The Inherited Bride

“It’s a freedom that demands responsibility. You have to respect where you are at all times. You have to keep the rules and mind the boundaries.”

“And uphold duty and honor?”

“What is there in life without those things, Isabella? If men discard such notions, what keeps the world moving?”

Isabella hated how right he was. Hated that what he said made so much sense. She understood the importance of her alliance with Hassan, High Sheikh of Umarah. It was good for the economy, good for building a strong bond between nations in case of any sort of crisis. And if it weren’t her life, if she were only a casual observer like Adham, who wasn’t the one being forced to marry a stranger, she would have felt as he did.

But it was her life. Not some vague idea of honor and duty. She was the sacrificial lamb for the masses. Easy for him to speak that way when in the end he got to ride off into the sunset and be with whom he wished, doing whatever he wished.

“I have accepted the path I have to take, Adham,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “I only wanted to take a small detour.”

“And where would you like your detour to take you now, Princess?” His voice was hard. Condescending. A sharp contrast to the small moment of near camaraderie they’d just shared.

Well, fine. She didn’t much care for him either.

“I thought we could walk. See the sights.”

He nodded in what she assumed was acquiescence. He had a way of making her feel as though he disapproved with nothing more than the slightest movement. Even though he’d agreed, the tension in his body told her he’d rather do anything else. Not the most accommodating man, her keeper.

He turned and began to walk up the boulevard, not getting too far ahead of her, but not exactly waiting for her either. She knew that no matter what it seemed like his focus was still on her. She knew it because her skin felt too tight and her stomach was queasy with knots.

She quickened her pace, taking two steps to his one, her much shorter legs making her work harder to gain the distance he was managing. She looked around at the tourists pouring from buses that lined the sidewalks. They were in groups. Pairs. Holding hands. Why did it suddenly seem as though it would be natural to be linked to Adham in that way? To hold his hand while they strolled through Paris together?

She fell into step beside him and her hand brushed his. Her heart leapt to her throat at the contact. He didn’t even look at her. Didn’t give her any indication that he had noticed her touch, let alone been affected by it.