“You know how the wedding ceremony will go?”
She swallowed, closing her eyes as she tried to push the details from her mind. But she couldn’t. They were there, as she’d understood them for years. And again, when she’d been going to marry Addan, nothing had worried her; she’d welcomed every intimacy.
Standing opposite this man though, singing to him in his native language, reciting the ancient poetry of the Bedouins who’d first inhabited this prosperous land, she felt like a part of her was going to be stripped raw for him to see.
“Yes,” she nodded, concealing her fear with care.
“And you know what comes afterwards?” His nostrils flared with the challenge, as he studied her with deep concentration.
The tradition was one she and Addan had laughed about, like school children planning to fool their parents and stay up until midnight for the first time. The idea of a couple being locked in a tower for twenty four hours to consummate their marriage had seemed silly, but for a culture that saw its regal bloodline as its most valuable asset, it was one they’d been prepared to honour.
Now? Being locked in a tower with Sheikh Malik bin Hazari? Her nerve endings jangled inside of her, and her stomach was in knots. She’d hinted to her valet that perhaps it wasn’t necessary in the twenty first century – the very idea it could be dispensed with was met with incredulity.
The tower was happening.
“Yes,” she dropped her gaze, unable to look at him.
But he closed the distance between them and lifted her face to his, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze to lock to his. “You are apprehensive about sleeping with me?”
Heat suffused her cheeks, his directness completely unexpected. “I’m…” she bit down on her lower lip, then stopped when his eyes chased the movement and she felt the whip of electricity slash her spine. “We hardly know one another.” She shrugged her slender shoulders.
“And you knew my brother,” he said, the words blanked of any emotion.
“He was my best friend,” she whispered, and tears thickened in her throat. She blinked her eyes furiously, not willing to destroy the make up artist’s work nor to show any hint of weakness to this man.
Her groom was quiet a moment, his jaw clenched, a muscle throbbing at its base.
“We do not need to know one another.” His gaze moved over her face. “This is a political marriage, a treaty of sorts. You will have your duties, and outside of them, your own life. You will carry on much as you did before.”
Her heart stammered inside her chest. “Except for the whole having sex together thing?” She pushed, her eyes holding his, a silent challenge in them.
His expression shifted to one of distaste. “Yes.”
Great. He was as reluctant to go to bed with her as she was with him. Only Sophia knew that deep down, her reluctance had a more troubling root, that there was far more to her hesitation.
Hadn’t she always found him compelling? Hadn’t she found one look from him could make her knees tremble? Her pulse race? Her reaction to him had terrified her, so she’d done her best to stay away from him, avoiding him assiduously whenever he was due to be at the palace. “It’s nice for you and your brother to have time together,” she’d teased Addan, when he’d tried to include her in their lunches. “Besides, I have reading to do.”
“Always reading,” Addan had teased back, kissing the tip of her nose before turning back to Malik, who had been watching the interaction with that same look of steely disapproval on his features he always held.
“With Addan’s death, the need for an heir became more pressing. We cannot afford to wait. I am the end of this family’s line – we must have a child, and fast.”
Her stomach looped in on itself. “I know that.” It was a whisper. A soft plea.
“You hate the idea of it, don’t you?” he asked, grimly, his eyes sweeping over her. “You hate the idea of sleeping with the brother of the man you loved?”
Her eyes fell closed, her heart stuttering.
She had loved Addan. She had loved him, depended on him, adored him. Not in a romantic way, though. Theirs had been a friendship, first and foremost – deeper than any she’d ever known.
She didn’t have a chance to answer – there was a knock on the door a moment later and Malik straightened, taking a step back from her. “Come,” he spoke in English for her benefit, despite the fact she’d been fluent in Abu Fayan for years.
A servant entered, bowing low. “Majesty, Sharafaha, it is time.”
“One minute,” Malik dismissed, turning back to face Sophia.
“You were engaged to Addan,” he said, when the door was closed once more, leaving them in privacy. “And though I am about to pledge myself to you, to declare myself your husband, and you my wife, let us both say, in this room, that I will always consider you his.” His eyes bore into hers, hot and yet somehow making her cold all over.
“We will have sex tonight, but it will never be the love making you and he enjoyed.” He expelled harshly, his expression showing true disgust. “I regret the necessity of this. If only you and he had been married, we would never have been forced into this marriage.” He turned his back on her, looking towards the windows. “The idea of taking you from him, even now in death…”