The director narrowed his eyes over the top of his glasses. “Your goal is to undertake a new course of study, then?”
Tali heard the question underneath his question—why? She had spoken to this same director when she withdrew from college in the first place to join the family business. Back then, she’d positioned it as her own decision—in reality, her father hadn’t wanted to spend the money to keep sending her. Even now, Tali wasn’t sure she needed a degree to do the things she wanted to do. But a degree would at least give her a plan to follow. Something to aim for. Credentials, aside from being her father’s daughter and a couple of appearances in fashion shows featuring her pieces.
“Yes. I’m going to start a new career.” Tali didn’t know what career that would be. The degree would be in art history, the same as it had been before, with a minor in fashion merchandising. That had been the original plan.
His glasses glinted in the sunlight coming in through the shades. “I seem to recall you had a high position in your father’s business. Is he hoping for you to gain more academic experience?”
Her father, her father. It was always about him, wasn’t it? Tali was a grown woman trying halfheartedly to enroll in university, and all the university could talk about was her father. “Yes, of course.”
A beat of silence told Tali she hadn’t sold this. She sat up straighter in her seat, putting on a wider smile. Come on—fake it. Any enthusiasm. But there was none to be found.
The director seemed unconvinced.
A cloud shifted over the sun, changing the direction of the beam, and a framed photograph on the side wall caught Tali’s eye and made her heart skip a beat. An official portrait of Hamid.
Her heart felt like a wine glass, tipped over on its side and shattered against a hard surface. Hamid hadn’t been able to love her for who she was. He just hadn’t been able to see past the strictures of tradition to the person who loved him.
“What is it that you want, Talitha?”
“Hamid,” she said automatically, and then hot embarrassment burst into flame under the collar of her shirt. “I mean—a chance to reschedule. To begin a new schedule. My main concern was about whether my previous courses would still apply. I know things have probably changed, in terms of the requirements, but I’m sure—”
The director held up a hand, and thank goodness, because Tali was ready to sink down in her seat and hide her face. What a disaster.
“Come back when your heart is in it,” he said. “I’m sure we can make some kind of arrangement.”
20
Tali went back to the workshop in her father’s store.
Where else was she going to go? It didn’t make much of a difference, anyway. A week into her old life, and she was still just as numb as she had been the day she left the tournament.
Jewelry set aside on her desk, Tali picked up a pen and tried to focus on the sheet she’d drawn up. Yes, a computer spreadsheet might have been easier, but this way she had something to do with her hands. And there wasn’t a computer at her desk in the workshop. So she wrote out columns of numbers for her moving-out plan.
So far, the plan consisted of a skeleton budget for sharing an apartment with Roshin and—and what? Putting on a better performance for the director of the college, she supposed.
Only she didn’t care about any of it.
Tali cared in that she didn’t want to live in her father’s house anymore, but it would only be marginally better to live anywhere else without Hamid. Life without him wasn’t vibrant. It didn’t stir her soul to make jewelry or think about fashion shows. Nothing stirred her soul except thinking about life in the palace with Hamid and Rafiq and the Queen Mother and all the staff she’d met, and, and...
You’re never going back there.
“Talitha!” Her father’s voice cut through thoughts that verged on another spiral that would leave her curled quietly on the sofa in her bedroom, pretending to read a book. “I need you out front.”
She went through to the front to find her father bouncing up on the balls of his feet, eyes wide. He took a deep breath and straightened his jacket. There were no customers in the store, however, and the sales associate he usually had in on Tuesdays was nowhere to be seen.
“What is it?” A lot of nothing, it looked like.
“The king has sent a proposal.” Her stomach flip-flopped. “He proposes investing in my business—our family business—and has offered his own business administrator to review the processes and help me manage and grow. Do you have any idea why this might have happened?”
“I don’t know.” A business administrator? From the palace? “If there’s anything else you need...” Tali made to go back to her desk, where she could pore over those columns of numbers again and decide whether the shared apartment was possible. Whether anything was possible.
