The unexpected question left Dora blinking in confusion. “The one on his face?”
“It’s the only one I know about, although if he has a more interesting scar you must tell me the story.”
Dora felt as if she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in an alternative universe. “I don’t know how he received the scar on his face and that is the only scar I know about.”
“Too bad.” Fatima laced her hands together on her lap. “You must ask him about it, then. From that scar Khalil learned many things, including not to speak without thinking first. I simply do not understand. I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, but you’re nothing like Amber. Is that why he married you?”
Coldness returned to Dora, and with it the sense of stepping off into darkness. “Who is Amber?”
Fatima studied her for a long time. Dora didn’t know what the other woman was thinking, and she didn’t want to know. She had a feeling that things had just gone from bad to worse.
“Until your marriage, Khalil was engaged to the youngest daughter of El Bahar’s prime minister. I take it he never mentioned this to you?”
Dora could only shake her head. Engaged? He’d been engaged? She swallowed, but the sick feeling in her stomach didn’t go away. Then why had he married her? That first night he’d talked of being swept away, but that couldn’t be it, could it? Had he really fallen for her? She wanted to believe that was the reason he’d acted so hastily, but she’d never had that kind of luck before.
“When were they to have been married?” she asked, her voice low and scratchy.
“Khalil never agreed to a date,” Fatima said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t realized that before, but it all makes sense now. He was waiting to fall in love. How very romantic.”
Dora tried to look suitably impressed herself, but she had a feeling she still looked a little green and unstable. Khalil desperately in love with her? She wanted it to be true. More than anything. Was it possible?
“Here’s what we shall do,” Fatima told her. “El Bahar moves quickly into the modern world, but we also remain steeped in our traditions. The people will not approve of the youngest son of the king marrying a woman in a foreign country. It smacks of—” Her gaze widened. “Oh, dear, you didn’t marry because you were pregnant did you?”
“I’ve known him less than a month,” Dora blurted. Then there was the matter of them only doing it the one time. Pregnancy was hardly an issue.
“Of course. Well then, to dispel that rumor and any others, I suggest you two have a second marriage ceremony. This one a bit more traditional. Say in two weeks? In the meantime we can all start mending fences with the prime minister and his family.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Dora told her honestly. “If you think that will help, then I’m happy to participate.”
“Good.” Fatima rose to her feet. “Now it’s time to dress for dinner. I don’t suppose Khalil bought you anything from Chanel, did he? The boys did not inherit my sense of style.”
She walked into the bedroom and moved to the open suitcases on the bed. Dora trailed after her. By the time she reached Fatima’s side, the older woman had been through most of her things and had created two piles. Dora guessed they were “keep” and “discard.”
“The blue will look lovely,” Fatima said, holding up Dora’s favorite dress. “It’s light enough in color so we won’t look as if we’re trying to dress alike.” She gave an impish smile. “Or would you like to greet your new husband by wearing traditional dress?”
“I don’t think either of us are ready for that.”
“I would guess you’re correct on that account.” Fatima handed her the dress, then touched her arm. “Don’t be frightened of us, Dora. Or if you are, don’t let us see. We respect strength and determination in El Bahar, even in our women. My son is angry and disappointed right now, but it’s directed at Khalil, not you. So if he appears curt, don’t let him know that he’s hurt you. You must be strong. If you let any of the Khan men dominate you, you are setting yourself up for a life of servitude. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Dora said, wondering if she ever would understand.
Fatima gave her a little push toward the bathroom. “Go dress. I’ll wait, then I’ll take you down to dinner. I received a not-so-subtle message from my son that the meal was to be for the men only, so we’ll be catching them off guard. Always a good thing. Now hurry.”
Thirty minutes later Dora followed Fatima down endless hallways. She caught glimpses of large rooms, filled with both Eastern- and Western-style furniture. There were fountains tucked into alcoves and beautifully lit gardens. While she was still confused and nervous, she couldn’t help being excited at the thought of exploring this beautiful palace and its grounds.
They rounded a corner and found themselves in an intimate dining room. The long table could seat ten or twelve, but there were only four place settings that evening. The king sat at the head of the table, with two of his sons on his right and Khalil on his left. All four men looked up as they entered.
“Are we late?” Fatima asked, ignoring the king’s expression of displeasure. “I was just telling Dora that tonight there would be a family dinner where we’ll discuss how to handle the crisis. The timing is unfortunate. After all, this is her first night in El Bahar. However, I thought that having her here with us all was certainly better than leaving her alone in her room.”
Khalil nearly grinned as his grandmother’s frosty glare caught the king’s gaze and held it. Givon Khan might be one of the five or six most wealthy men in the world, and a beloved and powerful monarch, but he was still a man who had to deal with a formidable mother. Fatima was in her seventies, but she wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.
Khalil waited for his father to draw his battle lines. Not unexpectedly, the king decided this wasn’t the time or place for a confrontation. He nodded toward one of the servants waiting patiently at the rear of the room. Two more place settings appeared.
