Bought by the Sheikh

by Diana Fraser

  “Why?” asked Amir.

  All three men had agreed to leave niceties at the door when they met, in favor of straight-talking. They’d reckoned they needed to cut to the chase with each other when there was little possibility of receiving honest, unbiased advice from anyone else. But, even so, Amir’s directness rankled.

  “Because my plans have changed.”

  Roshan jumped out of his seat and raked his fingers through his hair, twisting around to glance at them both. “He’s fallen in love.”

  Amir frowned. “Zavian?” he said in a voice that doubted Roshan’s assertion. “Is Roshan correct?”

  Zavian gripped his hands into fists and noted they were sweaty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been afraid. Or, rather, he could. The day he realized Gabrielle had no intention of returning. He could sit through councils of war, he could stay calm in any crisis it seemed, other than ones of the heart. That, he thought, was the issue. He didn’t want to have a heart.

  “Roshan is interpreting facts as they would pertain to him.”

  Roshan shook his head in mock despair and came and sat at the other end of the table. “I’m stating facts, Zavian, just as we’ve always agreed to.”

  “I’ve not fallen in love; I’m not in love.” He waved his hand in dismissal at the foolish notions. “These are romantic figments of your imagination, Roshan.”

  Roshan grunted. “Mine and the rest of the world. Except you, apparently.”

  “I repeat, love does not come into this. Is that statement enough for you?”

  Roshan shrugged but didn’t look convinced.

  Amir held out a hand to stop the argument. “Whether you are, or are not, is of no importance here. What is, is what plans have changed, and how they will impact us.”

  Zavian nodded and rubbed his still balled fist against his lips briefly, before resting his hands on the table and eyeing first Amir and then Roshan. “The marriage cannot proceed.”

  “I see,” said Amir.

  Roshan’s face assumed a look of thunder, but he didn’t speak.

  “And you are certain of this?”

  Zavian nodded. “I am.” He licked his dry lips. “I wish to marry another.”

  “I knew it!” exploded Roshan.

  “This has nothing to do with love. She is simply…” He hesitated as he struggled to find the right word to describe her. “Simply the person who…” He sighed. “Who,” he repeated, hoping he’d find the words before his sentence ended, “I need…” He was still groping for the right word before he suddenly realized further words were superfluous. He’d stated the situation exactly as it was. He needed Gabrielle. He needed no one else.

  “You need,” repeated Roshan sarcastically. “Whatever you call it, you’re off the market, and so it falls to me.” He swore under his breath.

  “I can hardly remonstrate when I, myself, have done the same thing,” said Amir. “Roshan? What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” he said with bitter emphasis. He shook his head and sighed. “I think that you have both lost your minds. That you have both put your personal happiness ahead of our three countries which comprise this land of ours.” He rose and gripped the table, his tall frame looming over them both. “I think that it is as well that I, with all my reputation as a womanizer, set the least store by love. Because, Zavian, whatever you wish to call your requirement to wed this, whoever she is, don’t fool yourself it isn’t love.” He sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself off the table. “Luckily for us all, I am immune to such feelings. I adore women—plural—but fortunately, I don’t love any particular one of them. The Sheikha of Tawazun will be as good as any to be my wife.”

  Zavian hadn’t realized until that moment how afraid he’d been that Roshan would refuse, as he had every right to. Zavian had volunteered to marry the Tawazun sheikha to ensure ongoing peace for their worlds, and he was now reneging on the deal. With Amir also married, that left only Roshan to do the deed.

  “Thank you, Roshan. And I am sorry it has come to this, but there is nothing I can do about it.”

  Roshan looked from Amir to Zavian and shook his head in mock despair. “For all your alpha male machismo, you two are like putty in a woman’s hand.”

  Zavian and Amir exchanged insulted looks, but both their responses were brought to an abrupt halt when Roshan muttered an oath. “Luckily for us all, while I might look like pretty putty on the outside, my strength is a steel heart. I know how to have fun, and I know how to keep myself safe.” He looked from one to the other. “Leave it with me.”

  They all rose and shook hands, but it was Roshan who left first.

  Zavian and Amir watched Roshan jump into the waiting helicopter and turn east into the bright blue sky.

  Zavian was both relieved that his way was now clear and concerned about the pressure which was now sitting on Roshan’s shoulders.

  “It’s down to him now,” said Amir, his eyes watching the dwindling dot in the sky, the hum growing ever fainter. He looked at Zavian. “I hope he’s right.”

  “In what?”

  “That the link we thought to be the weakest in our armor will turn out to be the strongest.”

  It hadn’t taken long for Gabrielle to convert her words around the story of the Khasham Qur’an into a multi-media presentation that could be used online and in the museum itself. Despite pressure from the director, she refused to front the video. She felt that job should go to a citizen of Gharb Havilah—not a foreigner like her. However, she didn’t mind describing to camera how the Qur’an had been found and her grandfather’s part in it. She’d omitted the exact location of the find. From there, she’d described what had followed—the theft of the piece and its ultimate surfacing, years later, in a London auction house. She’d also omitted her part in its repatriation. The story appeared complete. Only she and one other person knew it wasn’t.

