. There was a certain novelty w
ithin a new marriage, she was sure. They might both indulge themselves, but he had already demonstrated that his desire was fickle. He could turn his emotions on and off on a whim.
She couldn’t bear to invest herself in him, grow to care for him, only to have that rug pulled. How would she withstand years of his casual indifference?
At least as a daughter, she’d been able to escape to Europe and distract herself with schooling. But charity work and its accompanying accolades only went so far in filling up the void inside her. She needed more.
Karim, however, would never offer the “more” she sought.
Why? What was wrong with her? What was her great flaw? She had convinced herself that her mother’s fading beauty had caused her to grow jealous as Galila’s allure ripened, but Karim was behaving with the same ambivalence toward her.
Perhaps that meant there was a deeper shortcoming inside her that kept people from truly loving her?
She was a kind person, an obedient daughter. She was trying to be a loyal wife, but Karim didn’t even seem to value that much in her. It was agonizing.
She had no choice as far as attending the reception went, but she didn’t know if she could become his wife in every sense of the word afterward. He would surely break her heart.
CHAPTER SIX
CORONATIONS WERE NOT a lavish affair in this part of the world. Galila knew that from her own country and had been told that Karim had a cousin appointed as his successor should he fail to produce one. That designation and the allegiance of all his cousins and other dignitaries had been handled with public, verbal pledges witnessed by the rest.
Recognizing Galila as his queen had been a matter of Karim stating that he had chosen her that night in the Bedouin encampment. It was all the people of Zyria had needed to accept and recognize her as their monarch, but they would feel cheated of a party if he didn’t host one.
That was all that this day was—a formal celebration here in the palace, but one followed by all. Festivities were extended across the country, providing the entire population a reason to take a day to enjoy themselves.
Galila was nothing if not scrupulously adept at planning this sort of event. Along with charity work abroad and at home, she had always led the charge on family events—to a point. Her mother had liked Galila to do all the work of choosing menus and decor, then always swooped in at the last minute to change the color scheme or the order of the speeches, putting her own stamp on it.
This time, every single detail was Galila’s own.
As part of that, she had carefully considered the message the event would send. Obviously, she had to convey that she was pleased to be Karim’s wife and that she embraced her new country. She needed to highlight the advantage of a union with Khalia, too. It was a celebration and needed to be lavish enough to reflect their position, but she didn’t want to pin spendthrift to her lapel and require years to remove it. She wanted it known that she was eager to begin charity work, but didn’t want to appear critical and suggest Zyria was failing to meet the needs of its people.
The guest list had been its own Gordian knot to unravel and there had also been kosher meals and other diverse religious observances that had to be considered.
In the end, Galila pulled a small cheat by adding some well-respected professionals to the mix. She seated doctors and teachers next to ministers and other dignitaries with appropriate portfolios. Everything in the swag bags from silk scarves to gold bangles to a jar of spices had been sourced in Zyria, showcasing their best merchants.
Within the speeches, she had the treasury minister praise her for being under budget with this party. He announced that she had asked for the savings to be donated to a traveling medical unit that would service some of the most difficult to access places in Zyria. It was met with an appropriate round of appreciative applause.
Her husband promptly upstaged her by announcing that a hospital wing to service women’s health issues would be built in her name. Her reaction must have been priceless because everyone laughed and applauded even harder while she covered her hot cheeks with her hands.
It was a political gesture, she reminded herself. A means of ensuring she was accepted and welcomed and cemented into Zyria’s history books.
She was still touched by the gesture, perhaps because he looked at her with sincere regard as he said, “I’m hoping you’ll take an active role in this project. Your instincts and attention to detail are excellent.”
“Did you mean that?” she asked as he seated himself next to her again.
“Of course.” He seemed surprised by her question. “I’ve been kept apprised of every decision you’ve made here so far.”
That was news. She had been quite convinced he hadn’t thought of her more than twice since they’d met.
