Tali spent the rest of the time before dinner in a quick visit to Nenet’s rooms and adding strategic bouquets to the dining area, brightening up the heavy furniture arrangements and giving the whole thing a more modern flair. Not too much, but...enough. It would be enough.
Too much?
But by then the guests hard started to filter in, and Mahir caught her elbow. “Tali, it’s time.”
Time to stand by the door and greet them all as if she knew them personally, squeezing hands and putting palms on upper arms and everything she could think of from her time at the finishing school her father had sent her to after she graduated from high school.
And then Hamid appeared in the door, tall and proud, none of the earlier stress on his face in evidence. His sharp eyes took in everything, and Tali’s heart leapt into her throat. Had she gone overboard? Had she done too much? Oh, she’d known she should have left it with fixing the dinner mishap. That would have been plenty, and now she’d gone and changed the decorations, and in addition...
Tali bobbed a curtsey and stepped closer to Hamid. “Hi. I forgot to tell you earlier that your mother isn’t feeling well. I convinced her to lie down, and I think she’s still resting, but everything is in hand. I’ve been greeting everyone as your fiancée and hostess.”
She held her breath. Hamid’s face remained a careful blank, but his next words—they would change everything, or not. He could send her out of this room right now if he wanted. The urge to run swelled up, and she shoved it back down. Run? Absolutely not. She wasn’t going to bolt from the banquet because he didn’t like the flowers.
“I’ve also studied,” she continued. “I had Mahir go over the guest list with me so I know what people do and who they’re related to in a broad sense. I will not let you down.”
Hamid took in a breath, his gaze meeting hers, and then there was no more to do about it—more guests had arrived, and Tali stepped to his side to greet them as his fiancée, as the hostess of the event, as a member of the family.
15
Hamid arrived at the dinner five minutes late, as was the custom for the king, only to discover it wasn’t quite his dinner anymore. Talitha stood a few inches away at his side, smiling into the face of one of the tribal leaders as if she’d known the man her entire life. He almost believed it. Maybe they’d met somewhere, maybe her father—
But no. She’d studied up in the limited time she had and plunged in. Hamid felt brittle, like a stiff wind might blow him down. Like the ground beneath his feet wasn’t as sturdy as he thought. And then the last guest made her way into the ballroom, and Talitha put a hand on his arm.
“Is it all right?”
“I’m sure it will be.” But he wasn’t sure, not completely. This was not the plan, and his body resisted it even as he tried to wrap his mind around the changes. This wasn’t what they’d planned.
Then again, Tali was a sensation at the dinner.
The next guests she talked to were a pair of Western businessman, and they bent down to kiss her cheeks. “How did you meet King Hamid?” one of them asked jovially.
“Oh, it was the most trivial circumstance,” said Talitha smoothly. “Some business dealings with my father. You know how it goes.”
The two men chuckled. “Man meets woman, gets thrown into whirlwind romance. How is your father so close with the king?”
“He designed a piece of jewelry to be presented to the Queen Mother.” Nothing seemed to throw her. She had an answer for everything, didn’t she? “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to see it at the main event.” Talitha followed this with a wink and had them laughing again.
Hamid’s cousin Skandar came to his side shortly after. “Are you sure she’s not really your fiancée?”
“Could you tell the rest of the room a little louder?” Hamid said with a smile on his face. “And yes, I’m sure.”
“She doesn’t look like a fake fiancée.”
In that moment, Talitha didn’t. She was surrounded by women cousins from Hamid’s family and a few local women. They were quizzing her relentlessly about her connections, and Talitha rattled off name after name. “All right, all right—I didn’t attend the international school for as long as I wanted. Financial downturns and all.” This earned her another laugh. “But I keep up with my friends. And I’m remembering all of you...”
Why wasn’t she his fiancée? Oh, right. Because being charming at a dinner and around the palace wasn’t enough to overcome her non-traditional streak.
