by Holly Rayner
“Yes,” Sabira said pensively. “A learning experience for him. A painful one, unfortunately. But now that things are changing, perhaps he will have better luck the next time around.”
“How do you mean?” Alex asked, ignoring Ziva’s scoff from across the room.
Sabira smiled. “My poor boy has been desperately in love with the palace cook’s daughter since he was fifteen years old. Rules are very important to him, more important than they are to even his father. He has forcefully detached himself from her, filling the empty space with appropriate consorts, but it did no good. He craved something that many women of our class do not possess—a grounded way of thinking, and a rough humor. He desperately desired the rough edges the cook’s daughter flaunted so carelessly, and was drawn to the very next person who exhibited a similar personality.”
“But if he was in love with the cook’s daughter, why did he go after the journalist?” Alex asked, confused. “Wouldn’t he have been in as much trouble with her as with the woman he really wanted?”
“Almost,” Sabira said. “But not quite. You see, were he to take up with the palace staff, it would be a matter of an unbalanced power structure. That is likely to be the case whomever he ends up with, simply because of his position, but it’s far more blatant when the person is employed by the family.”
“Which is what makes you a liability,” Ziva interjected, finally taking a seat but not relaxing her severe posture. “You are employed as Zaiman’s nanny, but it is painfully obvious that there is more to it than that. Rumors fly quickly around here. Kissing someone at a television station, of all places, will not go unnoticed.”
Alex blushed furiously, and Sabira watched her with a cool, even expression.
“Yes,” Alex admitted. “There is more to it than that, much more. I…I’m not sure how much more, exactly. But Amia approves, at least…” she finished desperately, trying to clarify her elusive attachment to the royal family.
“She does?” Sabira asked, glancing at Ziva with raised brows.
“She really does,” Alex said eagerly. “She and I have developed a very strong bond. She reminds me of myself at the same age, which—to be frank—was what prompted me to take her outside in the first place. She and I…well, we were born with wings on our feet. Clipping them only makes them grow back stronger and more restless.”
“So, you’ll pick up and leave them when you get restless?” Ziva demanded.
“Oh, no, never,” Alex promised. “If anything, I’m dying to take Amia with me. There’s a whole world out there for her to explore, and I would be thrilled to be there when she experiences it. Zaiman, too, has a lot of places to see. Those two…they give me life, and I want to return the favor.”
Sabira was watching Ziva, who was beginning to look a little less severe.
“You do realize, don’t you, that even with the loosening of the rules, you will still be required to prove yourself?” Ziva said. “You will have to learn many things in very little time; are you capable of that?” She narrowed her eyes at Alex, reminding her once again of Kate.
“Oh, yes,” Alex replied. “I thrived in college. I adore new information, and I learn very quickly, when I’m interested. A little more slowly when I’m not, but…” Alex glanced at Sabira, and offered a cheeky grin. “When I have something to prove, I can master anything.”
There was silence for a beat, and Alex was afraid that she had said the wrong thing. Suddenly, Ziva burst into laughter.
“Excellent,” she said with a grin. “In that case, Alex, I dare you to learn everything you need to know about being a royal in one year’s time. I don’t believe you can.”
Those words sparked a fire inside of Alex, and the twinkle in Ziva’s eyes said she knew they would.
“Challenge accepted,” Alex said, tossing her hair back. “What do I need to know?”
“Bassam has the books you require,” Sabira told her mildly. “And, of course, you will be taking your etiquette lessons from me.”
“I can’t wait,” Alex said with a grin.
Ziva gave her an appreciative nod, and Alex was finally able to breathe. She hoped that the men of the family were not so severe in their assessments.
Chapter 23
Zaiman
“Zaiman!” His father greeted him with open arms. “I watched you on the show today. Excellent work, my boy. Excellent work.”
“Thank you,” Zaiman said, returning his father’s embrace gratefully. “I couldn’t have done it without Alex.”
“You could,” his father said firmly, giving him a hard look. He softened after a moment, and chuckled. “But you probably wouldn’t have done it well.”
Zaiman laughed and greeted his brothers. His younger brother, Zabid, was happy to see him, excited to give a point-by-point review of his interview, replaying the audience’s reactions with enthusiastic drama. Zaahir was more reserved, his expression bordering on a scowl.
After Zabid had finished his crowing congratulations, Zaiman turned to his older brother.
“How did I do?” he asked, aching as always for his brother’s approval.
“As well as could be expected,” Zaahir said neutrally, crushing Zaiman’s elated mood.
Zaiman nodded stiffly, accepting the drink his little brother pressed into his hand. He paced to the window and looked out over the garden, where the six kids were playing beneath the trees.
He felt his brother beside him, but did not acknowledge his presence. His icy reception stung, and while Zaiman could admit that he deserved it, it simply drove home the feeling that no matter what he did, he would never be good enough to earn his brother’s approval.
“I misspoke,” Zaahir said quietly. “You did well. As well as could be expected in the face of disaster.”
Zaahir took a strangled breath, and his voice took on a tone that Zaiman had only heard once before, back when they were children, and Zaahir had accidentally broken a ceremonial sword.