“Stay up front.” Her father glanced toward the door and fiddled with his coat again.
“For what?”
He didn’t get a chance to say. The door to the shop opened, and there he was—Hamid.
Alone. No guards. No retinue. Tali almost didn’t recognize him without his ever-present security forces surrounding him. He wore charcoal slacks that showed off his muscled thighs and a crisp white shirt, no jacket. And his eyes. His eyes. They had dark shadows underneath, made all the more obvious by how pale he looked. How...out of sorts. Hamid looked exactly how Tali felt.
He came to her like he was crossing the last few feet of a difficult race—poised, but tired. “Talitha.” Her name on Hamid’s lips was the most gorgeous sound, broken as it was. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Of course. We can talk.” She swallowed hard. “Is there somewhere else you’d like to go?” The door opened again, and a clutch of customers came in. Her father’s sales associate slipped out from the storage room at the side of the store. “Somewhere private?”
“No.” His eyes had locked on hers, and Hamid didn’t so much as glance around to check the number of people in the store. “I don’t need privacy to say what I need to say.”
Tali motioned to him, wordless, heart pounding with a sweet anticipation laced with dread. Was this the final kiss-off? If it was, he didn’t have to come to her father’s store. But if it wasn’t...
“I must beg your forgiveness.” Sincerity shone in Hamid’s eyes along with a ragged pain. “For having hurt you, and for having made you feel like you couldn’t be a part of my life. It was short-sighted and wrong, and I’ve regretted it every minute of every day since you walked out of that arena.” She could see in his face that he’d spent the last week tossing and turning in his bed, just like she had. “I want you to be with me. I came here to offer you a role in the palace.” Oh, the words were costing him. To be here alone—it had to be so uncomfortable. Hamid was accustomed to guards and servants, not standing alone in jewelry shops, apologizing. “I would like you to be in charge of modernizing the palace, preserving its timeless beauty while making it reflect the present and readying it for the future, especially the parts that will now be open to the public.”
“Hamid, you can’t possibly—”
“I do,” he insisted. “There are so many pieces of art that demand to be displayed. So many examples of traditional crafts that deserve to see the light of day. This new way forward for the palace must be beautiful and exciting—like you.” In all Tali’s life, she had never seen anything as entrancing as Hamid’s eyes. “There’s no one better for the job.”
“I’m not an interior designer,” she heard herself say, her heart crumbling. He’d come to offer her a job? A job? “And I’m not an art historian, either. There must be others who are better suited to this than I would be.” Tali’s father sucked in a breath at her side. Was that exasperation? What, was she supposed to go along with it, just as she had the original agreement?
“If any of this requires courses in art or art history, the palace will pay. You’ll also be able to hire designers, if you need them. But the palace needs you,
and only you. I want no one else in the role.”
“Is that all? A job?” Tali’s heart beat too hard with relief that he was here and too fast with courage. “This would mean that I’d go from one family business to another. I want more than that out of life.”
“No. That’s not all.” Hamid stood tall. It didn’t matter where he went or how many guards he brought—he always looked so kingly and powerful. Tali put one hand out to balance herself on the jewelry counter. Never mind the fingerprints—she had to keep herself on her feet. “I want your surroundings to reflect and delight you, because you’ll be living there. And not as my guest. As my partner in a second venture—leading the country through the tricky balancing act between tradition and modernity.” A pause crystallized between them. “If you agree.”
“And how would I do that? Are you asking me to sit on your council?”
He put his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a velvet jewelry box. “As my wife. As my queen.” Hamid opened the box, and the ring that had started all this glittered in the center. The piece, set in platinum, featured a spray of tiny stones, circling a larger diamond. All the colors of the tribes were represented, coming together in an elegant unity. It was not a traditional engagement ring.