The group settled around two long tables, and the dinner ceremony began. Each tribal leader had brought one of his sons with him. They’d all had a taste of the food beforehand—a holdover from when the fear of poisoning at an event like this was a stark reality. None of them, of course, had been poisoned—Hamid would rather have died than give even the hint of unsafe food.
And then the pot of pacheh was brought out, attended by six members of the kitchen staff and a flourish of music. Every guest applauded. Something was wrong, though—the tureen was too empty. It should have had the feet and head still in the soup, as was traditional. He kept his expression neutral while he processed this failure. The pot was set beneath a statue of a bull—the stunning Apis statue from his mother’s room. Hamid caught Talitha clapping out of the corner of his eye, a pleased grin on her face. To his shock, as the applause wound down she rose from her seat.
“We’ve included the cow’s head in a modified way,” she announced, gesturing to the Apis statue. “In this way, we honor the Queen Mother’s homeland and respect those with more delicate sensibilities. Rest assured, the dish is otherwise unchanged.”
The women applauded first with murmurs of approval.
“What happened to the pacheh?” He kept his voice low so that only Tali could hear.
She leaned in close and grinned, as if he’d just told her something funny. “A kitchen incident. You don’t want to know.” Her hand slipped under his, and she raised his knuckles to her lips and brushed them across, a glancing and appropriate kiss for the occasion. “I improvised the best I could, and thankfully nobody seems to care.”
Hamid nodded. He did want to know, and then he knew that it didn’t matter. What was the point of going over all the flaws in the presentation if nobody had noticed them but him? He finally relaxed, the tension draining out of him and leaving behind a satisfied feeling, heady as good wine. A knot in his chest unclenched. Talitha didn’t seem to notice. She was already entertaining the guests on her other side, drawing them into a conversation about local artists whose work should be displayed in the palace if they made changes to the gallery room. So comfortable, as if she really were going to be in charge of displaying the royal family’s collection. Hamid let himself sink into that comfort.
The dinner went on, and finally the dessert plates had been cleared away. Hamid stood. This was the signal for the next portion of the evening to begin. The men would withdraw to the next room to smoke, and the women would stay together and drink tea.
But there was Tali, rising beside him. “Who would be interested in a tour of the gallery? There are plenty of fine pieces to look at, and I can provide some illuminating facts about them.” She raised a hand. “Anyone is welcome to come.”
Shock hit Hamid in the gut. Left and right, people accepted Tali’s invitation, and in no time at all a crowd had gathered by the head table. A crowd made up of younger councilors and tribal leaders, and important businessmen, husbands and wives. The moment had completely gotten away from him, and nothing could bring it back aside from calling a halt to the whole thing. What kind of man would behave like that? Not the man that Hamid wanted to be.
A few of the older men hurried to the head table after Tali had left with her group, leaving their wives in a clutch at the far end of the table. There. He at least had some of his balance back. But they looked nervous, and Hamid couldn’t blame them. People didn’t just yank the rug out from under a king. “Let’s retire to the evening room.”
He
led them through to a spacious room outfitted as if it really were the king’s private study—dark, sturdy furniture, books in shelves lining the walls, and a massive desk. It was all for show. Hamid rarely spent time here, and he didn’t want to be doing it now. He wanted to take Tali aside and ask her why she’d had to upend everything. He couldn’t shake the hot, scratchy sensation at the back of his neck. The weight of all the traditions he’d struggled to uphold clung to his shoulders. One of his staff members passed out cigars and drinks, but the men shifted in uneasy silence.
Say something. He would say something, just as soon as he thought of some way to bridge the gap between what had happened and the rest of the evening.
“Several changes this evening,” said his councilor Mubarak. The ancient man wore a neutral expression. “A bit of a departure from tradition, wouldn’t you say?”
It wasn’t complaining, not exactly—none of these men would do that in front of Hamid. But they all nodded, staring down into their drinks.
“At least we are hewing to tradition now.” Hamid raised his glass, and the rest of them followed. “To history,” he said.
