To Wed a Sheikh

“Yes?”

“Your father consulted with me on the matter of your wife.”

“I have no wife.”

She sighed. “Yes. That is the heart of what he consulted me about.”

“I do not understand why it was necessary for him to discuss my marital status with you.”

“Because you refuse to and he is concerned.” She set her delicate crystal sherry glass on the gold-inlaid coffee table. “It is time, Kamal.”

“I disagree.”

“You are not getting any younger. It is your duty as crown prince to marry and produce an heir to the throne.”

“I know what my duty is. But I see no reason to hurry the process.”

“Your behavior is proof of that.”

“To what are you referring?” he asked.

She sighed. “You are seen with many women, yet you do not seem interested in a single one of them.”

Until now, he thought, remembering the way Ali’s eyes sparkled with mischief during their exchange. He wished she was like all the other women he’d known.

“I do not wish to rush into anything. It is my intention that the union be enduring.”

“Again I must remind you I’ve known you since you were a baby. There are other reasons for your hesitation. I am aware of your sensitive nature.”

“Such emotion implies a weakness not permitted the man who will assume responsibility for his country’s people.”

“The line of succession will go to your brother’s son if necessary. But that is only as a last resort. You are the crown prince. It is your obligation to try.”

“And I have been, Aunt Farrah. But the woman I choose must possess certain qualities.”

Shaking her head in defeat, she said, “As I said, you must do your best to produce an heir. What steps will you take toward acquiring a bride to accomplish this?”

“Do not worry, Aunt. I will do what is expected of me.”

“You haven’t so far. Why should I believe you will now?”

“Because my father wishes it now.”

“That’s true. He has charged me to see that your duty is done soon. I must inquire how you will go about finding a suitable woman to marry. If you require assistance finding someone, I could—”

“I don’t.” He let out a long breath as he struggled to keep a tight rein on his temper in the presence of a female who was also a revered family member.

“I wish only to help. Would you like me to compile a report of suitable candidates?” She folded her hands in her lap and stared at him.

“Choosing a wife is not unlike hiring an assistant. She must have certain qualifications and I’m perfectly capable of procuring a suitable candidate for my bride.”

“As you wish,” she said, her gaze never wavering from his. “But it is imperative that you understand the depth of your father’s displeasure.”

“I think I understand.”

She shook her head. “No. But hear this. If you do not select a bride in a time frame acceptable to the king, the choice will no longer be yours.”

Irritation scratched at his nerves and he fought to keep his voice neutral. “It was my understanding that arranged marriages were a thing of the past in El Zafir.”

She sniffed. “Only because they have become unnecessary. But if you continue to procrastinate, the practice can easily be reinstated.”

“Very well. Your message is duly noted.” He swallowed his anger and the taste was bitter on his tongue.

He left his aunt and walked back to his suite of rooms to change for dinner. As a small boy his father had continuously reminded him that with great power comes great responsibility. Kamal had learned from watching his father that weakness of emotion was an undesirable flaw. No one understood duty better than Kamal Hassan. He would do what was expected of him. But before he did, he would have a final fling. Suddenly a vision of Ali Matlock came to mind.

Chapter Three

Dinner in the royal palace, Ali decided, was like being thrown into the deep end of the pool with no working knowledge of water safety and no arm floaties to keep her from sinking. One on one with Kamal was one thing. But the whole family together in a dining room that felt as big as her entire apartment at home was intimidating.

This environment of wealth and formal beauty was so far beyond her frame of reference, she could as easily be on another planet. The soft ting of goldware against china was an elegant, sophisticated sound she’d seldom heard and always in a restaurant. Nothing in her nurse’s training had prepared her for this. If someone choked on a crab-stuffed mushroom and became a candidate for the Heimlich Maneuver or clogged their arteries from froufrou food and needed CPR, then she was your gal.

A symptom of her intimidation was being tongue-tied. The silver lining to that was being able to observe her surroundings without interruption. If she’d been a brave little soldier who muddled forward, she wouldn’t have had as much opportunity to admire the crystal chandelier overhead and the graceful wall sconces that lighted the room with just the right amount of soft glow. Nor would she have been able to appreciate the arrangements of fresh flowers on the table and every other flat surface in the room.

She admired the intricate pattern on the crocheted lace tablecloth and suspected it cost a small fortune. Only the imminent threat of dehydration could compel her to move a hand anywhere near liquid and chance a spill on the costly material. The upside: her full glasses of water and champagne would save the hovering servers the necessity of refilling them.

Ali looked at Princess Farrah who was sitting diagonally across from her at the end of a table long enough to line dance on. The woman was engaged in a spirited conversation with her nephew Rafiq and his wife, Penny, regarding El Zafir’s greatest natural resource—children. King Gamil sat at the head of the table talking with Fariq and Crystal about the country’s opportunities for foreign investors. Kamal was between Ali and Johara. She felt like a bump on a pickle and just about as exciting. Taking call for a teenage mother-to-be was one thing. Having dinner with a multitude of royals at the invitation of the little mother’s aunt was something else altogether. What did one converse about with them?

Ali was in over her head. No question about that. Kamal was intimidating enough all by himself, although she’d managed to stand up to him. But now she was afraid to open her mouth—even with Penny and Crystal there.

In college speech class, she’d learned one of the techniques to get over stage fright was to picture the audience in their underwear. Her gaze slid sideways to Kamal. In his dark suit, tone-on-tone deep gray shirt and tie, he looked every inch the designer-dressed, powerful crown prince—a sight that made her pulse pound and her hands tremble. One thing became crystal clear to her in that moment. Picturing Kamal in his underwear wouldn’t cure what ailed her. If anything, it could double-knot her tongue.

“Ali?”

“Hmm?” She glanced past Kamal’s chest to his aunt’s amused gaze. “I’m sorry. You were saying, Your Highness?”

“I said I’m delighted that you could accept my invitation for dinner this evening. We wanted to welcome you and make your first night in the palace memorable.”

“I—I—” She cleared her throat when the word came out a croak. “I assure you, this is an experience I’ll never forget,” she replied sincerely.

“Is your room comfortable?” the princess asked.

“Is there anything you need?” The king looked like a gracefully aging movie star with his dark eyes and silver hair. Very Cesar Romero.

Leaving her dessert untouched, Ali settled her gold fork on the side of her delicate china plate. It seemed the prudent thing to do since she couldn’t eat anything anyway.

“My rooms are wonderful,” she said, picturing in her mind the large suite.

The living room had French doors leading to a balcony that overlooked the Arabian Sea. The large bedroom was littered with numerous pieces of matching cherry-wood furniture. Gold bathroom fixtures. Marble floor. What was not to like? Her rooms were definitely satisfactory—the most satisfactory rooms she’d ever had.