The Sheikh's Contract Bride

“Nothing.” The knot in her stomach said different, but this wasn’t the right time to discuss it. While she was in the country she planned to see her mother and tell her to her face exactly what she thought about someone who would abandon her children. And, more than that, Beth wanted to know why she’d done it.

Speaking of interrogations, Malik was asking most of the questions. It was time to take the heat off herself and learn about him. For Addie’s agenda to extricate herself from this contract, she told herself, not her own reluctant curiosity about a man who had shown a romantic streak in that “dance of learning about each other” remark.

“Tell me about you,” she said.

He thought for a moment. “I will soon be the King. From birth, I have been in training to assume the throne and lead my country and my people into more prosperity than we currently enjoy. My father has been a great example and has challenged me continuously to surpass him.”

“Where did you go to college?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it. That information was readily available if she had cared to look. She hoped he was not offended that she hadn’t bothered to find out.

“I was educated at the Wharton School, one of the most prestigious business colleges in the eastern United States. I have a Master’s Degree in Economics.”

Very impressive, she thought. So he was smart. That would help in running the country. It wouldn’t help on the attraction front. A smart, good-looking man with a sense of humor was too easy to like.

“What are your intentions toward my—” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Toward me. I mean, what do you expect of a wife?”

“This is beginning to sound like a job interview,” he said.

“Really? Have you ever had a job interview?”

“Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Since you’re first in the line of succession, you have the position in the bag, so to speak. How would you know what it feels like to be interrogated about your ability—or lack thereof—to do a job?”

“You are correct. There is no interview. Which is why the successor to the King is held to a higher standard. More is expected.”

“Is the same expected of a husband? And what about the woman you marry? Since she—I—was born into it, does that mean she—I—have to work harder at being a wife?”

He frowned. “I had not thought about it.”

“Newsflash, Your Highness, the clock is ticking. It’s time to think about it.”

Malik detected an edge in her voice. Not only that, he had noticed immediately that she was nervous. It was evident in the tightness of her mouth, the hooded expression in her light brown eyes and the swiftness with which she had removed her hand from his when he’d introduced himself.

In another woman he would have taken it as proof of a hidden agenda. After being played for a fool and betrayed by such a woman, he was wary of pretenders. But Beth had reason for this show of anxiety. Meeting her betrothed for the first time was worthy of an acute case of nerves.

He had to admit to some nervousness himself. He had only seen her in photographs. Beauty was not a requirement for his bride; truthfulness and integrity were of more importance. However, he had been exceedingly pleased by her features.

He liked the shiny dark hair that framed her oval face and fell to her slender shoulders. The silk blouse tucked into the small waist of her suit pants clung to her breasts and highlighted her pleasing curves. But that was not all that had surprised him. There was a strength about her that had not been apparent in the pictures passed on to him by her father.

The eight-by-ten photographs did not capture the three-dimensional woman. The warmth. Vibrancy. The spirit that had flashed in her eyes when she’d said the clock was ticking on their betrothal.

“Do you feel too hurried in the business of this marriage?” he asked. “I do not wish to create excessive pressure.”

“I’ve always known about it,” she said, speaking slowly and apparently choosing her words with care. “But there was no firm date.”

By his own choice. He had lost his heart to a woman who had pretended to be something she was not. His error in judgment had nearly been made public and it had been necessary to inform the King. The incident had embarrassed him personally and professionally, and, worse, had deeply disappointed his father. The poor judgment he had exhibited had cast doubt on his ability to be an effective leader. Afterwards, Malik had not wanted an emotional commitment of any kind. He would have put off taking vows indefinitely, except that it was a way to prove he would commit everything to his duty. Unlike women, duty was constant and without pretense.

“My father has expressed his wish to retire. He wants me to assume leadership responsibilities as soon as possible.”

“I see.” Sitting on the edge of the sofa, she folded her hands in her lap. “But you could be King and take over the government without getting married? Right?”

“You are correct. But, as I said before, it is my duty to produce an heir to the throne and the child must be legitimate. That requires marriage.”

A fact the King had pointed out when Malik had attempted to delay the inevitable. His father had also firmly stated that marriage gave a man stability and dignity, both of which were desirable qualities in an effective ruler. Because his bride had been selected based on impeccable lineage, and raised to be obedient, to put her patriotic duty before personal pursuits, there would be no chance of another embarrassing incident.

However, Beth was a teacher, and that detail had not come to his attention. Her father had no doubt felt it unimportant, but Malik disagreed. It boded well for her maternal skills—a desirable trait in the woman who would bear his children.

“Still, what’s the rush?” she asked.

“Besides the King’s retirement? It is simply time to fulfill our destiny, and yours is to be the Queen of Bha’Khar. To take your place by my side in the service of our people.”

Her big eyes grew bigger. “Oh, wow—”

“Something troubles you?”

“Yeah. Queen of Bha’Khar? That’s a pretty overwhelming thought.” Something akin to panic stirred in her gaze.

“I do not understand. As you said, you’ve always known what was in your future.”

“Yes.” She stood. “But knowing and doing are two different things. Kind of like being exposed to the flu, then losing your lunch.”

He stood and looked down at her. “I understand that a good deal of your experience and upbringing happened in the United States, and Americans are more casual. It is one of their most unique and charming qualities. But I wish to make certain I understand what you are saying.”

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “That came out a bit harsher than I intended. I simply meant that it’s one thing to know what’s going to happen and quite another to actually go through the steps. Like being condemned—”

He held up his hand. “You are not making it better.”

“Sorry.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Do you have to?”

He refused to be distracted by her teasing or her beauty. “In all of your instruction on protocol, diplomacy, and etiquette, were you ever once told that it was politically incorrect to compare royal life to the flu or a death sentence?”

Her chin lifted slightly as she said, “I’d like to be clear on something as well.”

“I am happy to discuss anything with you.” He noticed that she had not answered his question. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Are you really all right with having your bride picked out for you? Like a tie? Or a pair of shoes?”

“You are hardly a tie.”

She started pacing. “But you know what I mean. What if we don’t get along? What if I snore? What if we don’t get each other’s sense of humor? What if you don’t have one? What if—”

He held up a hand. “Clearly you have reservations about the betrothal.”