  She turned and smiled at the team as the lights went on. “You’ve done a fabulous job!”

  “We had great material,” commented the museum director, rising from his chair. “But Gabrielle is right. Well done, everyone. It’s been a long day, and we haven’t stopped, so take a break. And as soon as we receive official approval, you can all go home.”

  Gabrielle walked up to the piece itself, in pride of place, and then looked up at the screen where her passion for the piece had been captured and overlaid with the images of the land and peoples from whence it had come. “They edited it so well,” she said to the director, who came to stand beside her.

  “They’re the best, and work hard. And you haven’t stopped either. You should take a break, too.”

  “I’m fine.” Then she looked up and suddenly realized the director also needed to take a break. “But you go. You haven’t stopped either.”

  “I will. But there’s one thing I need to know. When will His Majesty approve this display?”

  She frowned but didn’t look at him directly. “You need his approval?”

  “Yes. The instructions are clear. But I’m not receiving a direct answer from his office. I need to know when he’ll approve it. No one seems to know where he is. Do you?”

  She bit her lip and turned to face the director. He knew. He must have heard that she’d spent the night together, or at the very least, that there was some link between them. “No. I’m afraid I don’t know where he is or when he will approve it.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’ll have my team stay around for the evening. Hopefully, we’ll hear something soon. We’ll talk later.”

  Gabrielle followed him outside and waited while he secured the room. Together they walked back to the main public area of the palace where they would go their separate ways—Gabrielle to the private wing of the palace, and the director to the public, where he and his team were staying while they worked there.

  “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help.” She hesitated as she tried to figure out a way of saying that she’d do what she could, without admitting to any close relationship
. “But if I hear anything about, or from, the king, I’ll be sure to let you know. And,” she relented, “if I see him, I’ll be sure to ask him to approve it as soon as possible.”

  She turned as the blush threatened to give her relationship away and walked without turning back toward the guarded entrance. Even her staying here betrayed that she was someone special. But what the director didn’t know was that he wasn’t the only one puzzled. As she walked through and the door clanged shut, and an automatic bolt slid into place, she thought she also had no idea what she was to the king anymore.

  * * *

  Apart from a brief online meeting with the museum staff, where it was confirmed that everyone would have to stay in the palace another night until the exhibit was approved, Gabrielle spent the rest of the evening alone in her room.

  She was killing time, she knew. First, she’d had a bath, then checked her social media, not that it was very social. She opened a novel on her e-reader, which she’d been meaning to read for months. She managed two pages before tossing the tablet onto the bed. Her own life was too much like a novel for the ebook to provide an escape.

  Instead, she undressed, slipped on a gown, and sat in the easy chair in front of the open French windows, which looked out over the gardens. The scent of mimosa and lemons rose on the cooler night air. She breathed deeply of it and closed her eyes. It smelled of heaven. She rose and stepped onto the paved area immediately outside her window. She was drawn further by the scents and sounds of the night, so calming after a day of bright lights, technology and intense thought.

  She opened the wrought-iron gate, which led to the wilder part of the garden. It was only when she’d walked through the palms and bushes toward the central fountain that she stopped. She dipped her hand in the water, which sparkled under the rising crescent moon. Gabrielle allowed the sound of water, the smell of the newly watered gardens, and the heavy scents of flowers to calm her spirits. And it worked until she inhaled another scent.

  She opened her eyes wide and turned as the smell of sandalwood, leather, and fresh desert air invaded her nostrils. He was walking toward her. She turned quickly, looking for a place to hide, but it was too late. His eyes were locked on her.

  “Gabrielle,” Zavian greeted, coming to a stop a few paces away from her.

  “Zavian.” She nodded awkwardly, instantly forgetting all the doubts and irritation and anger that had filled her day. He was here, now, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He had the lights of the building behind him, and she couldn’t see his face. The silence lengthened between them. “You’ve been away,” she said, trying to fill the silence and instantly regretting it. She sounded as if she’d missed him. But wasn’t that the truth?

  “Yes. But I’m back now.” He paused. “Would you care to join me for a drink?”

  Her heart thumped. Was he going to continue where they left off in the desert? Or was he going to tell her that he’d had a change of heart and that it had been a one-off, and that there would be no recurrence—that the ‘cure’ had been affected?

  “Sure.” She gave him a brief, uncertain smile. She suddenly remembered her promise to the museum director. “We’ve finished the piece on the Qur’an. We just need your sign-off.”

  He stepped aside and indicated she should join him. “We’ll talk of it over a drink.”

  He was stalling. Something had happened, but she didn’t know what. Was it the Qur’an, was it politics with the kings, or was it her?

  He seemed distracted as they walked the short distance across the garden. He opened the gate for her and followed her through. From there, instead of turning to her bedroom suite, they turned the other way, and she found herself stepping into his private apartments. She hadn’t realized that they were so close to hers.

