The Sheiks of the Arabian Coast Series: 5 Book Box Set

by Erin Snihur

  “I don’t understand, Papa. Why would the Sheik ask for my hand?” Samara asked, her words dripping with confusion and disbelief.

  Her grandfather chuckled and stepped forward to pat her lightly on the cheek. “It is business, Samara.”

  Shocked once again, Samara didn’t waste anytime and grabbed her grandfather’s wrinkly hand. “But, Papa, I do not love the Sheik. I do not wish to marry him.”

  Shaking her hand away, her grandfather glared down at her, aghast. “What do you mean? What does love or wishes have to do with anything?”

  Clasping her temple between her hands, Samara tried to reason with her grandfather, “I do not want an arranged marriage, Papa. I want a marriage like mother and father’s was. Filled with love. Besides, what about my job in England? I start in a week!”

  “You will be a Sheik’s wife, Samara. You do not need that foolish job. You will be one of the richest women in all of the Arabian Coast! Why do you need love?” her grandfather grumbled.

  Sighing, Samara shook her head. “I’m not marrying him, Papa, and that is final. If you won’t tell Malik there will be no wedding, then I will.”

  Samara hadn’t seen the slap coming. One moment, she was standing before her grandfather glaring him in the eye and, the next, his hand had been raised and struck her across the face. It burned. More than anything she had ever experienced. Not giving her a moment to react, her grandfather grasped Samara’s shoulders in his big hands and began to shake her. Samara had never been so scared of her grandfather before. She had seen him angry at Sheena when they were younger, but never were his eyes as wild as they are now.

  “Listen to me, young lady, you will marry the Sheik. You will do so because if you do not then I will cut you from this family just as I did your ungrateful mother! The money you need to return to England and purchase your precious apartment? You will not have it. I will have you kicked to the street and your sister will not be there to help you as she did when you were younger.” Her grandfather snarled, spit flying and hitting Samara in the face as she trembled in his strong grip.

  When all Samara could do was stare up at him, her bottom lip trembling and the tears flowed freely down her face, her grandfather pushed her away. He didn’t even seem to care as she hit the wall of her bedroom and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  “You are marrying the Sheik. Even if I have to drag you down the aisle myself,” her grandfather growled before stomping out of the room, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

  It wasn’t until the sounds of his footsteps dissipated that Samara rose from her place on the ground and scanned the room for her cellphone or laptop. Anything that could connect her to the outside world. Through her teary and blurry eyes, Samara searched. Both were gone.

  She was alone and she was marrying Malik.

  8

  Two weeks later...

  How had she gotten here? Samara thought pitifully. She was standing in a small room being poked and prodded by makeup artists and hairstylists while the dressmaker fixed a few spots on her wedding dress.

  Her wedding dress. Why was she wearing a wedding dress? Well, because it’s her wedding day!

  She should be happy. She should be celebrating and having a drink with her sister, who eyes her worriedly from the loveseat in the small room. A priest had shown them into the room and shut the doors over two hours ago. For two hours, she’d endured the preparations for her wedding. Staring at herself in the mirror, Samara ought to feel like a princess in the intricate lace and beautifully detailed white dress, but all she felt like was a fraud.

  To make matters worse, she hadn’t seen her groom since their first night together. He’d expressly demanded she and her grandfather not arrive in Batra until the day before the wedding and, even after they had arrived, he’d set them up in a swanky hotel, far from his palace. She knew the truth of their marriage. Especially after seeing what her grandfather had packed in his briefcase.

  Trying to reign in her tears, Samara cleared her mind as she recalled the papers she’d found. Her grandfather had basically sold her to Malik in exchange for his oil companies and oil interests in Batra. This was nothing more than a business arrangement.

  “You look beautiful, Sammy,” Sheena murmured softly from behind her and it was only then that Samara realized the two sisters were finally alone. The others must have left some time ago and she had just not noticed, too consumed in her thoughts of her impending marriage.

