by Leslie North
Kishon woke with a start to an empty room, his phone ringing on the nightstand. He snatched it up, heart feeling surprisingly tender. He was usually the one to do the leaving, holding them at arm’s length as he went. Whatever catching the light was—something to do with painting, probably—it shouldn’t have beaten him out.
“Hello?”
“Good. You’re up. We need to talk.”
He shook his head, trying to clear it of all the intoxicating thoughts of Chloe. He had to move on, and right now. He owed the tribal council a quarterly check-in, and his brother Chakir sounded grim. “All right.”
“Skype?”
“Sure. Switching to video.” Chakir’s face appeared on his phone. His hair looked tousled, as if he’d been tugging at it with his fingers. That wasn’t like him. Kishon’s gut went cold. “What is it, brother?” It wasn’t just his hair. Something very serious had happened. He could tell from his brother’s expression.
“We received word that you’re engaged.” Chakir stared hard into the camera.
The previous night at the bar came back to him in a rush. Claiming to be Chloe’s fiancé had seemed like a minor detail after the things they’d done on the sofa…and the rug…and the bed. But he had said it, and there had been plenty of people taking videos. “Who’s we? You and the elders?”
“Me and the world. The internet is a deluge of headlines.” Chakir looked at his computer screen. “‘Sheikh Saves Sweetheart.’ ‘Engaged Sheikh Enraged.’” A small smile broke into Chakir’s composure. “My personal favorite is ‘Busted Bachelor Turns Bridegroom.’ That one was very clever.” The smile fell away from his face. “And yes, the elders have caught wind of this.”
Kishon blinked, thoughts jumbled up like the sheets around his legs. He could still smell Chloe—sweet and clean, like a cherry garnish—and it was highly distracting. But that fact warred with a pull he felt in his bones. Tradition. It was a constant tug-of-war with him. Some days, he woke up burning with passion for the ancient customs of Hamari, passed down to him from generations of kings before him. Other days, those traditions chafed against him like cheap cotton. Today was…
He had no idea what today was.
“Is it serious?” prompted Chakir. “I’m beginning to think it is. You’re never this quiet.”
“Sometimes, I do pause to think,” Kishon said good-naturedly, studying his brother’s face on the screen. He couldn’t help but see the hope in Chakir’s eyes. The previous year, Chakir had come to the States to find a child who had been born to the royal family and flown under the radar all his young life. Chakir had convinced Ryan and his mother Hannah to come to Hamari. Now Chakir and Hannah were engaged. Kishon clenched his jaw, then consciously relaxed it. He tried to maintain an appearance of calm when it came to royal matters like these, but this tradition put him on edge. Chakir was in love. Chakir wanted to marry. How could Kishon deny him that? “I’m not sure if it’s serious.”
“What happened, then?”
Kishon told Chakir about Chloe. How he’d met her six months ago at the beginning of the diplomatic meetings in the US. How they’d grown to be friends. How she’d turned him down.
“Everything’s settled here.” He ran his palm over his face. “I have no further trips planned to the US, so maybe that’s why I went back. I don’t know. But when I got there, I saw—” Anger knotted at the soles of his feet, and he worked to let it go. “A group of men were harassing her. I intervened.”
“By proposing?” Laughter shone in Chakir’s eyes.
“By dragging them out by the jackets,” admitted Kishon. “It was a rare departure from our traditional decorum.”
“Of course. When I think of you, I always think of decorum.” Chakir snorted. “You’re the one who dates like it’s going out of style, but that’s beside the point. How did you end up engaged?”
“We’re not actually engaged, is the point. One of the goons asked me who I thought I was, to have the right to kick them out of the bar. In the heat of the moment, I said I was her fiancé. In front of about thirty phones.”
“Ah.” Chakir’s eyes flickered downward, and Kishon didn’t miss the fall of his cheeks that signaled disappointment. “So, what now? Do you want the palace to make an announcement? Chalk it up to a momentary indiscretion?”
