Sheikhs of Hamari: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  Kishon lowered his head to one nipple then the other. “Perfection,” he whispered. He kissed the sensitive skin below her belly button. “Perfection,” he said again. And then he bent between her legs, showing her exactly how much perfection he found there.

  She tried to let herself sink into all the sensations, hoping that when Kishon climbed onto the sofa, her mind would disconnect from all the hurt that ran over like an erupting volcano. But it dogged her even as she came, even as she came back down underneath him.

  Kishon noticed.

  “What is it?” He brushed her hair back from her face, and Chloe couldn’t bear to touch him for one more second. It was like holding her hand to a fire.

  She shifted away and grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself. “This is more than playing a role,” she said.

  He smoothed his own hair back. “Playing a role?”

  “Playing a role, with our marriage. For…for everybody, I guess. The people in Hamari. The people in the palace. The world. Maybe it started out as that, but it’s not like that anymore. We’re in a real marriage now.” He’d made his vows to her with her hands in his. She’d felt that strange falling, floating feeling—it was falling in love. Thousands of pictures and videos documented the occasion. There was no denying that it had happened. “We’re going to have to deal with the ramifications of that.”

  “We only need to be married long enough for Chakir to wed.” His eyes seemed to pin her to the wall behind her. “Then we can have our freedom.”

  It swept the breath from her lungs in a whoosh that she tried to swallow before he could see. That was just it. She didn’t want her freedom. She wanted Kishon.

  But he wanted his freedom. Back in the beginning, he had been clear that it was a temporary arrangement. It had been clear that he didn’t want forever with Chloe or anyone else.

  “Right.” The fight went out of her. What could she say that would convince him to take a chance on her? He could insist that she was the most beautiful woman in the world all day, but that wouldn’t change things between them.

  It wouldn’t change what she had agreed to.

  “Where are you going?”

  She’d started walking without realizing it, heading for the bathroom. “I need a shower.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Chloe turned and faced her husband. “I need a minute.” She put a smile on her face. “You know, to recover.”

  Something flashed across his face, there and then gone. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

  She pulled in a big breath, ignoring the heat, ignoring the ache. “It’s okay if you’re not,” she said, and she didn’t wait for his reply.

  14

  Chloe was working, her head bent over a tablet, when Kishon found her in a sitting room at the very end of a hall in the private wing of the palace. Kishon had no idea why she’d chosen to work here, of all places. He’d forgotten the room, done in delicate shades of green, even existed. There was something to that—Chloe reminding him of places that he’d forgotten—but he had bigger things on his mind.

  She looked up at him, her face brightening. “Hi.”

  “I had to hunt for you,” he said. “The servants finally gave you up.”

  Chloe laughed. “I told them to tell you where I was.”

  “Oh. Then I’m a terrible hunter.” He sat next to her on the sofa, looking down at the tablet she held in her lap. “What are you working on?”

  “A new schedule for the youth center,” she said proudly, and the back of Kishon’s neck heated. After their conversation the week before about their marriage and the press, Chloe had been spending even more time on the youth center. Their partnership would be over before the full benefits of her work would emerge, yet here she was, putting together new programming. She took him through the tentative schedules, her voice taking him back to all those nights he’d spent sitting across from her at the bar. It had been easier then.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “The kids will love it,” he said automatically. He’d been lost in thought, but it was still true. They would. “I’m proud of you.”

  Chloe glowed, and Kishon hated himself a little. But he’d come here with a mission, his duty as the king, and putting it off any longer wouldn’t do them any favors.

  “I have some other news,” he said, wanting it done as quickly as possible. “Some articles have popped up in the last couple of days about Chakir and Hannah being the better couple. There are rumblings in the press that they would make a better king and queen, too.”

  Chloe leaned back a little, putting an inch of distance between them that felt like a mile. “Kishon. You’ve broken your own rule.”

  “I didn’t go looking for the article,” he said. “The elders brought it up to me. And if the news has reached them, it’s something we need to address.”

  She glanced back down at her tablet. “Address how?”

  “A public event or two, to show off our…relationship,” he said lightly. “I thought we’d begin tonight. I’m scheduled to attend a fundraiser for the local hospital system.”

  “And you need me to stand there with you and look pretty.” Her smile was a fleeting thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Look like a sheikh’s wife, that is.”

  “You always look like a sheikh’s wife.” He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close. “Tonight we’ll both dress like royalty.”

  “Thank God,” Chloe said. “Your normal clothes are so un-sheikh like.”

  “How dare you?” he joked, and kissed her temple. “If my clothes are so offensive to you, then I’ll just have to take them off.” He stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  Chloe jumped up after him. “We’re in a sitting room,” she said, laughing, but there was something behind her eyes that didn’t look like humor. “And if we’re going to a fundraiser tonight, then I need to start getting ready.”

  “Please.” He took her hand and tried to pull her back, spinning her into him like they were dancing. “You could choose any gown and walk out of the palace right now, and no one would say a word.”