  At least he didn’t show her into his bedroom. Although she wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. How could she know what a good sign was when she didn’t know what it was she wanted?

  “Please take a seat.”

  He opened the drinks cabinet. “Would you like a drink? An aperitif, maybe?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “A gin and tonic would be great, thanks. But I thought you left things like that to the staff. Have you given everyone the night off?”

  He glanced at her sideways but ignored her teasing comment, and dropped some ice into a cut-glass tumbler, followed by the gin and tonic, and poured himself a whiskey on ice. He handed her the drink and took a long sip himself before placing it on the table.

  “You look like you needed that.” She tried to sound as calm as possible, but inside she was anything but.

  He shrugged and sat down, his eyes settling on her as if he was trying to decide something.

  She took a sip of her drink and pushed it onto the table, sitting up tall. “What’s going on, Zavian? You’ve been behaving strangely ever since we left the cave.”

  His eyes flickered at the memory, and his expression warmed. “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Is that it?” She gave a half-laugh.

  He sat back in the chair, hooking a leg over his knee as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I met with Amir and Roshan.”

  “Ah, I remember you used to talk about them. But that was in days before you became king.”

  “Yes, we were friends first, and now we work together for the good of our kingdoms. We meet regularly, but today’s meeting was unscheduled.”

  “Oh.”

  An unscheduled meeting. Something extraordinary must have come up. Gabrielle wondered what it might be. There was a pause while she waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

  “So what have you been doing today?” he asked as if the previous conversation hadn’t ended on a cliffhanger. “So, you’ve finished…”

  She took another sip of her drink and crossed her legs primly. If he wanted to play it that way, it was fine with her. “Yes. We spent all day on it.” She’d intended to give him only the minimum. Still, after she began talking about how the team had worked to produce such an exciting exhibit, she found she’d told him every little detail of how the afternoon had gone. Even at the end of that, she still had no idea what he was thinking. He continued to sit, his hands rubbing his lips from time to time, as if deep in thought, his eyes never leaving hers. “So, are you pleased with the progress of the story?”

  He looked up and eyed her straight. “Up to a point.”

  “And that point is?”

  “When you said that you wouldn’t front the video because it’s not appropriate. Why do you consider it inappropriate?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Because… I’m not from here.” She opened her hands wide. “It’s obvious.”

  “Not to me, it’s not.”

  “But how can I, a European, born in France, raised in England—”

  “Only until you were five when you moved to Havilah to be with your grandfather—”

  “Sure, only until I was five. But even so, that hardly makes me a native of your country.”

  “It does in my book. Your heart and soul are pure Havilahi, and until you can see that, your work isn’t finished.”

  She sat back, unable to believe what she was hearing. “What do you mean, it’s not finished?”

  He finished his whiskey. “Exactly that. It’s not finished.”

  “Do you mean you won’t sign it off?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “But, Zavian,” she said in a low voice, deliberately speaking his first name, trying to grab his attention. “It is finished. If you don’t sign it off, none of the team can go back to their other work.”

  He shrugged. “Then you’d better hurry up then, hadn’t you?” He rose. “The bottom line is that what you’ve done isn’t enough. Not by a long chalk. You still don’t understand.”

  “I understand full well. What I don’t do is agree with you.”

  “It’s the same thing.” He shrugged.

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to change my
mind about whether I fit into this country or not?”

  “Exactly. I’m glad you understand. It makes it easier.”

  “Easier? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Tomorrow, you will be joining me at dinner in honor of Sheikh Mohammed.”

  She shook her head. She knew the old sheikh from old but not in any official capacity. “But why? What role do I have? Surely that’s official business?”

  “It is. And as to the role? You’ll be accompanying me as my consort.”

  She spluttered, unable to get any word out.

  He smiled. “Perhaps I forgot to mention to you about the reason for my meeting with the kings. I told them that the forthcoming marriage negotiations are off.”

  She frowned. “You’re not getting married anymore. But I thought—”

  “You thought that my engagement would be announced at the bi-millennial celebration? Yes, that was the original plan. But it’s all changed now.”

  She swallowed drily. “In what way?”

  “In the way that Roshan, King of Sharq Havilah, will now progress negotiations to marry Tawazun’s sheikha.”

  “Why? But surely nothing has changed?” The answer throbbed in her head, but she ignored it. She must be wrong.

  “Gabrielle.” He smiled slightly. “Everything has changed. I intend to make you my wife.”

  Chapter 8

  Gabrielle felt her mouth open wide, but no sound emerged.

  Zavian rose and poured himself another drink. He indicated the gin. “Would you like another glass?”

  “No!” She found her voice. “No,” she repeated.

  “Then what would you like?” He leaned back against the sideboard with a rare grin as he took a sip of his glass.

  “What would I like? I’d like you to repeat what you’ve just said.”

  He drained his drink and set it on the counter.

  “I’m not a diplomat, Gabrielle. I leave that to my staff. And I’m no smooth-talking womanizer. I leave that to Roshan. I’m simply a man who knows what he wants, and I want you. But I needed to clear it with the kings before I proceeded.”