“Mother, your willingness to think of others is what has made you the woman you are,” Givon said, rising and holding open his arms. “As always, you are wise beyond your years.”
Fatima walked toward him and let herself be folded into his embrace. She touched his cheek. “I’m seventy-three, Givon. It’s time to stop saying I’m wise beyond my years, don’t you think?” She turned her attention toward the table. “Dora, sit next to your husband. Jamal, move over. I’ll sit between you and your brother.”
In a matter of seconds Fatima had the table arranged to her liking. She settled between her two oldest grandsons, but shot Khalil a look that warned him he would have much to answer for later. Khalil found himself looking forward to the exchange. He’d avoided marrying Amber. Nothing else mattered.
He glanced at his bride. Dora tried to give him a smile, but it quivered at the corners, then failed completely. He knew that his father had settled her in a suite on the far side of the palace. More proof that the monarch did not approve. Khalil braced himself for the next round of tirades against his thoughtless, irresponsible behavior. He told himself it didn’t matter what his father said; the marriage was binding.
“I am still not sure what I’m supposed to tell Aleser,” Givon said as a servant served a salad of fresh greens and goat cheese. “He has been my most loyal adviser for more than thirty years. We grew up together. We always agreed that his oldest daughter would marry one of the princes from Bahania, cementing the relationship between our two countries.”
“Whose fault is that?” Fatima asked blandly. “You’re the one who didn’t have any daughters. Besides, his oldest daughter did marry one of the princes.”
Givon ignored his mother and continued to focus his attention on Khalil. “In return, his youngest daughter would marry into our royal family. She was engaged to you, Khalil. We had all agreed.”
“Apparently not all of us,” Fatima said. She speared a piece of arugula. “I quite like Dora, and I think she’ll be a far better match than
Amber. The girl’s smart, and she’s got backbone. My grandsons are too stubborn. They need women with backbone.”
Khalil forced himself not to laugh or look at his father, although he could imagine the older man’s outrage at his mother’s comments. But there was little Givon could do. He couldn’t force Khalil to divorce his wife. Fatima’s approval was not easily given and not something the king could ignore.
Khalil glanced at his grandmother. Why had the old woman sided with him on this matter? Did she know something of Amber’s antics?
He noticed that Dora hadn’t touched her food. He wanted to tell her to relax, that everything was going to work out, but he didn’t want to speak in front of his family. Instead he slipped his hand under the table and found hers, then squeezed her fingers. She gave him a grateful smile.
“The problem is easily solved,” Fatima said. “In two weeks, we’ll have a traditional ceremony. That will appease the people.”
“What about Aleser?” the king asked. “How are we to appease him?”
“The man has children of his own. I suspect he understands they can be difficult at times.” Fatima took another bite of salad. Her sharp, brown eyes glittered with amusement. “In the meantime, Dora can come live with me in the harem. I will teach her all she needs to know to be a good wife to a prince.”
Khalil frowned. He’d known that his father had moved Dora into her own suite as an expression of his displeasure, but Khalil had planned to change that arrangement this very evening. She might not be the woman of his dreams, but he’d married her, and he had every intention of bedding her. For one thing, he wanted sons. For another, he’d enjoyed their lovemaking, and he wanted to experience it again. But if she was in the harem, she was out of reach to him.
“That’s not possible,” Khalil said curtly. “Dora and I are married. We will share quarters.”
Fatima raised her eyebrows. “You weren’t in a hurry to correct the situation this afternoon.”
“I was with my father.” Having his hide taken off, he thought grimly.
“No matter. It won’t hurt you to wait two weeks to share time with your bride.”
“As I said, that’s not possible. If nothing else, Dora works for me.”
“Not anymore, Khalil,” Fatima informed him with a triumphant smile. “She’s a princess now, not a secretary. You’re just going to have to do without her.”
When they’d finished dinner, Khalil walked a quiet Dora to the door of the harem. He’d brought up their living arrangements twice more, but Fatima had been adamant. Dora was to spend the next two weeks with her, learning how to be a proper wife. Khalil wasn’t sure what those lessons would entail, but he doubted Dora would take well to them. She was a very Western woman.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said when they stopped in front of an ornate gold door. A design of an exquisite garden had been etched into the precious metal. “I thought we’d be together, but it’s only for a couple of weeks.”
He was speaking as much to himself as to her. For reasons he didn’t understand, a need had built inside of him and made him ache. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time.
She turned on him. “Our living arrangements are the least of our problems, Khalil. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, perhaps I should have mentioned that.”
“Perhaps? That’s the best you can do? How do you think I felt when I found out that you were supposed to marry someone else?”
“Why does it matter? I married you.”
“Which leads to a couple of dozen other questions.” She turned away from him and pressed her fingers against the door.
“Is this real gold?”
Her question made no sense to him. “Of course.”
Her laugh sounded strangled. “Golden doors and broken engagements. So why did you marry me instead of her? What’s her name? Amber?”