  “Isn’t that the opposite of what you want?” Chloe raised her eyebrows, and he recognized the expression she wore from one of his first nights at the bar. It was the face she made when she was accommodating someone. “You want everyone to notice that I’m a perfect wife. That means I need hair and makeup. And that takes time. I’m not like you, Kishon, I can’t just toss my hair into a bun and waltz out.” She slipped her hand out of his, blew him a kiss, and left him standing there in the sitting room.

  It was time to put on her wife costume.

  It rankled, being a fake wife, but that was what she had agreed to, wasn’t it? She had agreed to pretend, along with Kishon, for a short period of time, and nothing was supposed to come of it.

  So why couldn’t she shake this awful, curdling feeling at the pit of her belly? Why couldn’t she wipe away the furious blush from her cheeks?

  A photo op should be the least of her worries. They’d done a hundred of them before the wedding.

  The wedding wasn’t supposed to change anything.

  She went back to Kishon’s apartment, ditched the tablet, and got the new portable easel he’d gotten her for their honeymoon. She would paint, and it would make her feel better. She could spare an hour. All her time lately had been taken up with the youth center, and she hadn’t made any time to paint. She’d been…uninspired. Chloe didn’t want her mother to be right, but here they were.

  Flowers weren’t usually her thing, but Chloe took the easel out to the garden. Once she’d had some time to settle down—time to put back on her public bartender’s face and get her feelings in check, for god’s sake—she’d call the palace stylist. But for now, she would paint some flowers. She slammed the easel into place, threw out a canvas, and got out her palette. Everything was brand-new and felt unfamiliar in her hands, which sent another bolt of irritation zinging through her.


  Chloe took a deep breath and tipped her face back toward the sun. She would make the brushes work. She would make the painting work. She would be fine.

  She got out some green and white and mixed them together, pushing the color back and forth on the palette. It was like she’d lost all her muscle memory. The shade wouldn’t come out right. She put some of it on her canvas, but the thickness was off. Leave it to the paint to put up a fuss. Leave it to her life to put up a fuss. Right here, in the middle of what was supposed to be her dream vacation.

  A peal of laughter caught her attention. Through the flowers, Chloe caught sight of a little boy tearing through the garden, shrieking at the top of his lungs. Mid-shriek he clapped his hand over his mouth and kept running. It was Hannah’s son Ryan. He was closely followed by none other than Nina, the woman who had come to her door the other day, and Kishon.

  Her heart skipped and wobbled. Kishon looked completely relaxed, smiling, at ease. He looked down at the woman—Nina—and called to Ryan. Ryan came running back. Chloe thought her skin might catch fire.

  The three of them stood there in the garden, chatting. Kishon took a ball from his pocket and tossed it back and forth to Ryan. Nina looked on, saying encouraging words.

  She didn’t understand what was going on and couldn’t make sense of it. Her fingers locked around the brush.

  And then she saw the palace photographer.

  He had come along behind the little group, and as Kishon and Ryan threw the ball back and forth, he snapped photo after photo.

  Chloe could see the photos now, as if she were the one taking them.

  Kishon and Nina looked like the perfect royal couple. With Ryan, they looked like the perfect royal family.

  That would never be Chloe.

  The knowledge hit her like a blast of icy rain, pricking at her eyes and skin. The idea of staying with Kishon and starting a family with him was a fantasy. Only a fantasy. A big, dangerous fantasy, because she’d lost her heart to it.

  She tossed the canvas to the ground and folded up the easel, throwing the brushes and paints back inside without looking where they landed. It didn’t matter anymore. She was done. Done faking the relationship. Done faking that everything was all right, because it wasn’t. She didn’t want this—not another second of it.

  She picked up the ruined canvas with its shapeless green blob and tucked it carefully under her arm. Nobody seemed to have noticed her. Good. If they saw her—if they came over, and she had to smile for the camera, she thought she might scream.

  Chloe needed space.

  Leaving Hamari wasn’t an option, but the palace was huge, with plenty of guest suites. Chloe hurried toward the palace entrance. If she worked quickly, she could have her things packed and moved before the fundraiser.

  This is your best idea in weeks, she told herself. This is what you should have done all along.

  15

  Kishon returned to his apartment to find it a hive of activity, with servants coming and going, boxes in their arms.

  Like someone was moving out.

  Only he had not given any such orders, and he himself wasn’t moving out. That left only one conclusion.

  “What’s all this?”

  The nearest servant paused. “We’re moving some items, Sheikh Kishon.”

  “And why—never mind.” If the servant had had an answer like that prepared, it was because they didn’t want to upset someone else.

  Kishon found Chloe in the bedroom, a full suitcase and her easel on the bed. “You don’t have to take this much to the fundraiser, you know.”

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry about the fundraiser. I’ll be there on time in my Sunday best.” A book went into the suitcase, followed closely by a pair of shoes he recognized from her Washington days.

  “Chloe.” Her eyes met his for the first time since he came into the room. “What are you doing?”

  She straightened up and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m done faking it.” Her chin quivered, and it was like a gong ringing, the vibrations covering every inch of his skin. “I saw you in the gardens with that woman, Nina, and—”

  “Ryan’s nanny.”

