The Sheikh's Wedding Contract

But Zayed did understand. His own mother, Latifa Al Afzal, had waited until the very last moment to have her say. But what she had revealed and the way she had chosen to reveal it had rocked the very foundations of the kingdom of Gazbiyaa. And irrevocably altered the path of Zayed’s life.

Secretly securing an interview on one of the state-controlled Gazbiyaan television channels, Sheikha Latifa Al Afzal had started by telling the stunned audience that she was suffering from terminal cancer. In a weak but steady voice she had explained that she was quite ready to meet her fate, but first she had an important announcement for the people of her kingdom.

In keeping with the tradition of the laws of the land, her husband’s reign as sheikh was shortly coming to an end. But he was to be succeeded not by his elder son, Azeed Al Afzal, but by the couple’s younger son, Zayed. For Azeed was not, in fact, her biological son, but the child of a woman with whom her husband had had a brief relationship. This woman had died giving birth to him and, even though Latifa had raised Azeed as her own, loved Azeed as her own, there was one vital fact that could not be kept secret any longer. His birth mother had come from Harith. Azeed was half Harithian.

The fallout from this disclosure had been truly terrible. Zayed’s father had exploded with fury that his wife had exposed the secret of Azeed’s parentage, especially in such a public way, but the news of her illness and his genuine despair that she was dying had diverted his rage to his sons, to his kingdom, to the world in general.

The kingdom of Gazbiyaa had been thrown into turmoil, shocked to the core that Prince Azeed, whom they had seen as their future ruler, shared his blood with their greatest enemy. Zayed’s father appeared to be dangerously close to losing control, and rioting in the streets was only prevented because his term of office was about to expire.

Azeed, meanwhile, had simply disappeared, storming out without a word to anyone. The shock of the news had presumably been so utterly devastating that he couldn’t bear to stay in the palace a moment longer. Which meant that all eyes had turned to the second son. Zayed, the playboy prince.

Three years younger than his brother, Zayed had led an untroubled and privileged life, educated first at Eton College in England, then at Columbia University, New York. In truth he had barely given a thought to his own country, far too absorbed with the buzz of expanding his business empire and distraction of his friends and the many beautiful women who crossed his path. Gazbiyaa had seemed a long way away, his brother’s inheritance his brother’s responsibility.

But his mother’s extraordinary declaration had changed everything.

Immediately leaving New York and the life he had made for himself there, Zayed had arrived at his mother’s bedside just in time to take her frail hand and listen to her halting explanation. With heartbreaking humility she had apologised for deceiving him, explaining that she had wanted him to grow up without the burden of the future blighting his early life. That even though she had always known that she would have to reveal that he, Zayed, must be crowned the next sheikh of Gazbiyaa, both because of his birthright but more important for the stability of the kingdom, she hoped he had enjoyed the freedom she had gifted him until now.

With her voice fading to little more than a whisper, Zayed had leaned in closer as his mother had begged him to talk to Azeed, to explain to him why she had had to do what she had done. For not only was Azeed temperamentally unsuited to the role of sheikh, but if he continued to threaten war against Harith he would inadvertently be inciting a conflict against a country whose blood ran in his veins.

As the last threads of life had slipped through his mother’s fingers, Zayed had promised to make her peace with Azeed, and she had allowed herself to slip into the oblivion of death, her voice finally heard.

Now Zayed stared at the spirited young woman before him. So very much alive, so vibrant; he could sense her determination, the strength of her will. He could see the way she was fighting to take control of her own destiny right now, to avoid the shadowy half-life his own mother had accepted. There was no way she was going to leave it until her deathbed to make her mark on this world.

And he admired Nadia for it. It showed guts, all right, and that, combined with her undoubted beauty, was a fascinating combination. A crazy idea was suddenly beginning to take hold. He forced himself to put the brakes on it.

‘So should I be flattered that this free will of yours has brought you to my door?’ He tipped back his head. ‘Or should I say my bed?’

Nadia wrinkled her small nose distastefully, as if by reminding her of her actions he was degrading himself. He had no idea how she did that.

‘You were certainly a better proposition.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. In what way?’

‘I have only seen one photograph of my intended, but it showed him to be old and fat and bald.’

‘Right.’ Laughing now, Zayed leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other at the knee, gripping his ankle. ‘Careful, Nadia. You don’t want me to be getting big-headed.’

‘I suspect I am too late for that.’

Another swipe. Like a cat’s paw, haughty and elegant, but ultimately futile. Even though Zayed knew he could close her down in a second he still had to remind himself who was playing with whom here. He was surprised to find he was enjoying himself. Something about being around Nadia lifted his spirits, and there hadn’t been much to do that lately.