Kishon’s stomach twisted. Despite his complicated feelings about marriage, he hated the thought of Chloe reading that piece of news. He could see the headlines now. “SHEIKH WOULDN’T MARRY HER.” That’s what it would boil down to.
He couldn’t do that to her.
But what was the alternative?
“No, I don’t,” he said slowly.
Chakir’s eyebrows shot upward. “You don’t?”
“Would it be the worst idea? We could help each other.”
“You and Chloe?” Chakir looked suspicious. “Help each other with what?”
“Did you see the footage from last night?”
“I did,” Chakir said cautiously. “Am I missing something?”
“She got fired for the punch,” Kishon told him.
Understanding dawned on Chakir’s face. “How unfortunate.”
“Perhaps not so unfortunate,” countered Kishon. “She’s always wanted to travel and paint. I could let her do that. In return, she could play my wife for a short period of time.”
Chakir pursed his lips. “And then what?”
“Then our issue with the elders is resolved. I was going to propose suspending the marriage law, but I didn’t have much hope that they would approve it.” Kishon wanted that dearly. He worked hard to maintain his relationship with the council of elders, but he disagreed with their insistence on using adherence to tradition as a proxy for good leadership. Chafe, chafe, chafe. “And it will allow you to marry Hannah.”
“The elders won’t like it if you divorce.”
“The elders will have to live with that outcome,” Kishon said over the twisting feeling in his gut. “I’ll show them the ideal strong and traditional leader for a period of time, if that’s what they want.”
Chakir narrowed his eyes. “You like her enough to pretend to be married to her?”
“I do,” admitted Kishon. “I’ve become quite fond of her over the past six months.” He had to swallow a laugh. Quite fond didn’t begin to describe how he felt about last night. “I’m not altogether interested in committing for a lifetime anyway, so this is a beneficial solution for everyone involved. After you and Hannah are married, we’ll quietly divorce, and I can continue on with my royal duties.”
“You could just wait,” Chakir said softly. “It’s okay to wait for the perfect woman. Someone who will love you for the person you are.”
Kishon scoffed. “Please. What king manages to have that? Not one.” He pulled the sheet up higher over his waist. “I’d rather marry someone who can guarantee a pleasant marriage and equally pleasant separation.” His heart twinged at the thought of separating from Chloe, but that was probably because they’d spent the previous night together. He’d get over it sooner or later, and likely sooner, if the parade of women in his past was any indication.
“Am I hearing you correctly? You’re choosing this woman based on her ability to give you a nice divorce?” Chakir shook his head. “I knew you had reservations about settling down, but that’s…that’s serious.”
“I’m a serious man.”
His brother laughed. “So serious. Tell me, how long did you flirt with her before you claimed to be her fiancé?”
“Six months. I waited an appropriate interval,” teased Kishon. “Why? Do you think I rushed it?”
“I think you should rush now. I do want to get married, and when a person wants this, it’s excruciating to wait.”
“How will you ever survive?” said Kishon.
“I might not,” grumbled Chakir. “Are you really going to propose a fake engagement? A fake wedding?”
“I don’t see why not.” The pieces were all falling into place in Kishon
’s mind. “If we do, Chloe’s dreams come true—she gets to travel around the world and paint. Your dream comes true. And I buy myself a little leeway with the elders. Everyone wins.”
“Yes, yes. How could this go wrong?” Chakir said wryly.
“It couldn’t,” proclaimed Kishon. “It’s not possible for this to have a bad outcome. Everyone is getting exactly what they want.” Even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t exactly true. Something had shifted. Kishon wasn’t willing to admit it out loud, however.
Chakir burst out laughing. “I’m nearly convinced,” he said. “Keep me updated, brother.”
The video chat disconnected. Kishon let the phone fall onto the comforter and let himself fall back against the pillows. He was convinced, even if Chakir wasn’t. Now all he had to do was find Chloe and convince her.