  “Yes, Ryan’s nanny. The three of you looked like your ideal royal family, so it’s a little beyond me why you didn’t just marry someone like her in the first place.”

  “Nina is my nephew’s nanny. I don’t know why—”

  “I mean someone who looks the part. Someone who’s already part of the scene.” She waved a hand around in the air, indicating the room. “She’s perfect for the job. Did you really think a down-on-her-luck artist turned bartender was going to make a good queen?” Chloe put a hand to her forehead and sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter if I am queenly as long as I play the part for the cameras, does it?”

  “Chloe…”

  “I’ve played my role.” She clapped her hands together. “I’ve played my role, and I’m done playing it.”

  “Stop.” This outburst didn’t make a lot of sense. They’d both agreed together that the marriage would be a temporary one, for the ease of all parties involved. It had made it far simpler to sweep her away to the Middle East instead of letting her languish in DC without a job. “What is it that you want from me, Chloe? Why are you packing?”

  “I want you.” Her eyes shone, and Kishon realized she was on the verge of tears. “I want a real relationship. A marriage and a baby. Seeing you in the garden with Ryan and Nina showed me the exact image of the life I want. If I’m going to be with a man, then I want it to be like that. Real and messy and genuine. I want us to fall in the dirt together and get back up. I want…” She swallowed hard. “I want you.”

  His mind was devoid of any words that could possibly make sense. That kind of marriage terrified him. To be so deeply in love with a woman would show the world that he had a weakness—her. And it wouldn’t just be the elders who thought so. The rest of the world would have their own opinions.

  A flash of anger wiped away the fear. What was Chloe thinking? He’d planned on a quiet divorce and a friendly parting of ways, not a teary ex-wife.

  So even though part of him—deep below the surface—wanted to agree with her just to make the tears in her eyes go away and chase the hurt from her voice, he couldn’t do it.

  “I think the relationship we have now has run its course.” He said it, and he heard how flatly the words fell in the room between them. “Chakir’s wedding is in a week, and after that you can have your trip.”

  Chloe looked down at her hands, at the art deco ring sparkling there, and gave a smile so sad it tore at Kishon’s heart. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were dry. “I don’t want the trip, Kishon. I’d just like airfare back to DC.”

  Without another word, she picked up her suitcase and easel and left the room.

  “Rough day?”

  Kishon sat on the sofa in his rooms, a drink in hand, staring into the fireplace. There was no fire, but he didn’t need one to look at. His head was a mess of images from the day…from the last few weeks.

  Matek stood nearby, frowning down at Kishon.

  “What makes you think I’ve had a rough day?”

  A smile pushed up a corner of Matek’s mouth. “The fact that you’re here alone, still in your suit from the fundraiser, and you spent the entire time looking like you’d swallowed something sour.”

  “Chloe left.”

  Matek blinked. “She didn’t leave. She was at the fundraiser tonight.”

  “She moved out of my apartments. She’s staying in a private suite at the other end of the palace.”

  Matek came and dropped down on the sofa next to him. “That’s too bad. Nina liked her.”

  Kishon laughed, the sound bitter and sharp in his mouth. “It’s Nina’s fault. Chloe thought Ryan’s nanny would make a better queen.”

  Matek snorted. “Obviously not. If Nina wanted to be queen, she would have been already. We’ve known that since school. Didn’t you te
ll Chloe that?”

  “We didn’t reach that point in the conversation.”

  His cousin waited until Kishon couldn’t stand the silence. It was an old trick of his, but tonight Kishon couldn’t wait him out.

  “We didn’t get there, because Chloe keeps throwing it in my face.”

  “What could she possibly have to throw in your face?”

  “All the things I can’t provide for her.” He downed the rest of his drink in one swig. “I can’t allow myself that weakness. Doesn’t she get it? We’re all pretending to be more than we are to get by. I wasn’t born the leader of a country. I’ve struggled my whole life to learn to do this the right way.”

  Matek considered him. “Maybe it would be less of a struggle if you were the kind of leader you want to be instead of the kind of leader the elders tell you to be.”

  Kishon shot him a look.

  “You’ve always been kind and just,” Matek said with a shrug. “The country would do well under a leader with heart instead of one who rules with an iron fist. That was the way of the past. We’re not in the past anymore.”

  “I’m the leader the elders expect,” he grumbled.

  “And look at you, all empty on the inside.”

  Kishon narrowed his eyes. “Very brave of you, to say that to the king.”

  This earned him another, smaller shrug from Matek. “You’re not the kind of king who’d have me cast out of the palace for daring to challenge you.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “Very lucky. But what’s lucky for you?”

  “Matek.”

  “Kishon.”

  Once again, Kishon was pulled under by the exhaustion of the day. It had taken almost everything he had not to pull Chloe aside at the fundraiser and demand to talk this out. There was nothing to talk out, anyway. She had been explicit about what she wanted from him, and he’d done the same. He couldn’t expect her to be happy about it.

  He expected himself to be happier about it, though. In theory, she was only making this easier for both of them—cutting the connections early, before they got too deep.