  Forcing a smile on her face that might as well have been a wince, Samara thanked her sister softly. Turning to stare back into the mirror, Samara carefully examined her face. The bruise on her cheek was gone. The makeup artist had been careful to cover up what was left of the yellowish bruise, though the bruises on her arms from her grandfather’s treatment hadn’t been as easily covered up. Instead, the dress designer had created beautifully intricate sleeves of lace to hide her shame.

  Her sister moved to stand between Samara and the mirror that had her so entranced. Sheena, who’s facial features mirrored their father’s while their grandfather always praised Samara for her mother’s appearance, glared up at Samara. Ironically, Samara thought, this will be the first time in heels that I am taller than my sister.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Sheena asked softly, her shrewd eyes searching Samara’s face.

  Dazed, Samara stared down into her sister’s face. Could she tell her sister? While they hadn’t spoken much over the years, Samara knew her sister wouldn’t be able to shake their grandfather’s control. His grip was too strong where they were concerned.

  Nodding to her sister, Samara answered the same way she had rehearsed when others asked about the sudden marriage, “I’ve always wanted to be a princess.”

  Shaking her head, Sheena took a sip from her glass of champagne. She’d snuck the bottle in, no doubt.

  “Don’t think you can fool me, Samara. I know you. If you’re only doing this to please that old man, then just tell me now. Charles can have us on a plane and back in England in a quick snap,” Sheena grumbled.

  Shaking her head, Samara knew that was impossible. Her grandfather had already ruined her chances in England. When she had finally been able to call her new job, she’d been told that the firm had rescinded their offer and were going in a completely different direction. After that she’d phoned her trust manager to inquire about wiring over some funds so she could fly back to England, but that too had been a dead end. Her account had been frozen.

  Sheena’s husband, Charles, wasn’t exactly as powerful as her grandfather. He wouldn’t be able to get within fifty feet of an airplane with her in his presence. Sheena would suffer for the betrayal. Samara couldn’t let that happen.

  “I’m happy, Sheena. Just experiencing some pre-wedding jitters, that’s all,” Samara murmured as she avoided her sister’s gaze and pulled her veil over her head.

  As she stepped away from the mirror on shaky legs, Samara smoothed the front of the dress to give her fumbling hands something to do. On her finger was the ring she was to give Malik. In Arabian tradition, the bride and groom purchased rings separately for each other and would gift them to one another during the ceremony. Staring down at it, Samara’s eyes swam with unshed tears. It had been her father's ring. She’d found it in a box of things she’d found while packing. She had hoped to give it to a man she truly loved on their wedding day.

  There will not be another, Samara, her insides wept.

  Sheiks didn’t divorce. At least not without scandal. God forbid a scandal arise. Her grandfather would kill her. Softly caressing the ring, Samara stared at the intricate weaving design. Her father had been Irish and their mother had said she’d fallen in love with him upon first sight. She’d known the ring would be a perfect fit for him.

  Would Malik like it?

  Ignoring her sister’s snort, Samara was thankful when the doors to the small waiting room opened and her grandfather entered. While his gaze was sharp and not at all soft or kind, Sa
mara ached to know the truth behind this charade. Had she always been nothing more to him than chattel that he would eventually sell off to the highest bidder?

  Dread pooling in her stomach, Samara nodded to her grandfather who queried, “Are we ready?”

  “Papa, I don’t think this is…” before Sheena could finish, her grandfather leveled Samara’s sister with a harsh glare that silenced her with a snap.

  “Go to your husband, Sheena,” her grandfather ordered and Sheena quickly sent Samara a hurt look before striding out of the room with her head held high.

  As his attention turned back to Samara, his face morphed from anger to happiness and Samara breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t think her nerves could take much more of his anger.

  “You are a vision, Samara. Just like your mother would have been had she married well, as I had wanted,” her grandfather said, ending his words with a mumbled curse.

  Taking her hand in his rough and weathered one, Samara let her grandfather lead her out of the room. As they exited, a maid appeared and carefully followed behind, ensuring Samara’s train didn’t tangle.