4
Chloe unlocked the door to her shoebox of an apartment feeling lighter than sunshine, lighter than air. The sex was most of it. It had been so good. It had been great. It had been…life changing.
She giggled to herself. Life-changing sex? Really? Really. Kishon was the most skilled partner she’d ever had, and the only partner she could banter and joke with during sex. It had been an incredible night.
Chloe closed the door behind her. It felt oddly final to shoot the deadbolt. As long as she’d been painting, she’d had the sense that the morning had been a continuation of her night with Kishon. Now that the door was firmly closed on that, she had to face the rest of her life.
Chloe felt like she’d been doused in ice water as she took in the tiny studio, with her full-size bed wedged underneath the window and the most spacious corner dedicated to her painting. She didn’t keep much of her art in the apartment—not since her friend Mark had opened a gallery and let her display her pieces, when she had new ones. This morning alone, she’d dropped off two paintings—one of the reflecting pool and one of the White House. She’d been on fire with creativity and ability this morning.
The sex was part of that, too.
But crap. What was she going to do about the rent? She had enough savings to write the next rent check, but it was going to be tight. Really tight.
“I never should have bought those new brushes,” she mumbled under her breath. Chloe couldn’t just buy new brushes whenever she wanted. She’d allowed herself to get comfortable before she really had a safety net. And now, with no steady paycheck…
Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. Not only did she not have a steady paycheck, she wasn’t going to be seeing Kishon anymore. He was probably already on a plane back to Hamari. He didn’t have anything to worry about. Not really. He had more money than God. Chloe had no idea what that was like.
Well…she had some idea what that was like. She closed her eyes and conjured up the hotel suite she’d left just that day. Her romp in the sheets with Kishon already seemed the distant past. But the thread count…oh, it had been higher than anything she’d felt her in life. Growing up, her sheets had only been soft because her mother bought all of them at Goodwill. Thread count had nothing to do with it.
“Okay,” she said out loud. “First things first, I need to find a new job.” She felt a pang at the loss of the Highball. It cut straight through her heart, thinking of Kishon sitting at the bar and someone else on the other side. At least he was leaving today. No—that wasn’t better. Having him halfway across the world wasn’t better. “Second things second,” she sang. “Don’t get hung up on a king.” Fine. She wouldn’t let herself mope about it. But she had wanted to tell him about her latest paintings, and listen to his deep, rich voice tell her about the world he’d seen.
Real first things first—a shower. She hadn’t dared spare the time for one this morning. The situation wasn’t dire, since she and Kishon had showered during the night. But she’d been standing out in the sun, and now she had the panic sweats.
No more panic sweats.
The noise on the street outside kicked up—a honk, followed by another. Was it garbage day already? The weeks were going by too fast. Well, the people outside could get over it. The truck would be gone in a matter of minutes.
Chloe hopped into the shower and tried not to think of Kishon as she shampooed her hair and ran her washcloth over her still-sensitive skin. He’d been so gentle with her under the stream of water last night…until he wasn’t exactly gentle anymore. She loved how he handled her when both of them were on the verge of losing control. It wasn’t rough, but he was firmly in command.
She slipped her hand between her legs, right there under the water, and worked up an orgasm.
That was better.
Chloe dressed and toweled off her hair, then stood in front of the little mirror by her kitchen—an odd place for a mirror, but it was glued to the wall—to do her makeup. When she’d been stressed out as a teenager, her mom had always told her to look her best and the rest would follow. That wasn’t necessarily true, as Chloe had found out, but it would help a little.
It was still so loud outside. Was the garbage truck stuck? Having some kind of garbage emergency?
The knock at the door was so forceful that it rattled the hinges and scared the crap out of her. Chloe dropped her eyeshadow and caught it just before it hit the floor, banging her head on the wall in the process. She hissed in pain, rubbing at her forehead. Was something going on? She wandered over to her bed, trying to walk it off, and that was when she looked out the window.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Paparazzi swarmed the street outside. They wore their usual uniform of T-shirts and hoodies and carried cameras with giant lenses. Twenty of them, maybe thirty. She backed slowly away from the window. What was happening?