Tali could hardly breathe, but slowly, she centered herself. “Why did you choose this design to win?” It was supposed to go to the Queen Mother, Nenet, after all. But perhaps it never had because all the traditions had been upset at the tournament.
“It caught my eye.” Hamid looked down at the ring in the box. “It’s a blend of traditional stones and colors. Even the design is traditional. A simple ring, at its base. But it has a twist. I thought I would present it to my mother, as she’s the senior royal, but it’s not her style. I just...I had to have it. Yusuf outdid himself with this ring.”
Tali couldn’t picture it on Nenet’s finger. It wouldn’t go with her muted gowns and neutral palette. Of course it wouldn’t. Because the ring represented another secret. Tali glanced at her father, who gave her a nod.
“Actually, he didn’t.” Pride heated her cheeks. “I designed this ring, and I sneaked my design into the competition.”
Hamid laughed, eyes lighting up. “Of course you did.” He cast a critical glance at the counter between them. “Talitha, would you mind coming out here?”
“Out into the middle of the store?” Her pulse banged at the side of her neck. Obviously, with the ring and the box, he intended to propose. But she felt like she was about to leap out of a plane and hope for a parachute. Going around to the other side of the counter seemed...momentous. Almost dangerous. But exhilarating, nonetheless.
“Yes.” Hamid’s smile called to something at the base of her, something sultry and delirious and strong. She wanted to be closer to that smile. Even if it meant that the king was going to do something completely untraditional, like propose to her in the customer area of the jewelry shop. “Right here, next to me.”
She went out, head held high, and caught a glimpse of everyone staring. The customers had paused by the counter in the front, mouths open. Even her father’s sales associate had his hands in front of his mouth, waiting. The whole world held its breath.
Hamid got down on one knee, and even kneeling he was powerful. It radiated off him, that power, and shut out everything around them. “Will you marry me, Talitha? And walk beside me through the rest of our lives?”
“Yes. Yes.” Happy tears came to her eyes, and she held out a shaking hand for Hamid. He slipped the ring on one finger. A perfect fit. She’d used herself as a size model, so it would be perfect. And it was.
“There’s only one thing missing.” Tali took his hands, and Hamid rose to his feet, standing close, the way he was meant to.
“What’s that?”
“A ring for you. I’ll design you one. And one for Nenet, too.”
“I’ll agree to it.” Oh, he was perfect. That strong jaw, those searching eyes. She wanted to get lost in him for the rest of time. That was possible, wasn’t it? “But only if you agree.”
“Yes,” she whispered back, joy filling her the way sunlight filled the room, catching in all the jewels and multiplying itself all around them in a sea of light and shadow. “Yes, I will.”
“Yes? I couldn’t quite hear—”
“Yes!” she shouted, loud enough to be heard at the palace. “Yes, yes, y—”
Hamid cut off the final yes with a kiss that reminded her of everything good in the world, everything firm and beautiful and sensual. He tasted of mint and possibility, and as his big hands spread out across her back Tali let herself fall into his arms. Her hands searched out his shoulders, the back of his neck, his hair. He was so strong and sturdy. She would never hit the ground, not ever again.
He let out a low groan, and then a sound reminded her that they were in the jewelry store. At first, it seemed to come from far away—so far that it couldn’t possibly matter. But then it broke into its individual pieces.
Clapping.
Her father was clapping for them.
The customers joined in, and they were engaged. They would be married. They’d reached the end of an old story, even if it had taken a few unconventional turns—they’d ended up in a very traditional spot. A king in love, kissing the woman who would be his queen.
21
“Look at that,” gasped Tali, her arm tight around Hamid’s waist. She pointed down at the crowd in the massive square at the center of the city. “Those dancers—they’re even more impressive from above.”
“The colors remind me of your ring.” Hamid pressed a kiss to Tali’s hair. “If the ring could dance like that.”
“I’m glad it doesn’t,” she said, laughing. “But it’s something to see, isn’t it?”