“A disaster of my creation,” Zaahir continued. “Were it not for me and my silly infatuation with that ridiculous woman—”
“Or my idealistic infatuation with my own ridiculous women,” Zaiman interrupted wryly, his feelings mending beneath the salve of Zaahir’s clumsy apology.
He clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder and shook him in fraternal affection.
“We can only be so intelligent the arms of a beautiful woman,” he said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“And what of your current beauty?” Zaahir asked curiously. “Are you prepared to risk destruction at her hand?”
Zaiman laughed. “I trust that the risk is minimal, and that any destruction she could wreak would be for my own good.”
“That’s a lot of faith to put in a woman,” Zaahir sighed.
“She has proved herself to me,” Zaiman told him somberly. A twist of nerves struck his core, and he cast a glance behind him toward the door. “And now, she is proving herself to Mother.”
Zaahir whistled. “I hope you prepared her.”
Zaiman coughed a nervous laugh. “I didn’t have much time.”
“Through the desert without a compass,” Zaahir said, shaking his head. “If she survives, marry her.”
Zaiman laughed, but heard the truth in the hyperbole. His mother could be the most loving, affectionate person in the world, or she could be the coldest, most calculatingly destructive force nature ever created. Which she chose to be was dependent on subtle indications of the other person’s character, and while Zaiman himself had no doubts about Alex’s character, he could not be completely certain that his mother would interpret her the same way.
He needn’t have worried. Before long, he heard the women coming down the hall, chatting easily and laughing like old friends. They burst into the room like a fragrant garden in motion, Alex in the middle between Zaiman’s mother and sister, their arms linked in familial affection.
“I like this one,” his sister told him with her signature bluntness. “K
eep her.”
Alex blushed, and Zaiman laughed.
“I will do my best,” he promised.
“In the meantime, come into the ballroom,” his mother added. “We have a surprise for Amia.”
“Oh?” Zaiman asked, surprised.
“Well we missed her birthday! Three birthdays,” his mother emphasized with a sour look. “So, we’re having a little party before dinner.”
“Little” wasn’t the word that Zaiman would have used. As his mother flung open the doors of the ballroom, the group was greeted by a small mountain of presents, a magician, a juggler, and a ballerina on a pony.
“Mother!” Zaiman gasped.
“Oh, hush, she deserves it,” Sabira said, waving his words away with her hand. “Bassam, bring the children in, please.”
Bassam joyfully obliged, and soon, the room was alive with the delighted laughter of children.
Zaiman desperately wanted to talk to Alex, to check in with her and see how she had gotten along with his mother and sister, but his family had other ideas. Alex found herself passed from person to person, mother to brother to father to brother to sister, caught up in lively conversations.
After spending a half hour talking to Alex, Zaiman’s father pulled him aside.
“She’s quite a woman,” he said, impressed. “Well-traveled, well-educated, well-spoken. I wholeheartedly approve. There is only one thing…” His father trailed off, draping an arm around Zaiman’s shoulders and leading him away from the center of the party.
“What’s wrong?” Zaiman asked apprehensively.
“Nothing is wrong, exactly,” his father said slowly. “She talked about art a lot.”
“Yes,” Zaiman answered, confused. “She is a very talented artist. Does that worry you?”
“Not at all, not at all, but you see…” He lowered his voice, though the noise of the party would cover anything short of a shout. “As you know, I have mostly retired. Zaahir has taken over most of my royal duties, leaving me free to pursue other, less pressing interests. I have discovered a passion for art and history, the cultivation and preservation of culture.”
“Noble pursuits,” Zaiman commented. “But I’m not following.”
“I wish to open an art gallery. A modern art gallery, in the center of the city, focused on the beauty and history of our country. I want to inspire local artists and showcase their talents, to show the world that Al-Jerrain is more than just a paved patch of desert.”
“That is a brilliant idea,” Zaiman approved. “But I still don’t see what that has to do with Alex.”
“Don’t you?” His father gave him a strange look and shook his head. “She is too smart for you, my son. I hope she is also patient and forgiving.”
Zaiman chuckled, shaking his head. “Spell it out for your slow son,” he said.
“You see, Zaiman, I know everything there is to know about government and business in Al-Jerrain, but I know very little about art. I know what I like to look at, but that is where my expertise ends. I am asking you—as I assume you will be in a position to sway her opinion—if you would approve of her taking a position with the gallery, once it is built, of course.”
Zaiman grinned, recalling Alex’s impossible dream of doing just what his father was suggesting. If he could give her this, it would at least begin to repay his debt to her.
“You might want to ask her first, but I have every inkling that she would be thrilled to be involved,” he said. “And I would be thrilled that she would be thrilled.”
“So you approve?”
“I approve. You have my blessing.”
“And you have mine,” his father said with a grin. “Don’t make us wait too long; your mother is already fantasizing about having another daughter.” He nodded toward Sabira, who was gesturing animatedly as she chatted to Alex.
“Not too long,” Zaiman promised, returning his father’s smile. “Just long enough.”