“You’ve done an excellent job,” he said, sounding sincere. His gaze skimmed across the four hundred people dressed to the nines, jewelry sparkling and gold cutlery flashing as they dined on their first course beneath faux starlight. Landmarks were projected onto the walls beneath swathes of fabric to resemble looking out from a Bedouin tent on Zyria’s landscape. The centerpieces were keepsake lanterns amid Zyrian flora and the scent of Zyrian incense hung on the air.
“I don’t know that anyone will dare eat these chocolates, but they will certainly enjoy showing them off. Very ingenious.” He tilted the treat that decorated each place setting. It was made of camel milk by a Zyrian chocolatier and shaped like Zyria and Khalia stuck together as one piece, the border only a subtle shift in color, not a dividing line. She had prevailed on her brother to send coffee and cinnamon from Khalia to flavor their side of it while the Zyrian was spiced with nutmeg and cardamom.
“It’s a subtle yet brilliant touch.”
Brilliant?
Don’t be needy.
But she was. In her core, she was starved for validation. Which was exactly the problem with this marriage. She wanted—needed—to believe Karim valued her. That whatever he felt toward her was real and permanent.
He was in demand at all times, however. It was somewhat understandable that after his brief compliment, his attention went elsewhere. They didn’t speak again until the plates had been cleared and they moved to the adjoining ballroom to begin the dancing.
Here she’d been a little freer with the Western influences, bringing in colored lights and a DJ who played current pop tunes from around the globe, but included many of the hits by Arab bands.
Their first dance was an older ballad, however, one Karim’s mother had told her had been played at her wedding to Karim’s father. It was meant as a reassurance to the older generation that things were changing but only a little.
Karim wore his ceremonial robes and she was in several layers of embroidered silk over a brocade gown with jewels in her hair, at her wrists, around her neck and even a bejeweled broach worn on a wide band around her middle.
Karim had to be very careful as he took her into his arms. He muttered something under his breath about hugging a cactus.
“I understood it to be an heirloom that all Zyrian queens wear on special occasions,” she said, affected by his closeness despite the fact he had to maintain enough distance not to catch his robes on the piece.
“My staff was too shy to explain it was designed as a chastity belt, worn when the king was not around to protect his interests.”
“Talk about putting a ring on it,” she said under her breath.
He snorted, the sound of amusement so surprising, she flashed a look upward in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Yes, well, the king is in the house so we’ll dispense with it as soon as possible.”
Her heart swerved in the crazy jitter of alarm and anticipation she’d been suffering as this day drew nearer. It was so silly! They were familiar with each other. She knew she would find pleasure with him.
But w
hat happened after that? Would he go back to ignoring her? She wouldn’t be able to stand it. How could she give herself to a man who would only rebuff her afterward?
* * *
Karim stole her away to her apartment as soon as he could, dismissing the staff that hovered to help undress her. He could handle that himself, thank you very much.
On his instruction, the rooms had been prepared with a fresh bath, rose petals, candles, cordial and exotic fruits. The music of gently plucked strings played quietly in the background. Silk pajamas had been left on the bed for both of them—and would be swept to the floor unused if he had his way.
Alone with his wife for the first time since she’d blown his mind in his library the other day, he was fairly coming out of his skin with anticipation—not that he would admit to it. Oh, he knew damned well that part of him had been counting the minutes until he could release himself from his self-imposed restraint, but he barely acknowledged that. It was pure weakness to feel this way, damn it, but he couldn’t put off consummation forever.
In fact, he had begun to rationalize that the reason he was growing obsessive about the moment of possession was merely because he hadn’t yet done so. Once they made love, he wouldn’t be so preoccupied by how delicious it might be.
That was the only reason urgency gripped him and put a gruff edge on his voice when he commanded her to turn around. “Let me relieve you of that thing.”
She jolted a bit and didn’t meet his eyes as she turned so he could remove the elaborate belt.
Her spine grew taller as he released the dozen tiny hook-and-eye fasteners. She drew a deep breath as he set it aside, then, when he touched her shoulders to remove her outer robe, she stiffened again and glanced warily over her shoulder.
He hesitated, but she shrugged to help him peel it away. It was surprisingly heavy with its detailed embroidery locking in pearls and other jewels. If anything, her tension grew as he eased it away, however.