“To history,” the rest of the men repeated, and Hamid asked a few rapid-fire questions about the tribal leaders’ latest accomplishments. The room settled into the conversation, but Hamid felt like his father was watching him from the photos on the shelves. Disapprovingly. He wanted to sit, to join fully in the discussion, but a strange energy kept him moving, pacing by the door, where he’d be able to see where she led her parade next. Half an hour later, Tali returned to the ballroom with her group. She walked in front, chatting with the people on either side of her, and laughter rose above them.
Why? Why had she done all this? Maybe she’d been about to tell him about the changes when she came to his room, but he hadn’t been able to resist her. An uncomfortable heat seared across his face. Was this his fault? Hamid excused himself and beckoned to Tali, who detached herself from the conversation and came to him at a stately pace.
“Come with me.” He took her to an alcove just outside the study, where the walls shielded them from view. “Tali, what were you thinking? You’ve flouted our traditions. I could not have been any clearer about them.”
Her face fell, eyes going darker. His heart ached to see it, but Hamid steeled himself. He couldn’t live like this, and neither could the people of his country. They would never stand for someone coming in and changing everything before their eyes.
She straightened up, eyes burning into his. “There was a problem in the kitchen, Your Highness. I salvaged things the best I could. And if you’re angry about the tour, then don’t be. I heard more than one guest saying they wished they could see more of the palace with their wives. They enjoyed it.”
“You didn’t consult me,” he shot back. “I came in blind. Not only is my mother not in attendance, but the decorations were altered, and you went out of your way to change the program of the evening. You can’t have expected me to be happy about this.”
“I did expect you to be happy about it.” Tali lifted her chin. “Everyone is having a lovely time. They don’t know that anything happened in the kitchen. The guests got to spend a little extra time seeing the treasures of the royal family. No harm came to anyone, Hamid. Stop acting like it did.”
“Harm could come.” He could not swallow back his irritation. “Don’t you see that? Harm is one of the risks we take when we change things without telling people. Every detail of this dinner was planned for a reason.”
“And I made my plans for a reason,” Tali said. “While you were still getting dressed, I was here making sure that everything would go well.” Her face had gone red, and Hamid wished he could go back in time to when they’d been in his walk-in closet together. Things had made sense then, and if they hadn’t made sense, then at least they’d felt so exquisitely good that he didn’t care about sense at all.
“But if that’s what you want,” Tali barreled on. “If what you want is a demure handmaiden who sits silently and waits to be asked to join in a tradition, then I can give you that. If you just want a doll and not a partner, then you shall have it. No problem.”
Talitha dipped into a low curtsey, and when she came back up their argument didn’t show on her face. It was as if they’d been talking about the weather. Hamid hated it. He hated the placid look in her eyes and the disinterested smile. He hated that he couldn’t pull her close and tell her about the ringing fear in his heart, the fear that drove everything he did. The fear behind his anger. He wouldn’t tell anyone about that, not ever.
Hamid straightened his jacket, wishing that Talitha would crack and show him her emotions again. That was better than—than whatever this was. But she turned and walked gracefully away, giving the people at the table a little wave. They were all so happy to see her. And here he was, hiding in an alcove, poking his head out to see where his pretend fiancée had gone.
No. He wouldn’t be that man.
He went back to the study, rearranging his own expression into something appropriate. But inside, he burned.
16
Hamid had anticipated the trip to the desert arena outside the Capitol in a rather theoretical way. He’d go, since he was the king. And then when he announced his engagement to Talitha, he knew she would also go. He had not anticipated Rafiq begging to come along, but he did, and so a week later Hamid found himself in the back of an SUV in his usual convoy, sitting between Talitha and Rafiq as they approached the arena.
Tension stretched the muscles of his shoulders tight. More people inevitably introduced more variables to the situation—it had happened at the dinner. But the tournaments today were more important than the dinner. They were a living exhibition of their nation’s history, and all that history had been handed down via tradition. Hamid had to get this right.