  With a soft squeeze to her hand, her grandfather murmurs in her ear as they walk through the hallway of the temple until they reach a set of tall, ornate doors.

  “I have never been so happy, Samara. This will be a good thing, you will see,” her grandfather says, as they stop before the doors. Music can be heard on the other side amongst the murmured voices of their guests. Samara wasn’t even sure who had been invited. Her grandfather had made those decisions and a wedding planner had made the rest.

  When asked what she wished her wedding dress to look like, Samara had asked for it to be black. The dressmaker had laughed and no one took her seriously. She’d received a stern thrashing for that from her grandfather. When he’d been informed of her request, he had made it so she was not privy to the decisions for her own wedding. It was probably for the best. She wouldn’t be able to focus on anything today.

  As the doors opened, Samara tried to hold back her tears and instead stared up at her grandfather while he held her in place. “I will never forgive you for this.”

  With the doors fully opened, both Samara and her grandfather faced front. Her grandfather’s grip tightened as he began leading her down the tiled aisle. The music was beautiful and, if this were any other day, Samara would listen with rapt attention. But sadly, this was her wedding day and, as all eyes turned to gaze at her, Samara’s eyes were stuck on her groom.

  Sheik Malik Al-Mokhtar. Her soon-to-be husband.

  His face was completely expressionless. It was his eyes that spoke volumes. They were icy and not as soft as she recalled from their time on the balcony and in the cabin. As they finally ended their march, Samara half-expected him to snatch her up in a rough manner befitting his angry eyes. Instead, he stepped down from the raised platform and held out his hand to replace her grandfather’s.

  With a harsh squeeze from her grandfather that was a clever warning, Samara tried to conceal her wince, but even under the veil, she knew she hadn’t done a good enough job. Malik’s eyes shifted with concern before her hand made contact with his and they resumed their icy exterior.

  The music ebbed away and suddenly they were standing alone before a solemn looking man in beautiful robes. Swallowing her fear, Samara stared behind the man at the ornate glass windows overlooking them. It was easier this way.

  As she zoned out the rabbi’s words, Samara ached to shed the dress and fly away. Free from her grandfather’s control and soon, free from her husband's control. If only she were a bird.

  9

  Malik should have been paying attention to the rabbi’s words. He should have been stoically considering his vows and the traditions of the Batra people. Instead, all he could focus on was his bride.

  The moment the doors opened and she stepped out, his eyes were riveted on her. Like an angel, she walked gracefully down the aisle. Malik wasn’t sure how he had kept his composure through those few minutes. Then, she was standing before him and before he knew it, she was holding his hand as they both stood alone before the rabbi.

  I can’t take it. I have to look.

  Turning his head slightly, Malik gazed down at his beautiful bride. Her long hair had been curled and intricately braided back. Keeping his cool, Malik tried to suppress his memories of pulling on her soft hair and using it to anchor her to him while he thrust inside of her over and over again. If the rabbi didn’t hurry along, he would get an eyeful of the groom and bride engaged in something not so holy.

  When his eyes moved to her face, Malik had to pause. Most brides would be smiling and happy on their wedding day. Malik had assumed she would want this. She had told him herself of her childhood dream of being a princess and so had Hamda.

  Confusing woman, Malik grumbled. Malik was glad the wedding could be done so quickly and had been right to have them wait until the wedding day to see each other. If he had seen her over the past two weeks, who knows what he would have said.

  You’re doing this for Batra. Remember.

  Turning away from Samara, Malik heard the rabbi finishing his speech and moving onto the exchange of rings. As was tradition, Malik had pulled his mother’s jewelry from storage and gone through each piece until he’d found the perfect ring. A simple silver band with a white pearl in the center, surrounded in a circle by small diamonds. Simple, but elegant. Much like his new bride or at least he had thought she preferred the simpler life. Now he wasn’t sure.