Another thundering knock at the door froze her in place. Her instinct was to hide.
“Chloe? It’s me.”
The voice from the other side of the door melted her fears like an ice cube on a hot summer day. Kishon. Chloe didn’t dare to hope. She ran on tiptoe over to the door and looked through the peephole.
And then she scrambled for the deadbolt and threw open the door. “Hi,” she said, her voice weirdly high and breathless. “Kishon. Hi.” This was crazy. Him, standing here? She discreetly dropped her hand to her leg and pinched. Not a dream.
Kishon wasn't alone. Five men surrounded him in a tight semicircle, each of them…armed. “Chloe,” he said, and desire kindled low in her belly. “May I come in?”
“Of course, of course. Come in.” She stepped back to let him in. He scanned the room, then looked over his shoulder. “Wait here.”
“We need to clear the room, Sheikh Kishon.”
“Consider it cleared.” He pushed the door shut behind him and looked Chloe in the eye. “How are you? Have they bothered you yet?”
“The paparazzi? No, I—” Oh, holy crap. They were here for her. “I didn’t realize they were here for me.” There wasn’t enough air in the room. “They’re here for me?”
“We made the news.” Kishon lifted both hands, palms up. “Our engagement is being taken as truth by all the major outlets.”
She swallowed hard. “Aren’t you—aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now?”
He shook his head, amusement lighting his eyes. “In light of the situation, I thought it would be best if we had one more conversation.”
“About?”
“About getting married.”
There were footsteps in the hall, and raised voices. The building was not meant to play host to this many people at once. If they broke fire code, Chloe was going to be in trouble. She wrenched her attention back to the matter at hand. “Married?”
“Yes. I need to help my brother marry the love of his life, and I also need to prove to my tribal council that I’m a strong, traditional leader. A marriage is the only thing they’ll settle for. This is no small thing in Hamari.”
Chloe saw in his eyes how important it was and took it in with a shock. He was a big deal. He was a huge deal. The noise level outside kic
ked up a notch. “But I—I’m not cut out for that.”
“You’re already my fiancée.” The smile on his face heated her down to the core. “And if you do this for me, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?”
“I’ll fund a trip around the world, and when we separate, I’ll leave you with a generous allowance. You won’t have to worry anymore.”
It took a moment for this to sink in. “And all you want me to do is marry you?”
He stepped closer, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “I want you to come to Hamari with me, marry me, and then act as my wife until after the dust from my brother’s wedding settles. In return, your dreams can come true. As many stops as you want. As many countries as you want. As many paintings as you want. Name it, and it’s yours.”
This was….insane. It couldn’t possibly be reality. And even if it was, there had to be some enormous catch that she wasn’t seeing. Chloe felt off-balance standing in her own kitchen, which was also her living room and bedroom.
How could she turn it down?
She backed up, trying to get some room to breathe. Kishon was so sexy that he raised the temperature of any room he was in, and this one was too small for his presence. “Okay, I—”
“Come here.” He took her by the elbow and steered her away from the bed, standing close. “The cameras can see you if you’re standing next to the bed.”
She didn’t ask how he knew that. Chloe buried her face in her hands. “I want people to see my art, not inside my apartment.”
“I’m not sure they’ll stop trying to look in your window in the near future,” Kishon said, an easy smile on his face. “In the meantime, let me save you. Let me give you what I can.”
“What you can give me could solve any problem,” she said, and the instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was true. At the very least, it could solve this one. Chloe’s skin felt too tight, too sensitive, and the crowd of people outside seemed to be closing in more every second. Her heart was in her throat. Get out, it said. Get out. “All right,” she said in a rush. “I’ll be your pretend wife. For now, I only have one condition.”