He and Talitha got out of the car and helped Rafiq down, then paused for a few pictures for the press. Talitha smiled patiently, holding Rafiq’s hand. So far, so good. The rest of their retinue got out of the line of SUVs behind them—the elder councilors, including Mubarak Al-Balushi, who joined them once the photos were done.
“Mubarak,” Rafiq chirped. “Are you excited about the tournament?”
Mubarak laughed indulgently. “People have been excited about the tournament for two hundred years, ever since the Al-Qasha family brought them all together to establish the kingdom.”
Hamid relaxed into the familiar history as they explored the enormous grounds, pristine and polished for the event. Tribal food sellers had set up booths around the outer ring, and people shouted and laughed at the stalls. Plenty of money changed hands, and the scent of roasting meat and vegetables filled the air. Everyone had dressed in bright colors, making Talitha fit right in. Her robe was an explosion of pink flowers on a deep purple background, and it floated above her feet while they walked. His own robe seemed like a backdrop for hers. She smiled, waved, smiled again. Hamid was impressed at how many faces she seemed to remember from the dinner. Many more than he’d expected, considering she’d had to learn those names an hour before the food had come out.
A queen. He pushed that thought away. Talitha was not going to be his queen, even if they had the most wonderful fake engagement known to history.
On the fields around the main arena, preparations were well underway for some of the traditional games. “Camel racing,” pointed out Mubarak, bending down next to Rafiq. “Polo. Archery. Falconry.”
“Can I ride one of the camels?” Rafiq could not be denied, so they took him to one of the camel racers and got him up onto the animal. Hamid’s heart beat faster at the sight of his son perched on the hump of the animal—they were much bigger in person than they looked in photos—but Talitha’s presence at his side steadied him. How had that come to be? He recalled the fear that gripped him when he saw Rafiq on the diving board, and that had turned out all right.
After Rafiq slithered back to the ground and gave the camel an affectionate pat, they moved o
n.
“Hawks,” Talitha whispered, and she stepped away from Hamid and toward a woman dressed in dark colors with a leather gauntlet on one hand and arm, and a gorgeous bird perching there. “You’re the falconer.”
“I am,” said the woman. “Would you like to hold her?”
Talitha didn’t look back at Hamid for permission. She let the woman help her into a gauntlet and then they traded with the bird. A reporter stepped forward to snap a photo of Talitha with the falcon on her arm, grinning at the falconer.
“I can’t wait to see you in the tournament,” she told the woman.
The falconer’s expression didn’t falter, but she hesitated a beat too long. “Oh, women don’t compete in the tournament.”
Talitha kept her eyes on the bird. “I must’ve forgotten.” But then her gaze flashed to Hamid’s, an unspoken question there. Why not? He could practically see the whirling thoughts in her mind, but she didn’t say anything.
Hamid’s brother, just back from Europe, sidled up to him while Talitha and Rafiq were still standing with the falconer. Hamid shook his hand, patting his shoulder in a brief embrace.
“She’s doing well.” Raed nodded his head toward Talitha. “Very charming. A favorite with the entourage.”
“For the moment.” But he’d seen that light in Talitha’s eyes—he knew she’d find a way to make changes. The floral arrangements and food at the opening dinner had been one thing, but something tightened at Hamid’s core when he thought of changing the tournaments. “But she won’t be a long-term fit.”
And anyway, their engagement was fake. It had gone on this long so it would seem real and to protect Talitha. To protect both of them.
“Really?” Raed’s eyes met his. “How are you handling it?”
It’s a maddening mess of emotions. One moment I’m desperate for her to stay. The next, I’m sure it can never work. Hamid cleared his throat. “Talitha finds palace life not to her liking, and despite the great affection I have for her, I don’t want her to stay if it means she’ll be unhappy.”
The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement: The Blooming Desert Series Book One Page 10