He hadn’t expected to answer questions about his exfiancée, so he wasn’t prepared. The truth was unacceptable. Dora would never understand. He wanted to pound his fist against the wall and scream out his frustration. What had seemed like a sensible plan when he’d been in New York had quickly turned into a disaster. Why couldn’t everyone leave him alone? He was married—his wife was, if not suitable, then someone who could be made suitable.
“I didn’t love her,” he said at last.
Dora stared at him expectantly, but he didn’t have any more to say. He wondered briefly how strange all this must seem to her. A new country, in-laws, a palace.
“You won’t have to stay here two weeks,” he promised. “I’ll speak to my father and have your things moved into my room.” As he studied her, he remembered how it had been between them. The feel of her soft skin and her body, so hesitant, yet yielding. Hot blood coursed through him, arousing him. He moved closer.
“It was good between us,” he murmured, leaning close and touching her mouth with his. “I want you.”
She drew back. “I wasn’t sure what to think. You haven’t wanted to, well, be together since that first time. I thought maybe you’d decided our marriage was a mistake.”
Doubts filled her brown eyes. Doubts and questions. In New York it had been easy to lie to her, but it was more difficult now. Was that because of their location, or did it have something to do with the fact that he knew her better? She was no longer an employee, but a person.
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her next to him. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
“So you still love me,” she breathed in relief and closed her eyes.
“There will be none of that!”
A sharp voice cut through the quiet. Khalil jumped back and saw his grandmother standing next to him. Fatima took Dora’s arm and led her into the harem. Khalil took a step forward, as if he would go with them, but he had known since he was a young boy that this gold door marked a point of no return for him. He’d never once set foot inside the harem and that wasn’t going to change tonight.
Biting back a curse of frustration, he stalked down the hall and out onto the common balcony. He breathed in the familiar scent of the ocean and the fragrance that was unique to El Bahar.
“I wouldn’t be happy, either,” a familiar voice said.
Khalil looked up and saw Malik, his oldest brother, standing by the balcony.
“You’ve been married, what, three days, and you’ve already lost your bride.”
“I know. I’ll speak to Father.”
“Save your breath,” Malik told him. “He’s not going against Grandmother. Not in this matter.”
Khalil knew that Malik was right, but he didn’t have to like it.
Malik moved close and rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dark, wide eyes, similar to his own, stared into his face. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made a good choice. Amber was not suited for the life of a princess.”
And then Malik was gone, leaving Khalil to wonder if his brother recalled more about his night with Amber than she had realized.
Chapter 8
Dora studied the chart in front of her. It listed positions in the El Baharian government, but not the names of the officials currently in office. She went across the chart from left to right and supplied the name for each position.
Fatima beamed. “You learn quickly. I had hoped my grandsons would marry intelligent women, but with princes, one never knows.”
“Thank you.”
Dora looked at Khalil’s grandmother. As always, the elderly woman was beautifully coiffured, with perfect hair and makeup. Today she wore a tailored blouse and skirt with pumps that showed off her slender ankles. While there were subtle, telltale signs of her age, for the most part she could pass for a woman in her early fifties.
They sat on one of the low sofas in the palace harem. Dora had been living behind the sheltered walls for eleven days. Just three more days until her wedding. Everything around her was new and strange, yet
in some ways it was as if she’d always lived here. She had the oddest sensation of having been thrust back in time.
“Now I want to talk about history,” Fatima told her. “Do you remember—” She broke off as Rihana, the young servant, came in carrying a large tray with tea and tiny sandwiches.
“Is it four already?” Fatima asked, glancing at her elegant gold watch. “The afternoon has flown.”
Rihana paused. “Would you like me to come back later, Your Highness?”
“No. Of course not.” Fatima sniffed. “Ah, there’s cinnamon sticks for the tea. My favorite.” Her beautiful face softened into a smile. “You do spoil me, child.”
Rihana set the tray down and began to place the contents on the table in front of the sofa. Dora had already seen the ritual acted out every afternoon. She rose to her feet and crossed to the balcony on the far side of the room.
Unlike the regular living quarters and main offices of the palace, the harem didn’t face the sea. Instead the rooms had a view of the gardens. On her first evening, Fatima had taken her on a tour of the complex suite, which had been designed to please women, as well as hold them captive. There were dozens of sleeping chambers, some large, some small. The size of the room was a statement of the occupant’s status with the king. The communal baths were works of art, with mosaics depicting erotic couplings between mermaids and sailors. Water poured from gold faucets, and the jewels studding the back of the hand mirrors were large and genuine.
The common rooms had arched doorways, but few doors, giving the area an open feel. Fatima had taken her up the hidden staircase to the small, closed room where the chief eunuch had once watched over the women in his care and the king had viewed his beauties before deciding his choice for the night.
The harem had its own private gardens, lush with tropical plants and a small formal English garden. A few elderly parrots survived in the trees inside the lattice-covered grounds. Fatima had told her at one time dozens of parrots had been kept by the harem to cover the sounds of the women’s voices so that no man would be tempted to enter. She’d also whispered that the parrots had served to cover the women’s screams when they were beaten for a transgression.
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