Epilogue
Alex: One Year Later
Thunder shook the house, rain crashing in sheets against the windows. Lightning cast deep shadows up the walls, making frightening shapes appear, painting the palace in shades of horror.
Beneath a tent made of sheets, hanging lanterns shone over piles of pillows. Giggles punctuated by tiny frightened squeals trickled out of the fort, keeping the occupants safe from the storm.
“It’s the fairies, testing your bravery!” Zaiman said dramatically, holding Alex tight against him. “Be brave, Alex, or they’ll dethrone you!”
“No! Wait. I have no throne. Ha-ha! I have nothing to lose!” A clap of thunder answered her, and she squeaked, diving into the pillows.
“They’ll take over as curator!” Zaiman insisted with a laugh. “And you know that fairies have notoriously bad taste when it comes to art.”
“Oh!” Alex gasped. “Not my gallery!” She held her face in exaggerated terror, then dissolved into giggles. Zaiman sat up and struck a pose.
“Never fear, fair maiden! I will protect you from the savage dragon in the sky! I do wish he would stop spitting on the windows, though.”
“Very rude of him,” Alex agreed with a chuckle. “But you can’t face him alone! He’ll swallow you whole!”
“Then I will swim through the beast and return to you, dirtier, but intact,” Zaiman swore solemnly.
“Ew!” Alex laughed herself breathless. “No, I could accept a white knight, but I don’t think I could embrace a—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted, making her howl with amusement. “I’m sorry I brought it up at all.”
Blue lightning flashed, casting impossible shadows over the thin sheets. Alex screamed and clung to Zaiman.
“That was no dragon,” she gasped. “Those were clearly goblins!”
“Oh, well, I can’t save you from goblins,” Zaiman said matter-of-factly. “My white knight contract clearly states that I am only required to rescue damsels in distress from dragons.”
Alex swatted at him playfully. “You beast! Well, that just means that I will have to rescue you, fair prince!” She held a cardboard sword aloft, accidentally knocking one of the lanterns to the floor.
“Lucky for you, goblins are clumsy,” Zaiman chuckled as he rehung the lantern.
“I certainly hope so, or we’re both out of luck,” Alex said wryly.
Lightning flashed again and she squealed louder than she meant to.
“Hush,” Zaiman laughed. “You’ll wake Amia!”
“If she can sleep through this storm, she can sleep through—” A particularly loud crash of thunder interrupted her and she jumped, gasping in exaggerated fear.
“That one was actually pretty loud,” she whispered through her giggles. “You think she slept through it?”
“I’m sure she did,” Zaiman said confidently. “But, er…perhaps you should look in on her, just to be sure.”
“All right,” Alex said brightly, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. “Shall I get anything else while I’m out?”
“Just hurry back…no, wait! There’s champagne in the fridge. I believe it would be happier here in the fort.”
“Champagne is notoriously terrified of thunder,” Alex said playfully. “I’ll go rescue it.”
She tiptoed through the house, though the thunder would have covered even the heaviest steps, and peeked in on Amia. She was still sound asleep in the same position they had left her in a half hour before, nestled deep in her red covers; the moment she’d turned eight, she had decided that she was too old for purple.
Alex blew the little girl a kiss and shut the door silently, creeping through the dark house to the kitchen. Turning on lights would disrupt her fanciful mood, so she left them off, basking in the delicious benign terror of a cavernous kitchen under a storm.
Heart pounding, she quickly pulled the champagne from the fridge. Laughing breathlessly at her own imagination, she searched for glasses. She opened the right cupboard just as a blast of thunder split the air, making her hair stand on en
d. With a squeal, Alex grabbed the first two cups she touched, and ran on tiptoe back to their room.
“Champagne,” she said breathlessly as she crawled back into the fort.
“And…mugs.” Zaiman pursed his lips in amusement. Alex laughed, turning around to pour the champagne.
“It was all I could find before I scared myself silly,” she explained through her giggles. “I hope you don’t mind—”
She stopped with a gasp as she turned back toward Zaiman. He was kneeling, smiling, holding an open jewelry box in his hand. Inside the box, a diamond ring sparkled like a captured star, reflecting the light from the lanterns.
Setting the mugs on the floor before she dropped them, Alex moved closer to him.
“Alex,” he murmured into her hair as he pulled her into his arms. “Will you weather all the storms with me, for as long as there are storms to weather?”
“Safe in our pillow fort, from now until the dunes stay put and the stars go out,” she answered.
The ring was forgotten as their lips met, comfortable and passionate at once, hot enough to melt but not to burn. His arms cradled her in promises of strength, and his lips whispered silent oaths of love against hers.
The storm raged on outside, pounding down on the dunes. High above the clouds, the stars twinkled brightly, steadfast and immortal, just like their love had, was, and always would.
The End
The Sheikh’s Priceless Bride
Time for a tease!
Up next I’ve included the first few chapters from The Sheikh’s Priceless Bride. A previous instalment from my Sheikh’s New Bride series, it’s a sweet and gripping romance that I think you’ll just love!
Copyright 2018 by Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.