  When the rabbi called Malik to attention and motioned for him to take Samara’s left hand in his, Malik pulled the ring from his pocket. Even though it was faint, he heard her gasp as he produced the ring. Scanning her face, Malik’s chest thudded as her eyes remained transfixed with the ring.

  “Do you like it, angel?” Malik whispered even though his head protested, Don’t call her angel. Do not call her anything. She is nothing but a minor roadblock in a business arrangement.

  Her hazel eyes met his for the first time since their night together and Malik sucked in a breath at the sight. He had pushed aside her veil and now he could see her. Her eyes were glistening and her bottom lip was trembling slightly. As were her hands in his.

  Sliding the ring on, Malik spoke the poetic words of his vows in Arabic before the rabbi turned to Samara. At the rabbi’s prodding, she took his hands and produced a silver ring intricately weaving around his finger.

  Malik watched as she hesitated before slipping the ring onto his finger. Time seemed to stand still as Samara’s eyes darted up to his before racing out over the crowd of their guests. From where he was standing, Samara was staring out toward her family. Before he could see exactly who she was staring at with fear written across her face, she had faced him and jammed the ring onto his fingers, shakily spoke the vows in nervous Arabic.

  Malik wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he knew he had to get to the bottom of it, before others began to question the fear across his new wife's face.

  The rabbi, seeming relieved, called all to attention and announced them man and wife.

  “You may kiss the bride, Your Highness,” the rabbi’s raspy voice startled Malik out of his staring as he gazed down at his new wife.

  She didn’t meet his gaze and instead stared down at their joined hands. Clutching, one hand in his tighter, he raised the other to her face. With a soft caress of her cheek and a bit of pressure to her chin, Malik raised Samara’s face to meet his.

  Whispering so soft that only she could hear, Malik said, “Almost there, angel. Just a few more minutes.”

  With a soft brush of his lips against hers, Malik pulled back, not wanting to take things too far. The rabbi announced them once more and their guests rose to stand. Clapping and cheers could be heard, but all Malik heard was muffled background noise as he stared down at Samara. A lone tear fell down her cheek as she stared back at him. Malik had dreamed of her eyes, but now her once cheery, twinkling eyes were defeated looking as he took her
arm and placed it into the crook of his.

  Pulling her a bit closer to him, Malik leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Smile, angel. Or else they might think something’s wrong.”

  Malik didn’t know how she did it, but her smile grew on her face as they slowly walked back down the aisle and out onto the front steps of the temple. On the streets, crowds had gathered to cheer and welcome their newly married Sheik and Sheikha.

  As the sun beamed down on them, Malik turned to gaze at his new wife, completely entranced.

  Now comes the hard part. Being a married man.

  All Samara could hear in her head were Malik’s words, Smile, angel.

  How she was able to smile and wave to the people of Batra as they made their way to an open car that drove them along the busy streets to Malik’s palace, Samara will never know. It was as if she had completely moved within herself and a robot had inhabited her body, smiling and waving with newly wedded glee.

  It wasn’t just Malik’s words she heard hissing in her ear. She heard her grandfather’s as well. His threats would no doubt continue, even though she remained under Malik’s control now.

  Now, as Samara stood alone by the table of wonderfully smelling food, she felt her insides begin to rumble and the weight of the ring on her finger grow. Staring at the ring, Samara inwardly sighed. She couldn’t deny that it was beautiful and exquisite. Simple, yet elegant. Just her taste. How had he known?

  As Samara glanced away from her ring and stared about the room, she felt her heart sink. Everyone was celebrating her marriage with drinks and amazing food. Soothing music played somewhere and their guests just kept pouring into the room. Her new husband stood by a fireplace mantle speaking with four tall, good looking men who all boar a familiar, regal bearing to Malik’s.

  As she scanned their faces, one in particular stood out to her. Sheik Khalid Abdul Majeed of Aman. Samara’s throat restricted at the sight of the man. He was notorious for his ruthless business practices and most notably for becoming engaged to a Canadian after silently divorcing his first wife.