From this vantage point, the city was like a painting beneath them—a painting come alive. The dancers formed a circle in the middle of the celebration, each dancer wearing the colors of their tribe. It made them look like flowers turning in a breeze, only far more coordinated. “It’s stunning,” agreed Hamid.
But nothing was more stunning than Talitha.
She stood next to him in the basket of the hot air balloon, the blue sky all around them and the city spread below them on the last day of the jubilee celebration. The month of rituals and traditions was nearing its end with a brand-new closing ceremony, courtesy of Talitha.
Hamid kept one hand on the controls of the hot air balloon, which was done up to resemble the flag of their country. Other balloons hung in the sky around them, one for each of the tribes. They all had designated spaces to land outside the city, but Hamid would pilot his balloon to an open space a short distance down from the square. That had been where the capital was established so long ago, when the warring factions were defeated. All the balloons had set out from the point in the desert where the battle had been fought, and soon they’d land where the war had officially come to its close.
Details got clearer as they descended, the co-pilot calling out corrections to Hamid. He was living in a dream. A waking dream, a wonderful dream. He’d always wanted to fly, and Tali had made it happen. She’d encouraged him to take lessons over the course of the month, and then she’d encouraged him to change the procession from one on camels to one in hot air balloons. A soaring symbol, she’d said. And she was right.
The ruler of the kingdom didn’t usually take part in the procession, but the procession had changed. For the better! The city came into sharp relief as they went down toward the smaller square one block north of the one in the center of the city. People ringed the outside of the square, cheering in the sunset, and all across the city, lights came to life. Lights in windows, streetlights—each one a glowing point of illumination and hope. Hamid caught a flash of sunlight on something made from bronze—a pair of cymbals, maybe—and colors leapt and danced against one another.
On the final descent he let go of the controls and let the co-pilot take over. Letting go like this let him wrap his arms around Tali and pull h
er close as they hovered above the ground. Hot air balloons were a different beast from flying in a plane—there was no acceleration toward the ground, no sudden slowing, just a gradual fall, like a feather.
The basket touched down, and Tali tipped her face toward his and kissed him, her lips soft and luscious. He groaned into the kiss, forgetting himself, and she laughed. “You’re going to ruin my lipstick.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I am.” But she put a hand on his chest, holding him back, and cameras flashed at the edge of the square. It would make a pretty picture, wouldn’t it? The two of them there, Tali laughing, him looking down at her. Hamid hoped the photo would capture how gorgeous she looked in the fiery light of the setting sun.
He led Tali out of the basket, and a cheer went up from around the edge of the square.
“The king!” someone shouted. “Tali, look this way!” There were so many people that Hamid just put a satisfied smile on his face and looked in every direction while the cameras went off.
Two lines of people came forward—the VIPs and nobles, led by Nenet and Rafiq. Hamid clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s time.”
“Thank god,” said Raed. “Did you write yourself a script?”
“I don’t need a script for what I’m about to say.”
“Good.” Raed walked just behind them all the way to the raised stage in the main square, filled end to end with citizens. Hamid thought his heart would burst with pride. What a mood. So many jokes in the air, so many cheers and words of joy. Nenet and Rafiq ascended to the balcony first, and the rest of the family followed in pairs.
It was a raucous mess, out there in the courtyard, and it took the people a few minutes to arrange themselves so that there was an empty space in the middle. Hamid stepped up to the microphone. “Let the displays begin.”
The event they’d all been waiting for finally came to life. This was the new tournament. A symbolic one. A grand parade of everything that made Qasha what it was. Tribal leaders were borne into the square on horseback, surrounded by their best guards. The teams that had formerly competed in the tournament—who had competed in this year’s tournament—filed in after and soaked up the admiration of the crowd. Hamid stood with his family, waving, watching it all happen. For once the traditions seemed as light and changeable as one of Tali’s dresses, slipping through his fingers. He could always pick those back up again, if he wanted.
The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement: The Blooming Desert Series Book One Page 13