He had already been subjected to another of his father’s rants this morning. Apparently the palace was alive with gossip that the new sheikh had been discovered wrestling on the bed with an unknown beauty last night. With his playboy image preceding him, this was all the fodder they needed to confirm their suspicions that Sheikh Zayed was nothing more than a serial philanderer. That, unlike his brother Azeed, he would never be a strong ruler. That the kingdom of Gazbiyaa was going to descend into some kind of mire of debauched hedonism if this Westernised sheikh had his way.

Zayed hadn’t bothered to try to explain his innocence. Or point out that his father was hardly blame-free when it came to his relationships with women, bearing in mind the situation they were now in. He hadn’t even suggested that maybe the servants should learn to be more discreet. There was no point. He had already learned that in Gazbiyaa a problem had to be circumnavigated in order to be successfully addressed. And that was why this crazy idea refused to go away.

‘Well, much as I would like to believe that it was my dashing good looks that drew you to me, I can’t help wondering if the fact that I am the sheikh of an extremely wealthy kingdom may have had some bearing on your decision.’

‘I have no interest in your wealth.’ There it was again, that aloof disregard. But he believed her. He had come across a few gold-diggers in his time; in fact he prided himself that he could spot them a mile off. And even though he’d had to ask, he had already known that, for Nadia, this wasn’t about money. ‘Now, if you have quite finished with the insulting remarks, may I be allowed to leave?’

She started to stand, scraping back her chair, but at his end of the table Zayed rose faster than her and his movement halted hers.

‘No, wait. Sit down.’ He leaned forward, his arms locked on the table in front of him. Suddenly he realised he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. Not at all. ‘We haven’t finished our conversation yet.’

‘I believe we have.’ Nadia gave him a barely audible sniff, but did sit back down in her seat.

‘I may have a proposition to put to you.’

‘What sort of proposition?’ She crossed one leg over the other and, lacing her fingers, rested her chin lightly on them as she coolly surveyed him. Zayed was struck again by her astonishing poise.

‘Well, as I understand it, you came here with the intention of persuading me to marry you. It might surprise you to know that I am considering the idea.’

He paused, scanning her face for the expected surprise, astonishment even. But it wasn’t there. Just the calm, composed regard. She arched perfectly shaped eyebrows to indicate that he should continue.

‘As I am the sheikh of Gazbiyaa you will understand that it is expected that I should take a wife.’

‘Of course.’

‘And in my case, probably the sooner the better.’ He gave a small frown, acutely aware that Nadia was analysing every word, watching every movement of his facial muscles. ‘There are certain misconceptions about me, rumours about my past. I need to dispel them. I believe a swift marriage would do that.’

‘I see.’ Her clipped replies were beginning to get on his nerves. It was starting to feel as if he was in the dock and she was waiting for his testimony. Well, she wasn’t getting one. His past was his business and he certainly didn’t have to justify it to her. He hardened his voice.

‘Securing stability for the kingdom is of paramount importance right now. These are difficult times. I have to show the people that they can put their faith in me, that I am totally committed to the role of sheikh and can be trusted to rule this country skilfully and fairly. I will do anything within my power to achieve this.’

‘And that includes getting married?’

‘Yes.’

‘To me?’

‘Yes. Theoretically.’ He could hardly believe he was saying this.

‘So you are saying that as your wife I would be helping you to bring peace and stability to Gazbiyaa?’

‘Well, indirectly, yes, I suppose I am.’

Finally the icy reserve had cracked and the glow of excitement that shone through the widening fissure seemed to light her from within, highlighting her body, gently flushing her pale cheeks and dancing in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.

Though the fact that it was only the idea of being able to do something to help the kingdom that had produced this alchemic change rather than any pretence that he himself might be quite a catch wasn’t lost on him. In fact he was annoyed to feel a physical kick to his pride. He wasn’t used to such indifference from members of the opposite sex.

‘And I would be treated as your equal? Have my opinions listened to?’

‘I don’t imagine for one moment that I would be able to stop you.’ Wasn’t that the truth? He dimly registered that she was cross-examining him again when it should have been the other way round. But her enthusiasm was infectious, seductive. Downright sexy. Something, a gut reaction perhaps, told him that this could work.

And he was used to trusting his gut instinct. It rarely let him down in business, helping him to secure the lucrative deals that his competitors wouldn’t touch and, equally important, steering him away from the disasters that looked so tempting on paper.

Could this be described as a business deal? If so it was certainly an unusual one. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t so much his gut that was making this decision as another, lower part of his anatomy. He shifted in his seat.

‘The way I see it, a marriage between the two us could prove to be mutually beneficial. I would be saving you from an unsavoury union and, in return, you would be helping me to restore the confidence of the people of Gazbiyaa. Showing them that they can put their trust in me, that I am an honourable man. Call it a contract between us, if you like.’