The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... (3 page)

“Who are those children? Playing in the courtyard?”

Monique shook her head. “There are hundreds of children at the palace, your highness. Rebecca. They are the children of the servants who cannot afford to send them to school.”

“That’s terrible!”
Rebecca cried, rubbing her thumb against her finger. “I thought Assan had a mandatory education policy?”

“We do, but in practice, it is simply not
yet possible for all children to attend schooling.”

Rebecca knew instantly what her focus would be on as Queen of Assan. Education was the cornerstone of any civilised society, and until every child was able to receive proper schooling, she would not flag.
She needed something to train her mind on, to stop it from wandering in the direction of her husband. Her very, very conspicuously absent husband.

Spending time with the young children, learning phrases in Arabic from them and teaching them some English, helped to pass the days. In the back of her mind, she knew she
never stopped waiting for Tariq, though. Her mind was filled with possibilities for his disappearance. Had the idea of sleeping with her disgusted him so much that he had gone to seek solace in the arms of another woman? Perhaps one of the beauties who’d warmed his bed in the past?

The thought made her blood run cold, and she did her best to keep busy to stave off the depressing belief she held that he
was already breaking the bonds of their marriage. She might have been a virgin, but she wasn’t stupidly naive. Of course he would have a rampant libido, and no doubt he had a very willing harem of women delighted to service it at any time.

“Your highness,” one of the younger attendants spoke deferentially to Rebecca
, interrupting her troubled thoughts. “I have had a communication from the Emir’s staff. His Royal Highness will be returning this afternoon and has requested your presence at a dinner with the ambassador of Sweden and some other dignitaries tonight.”

With supreme effort, Rebecca managed not to visibly react. Inside, her heart was pounding hard against her chest, and beneath the table, her leg began to tap the floor with speed.

“I see. Please inform the Emir’s office I will be delighted. In fact,” narrowing her gaze as an idea occurred, “would you please take a note to him for me?”

The attendant nodded. “Of course, madam.”

“Excellent. One moment, please.”  She moved to the bureau against the far wall and took out a sheet of her monogrammed paper. She tapped the quill pen against the timber surface while she thought of just what to write. Finally, she marked the pages with all the bitterness she still felt at the unjust accusations he’d thrown at her on their wedding night. “Diplomatic dinners are not part of my employment contract. You will receive an additional bill in due course.”

She folded it up and sealed it with wax. She had been told on her first day at the palace, which she secretly liked to refer to as her Orientation camp, that letters she sealed with a wax stamp would remain completely private.
“Thank you, Daliyah,” she smiled at the young girl. “Please hand deliver this.”

A short while later,
Daliyah passed the crisply folded sheet to the Emir. He was in the middle of an important meeting but had bid her to stay in case he needed to respond to the Sheikha. As he read the note, she saw his face flicker with an emotion she’d never observed in their calm and patient Emir.

“Will there be a reply, sir?”

“Yes,” he nodded and held a hand up to the diplomat sitting at a large boardroom table. “Excuse me.” He leant forward onto his desk and frowned. How to respond to such impertinence...

“I would be happy to discuss payment plans.” He scrawled. “Perhaps another instalment like our wedding night?”

He folded the paper and passed it back to the girl, not bothering to wax seal it. No one dared invade the privacy of the King of Assan.

Rebecca read his response with fingers that were not quite steady. His mention of their wedding night brought a tumble of emotions crashing over her. Shame. Desire. Need
. Hunger. Embarrassment. Anger...and, overriding all those emotions, anticipation.

Fortunately, the silver lining to having a small gaggle of hand maidens wil
ling to wait on her every move was that she never had to face the difficult decision of “what to wear” ever again. When she returned to her suite of rooms to dress for dinner, Monique had already selected a Dior gown from the rack of designer dresses she’d received as wedding presents.

Rebecca showered – something she insisted on doing
unassisted. “I have been washing myself for a long time, ladies. I can manage just fine without your assistance, thank you.”

Her small staff did help dress her though. When Rebecca emerged in her fine lace underwear, the youngest three were holding
the spectacular dress , ready for Rebecca to step into. She obediently slid her feet through the layers and layers of fabric and waited patiently as they eased it up her long legs and over her hips, lifting the straps in place carefully. It was heavy, and cold, and the most beautiful shade of blue she had ever seen.

“It makes your eyes
shine,” Monique said appreciatively as they stood back to observe the dress once in place. “It helps that you have the proportions of a catwalk model,” she added, admiring the way the dress hugged the slender Queen’s body in all the right places.

“Hardly,” Rebecca demurred instantly, seeing only her too-small breasts, and too
thin arms.

Two of the girls set about fixing Rebecca’s hair. Left out, it fell to the small of her back, but they effortlessly styled it so that it was arranged in a loose side bun.

“Minimal make up,” she stated firmly as they scooped up their tools. Her wedding make up had made her feel like a peacock and she was not keen to repeat that look again.

The girls followed her instructions, adding only a hint of blush, mascara and some gloss to her lips.

What her face lacked in interest, the enormous diamond necklace Monique clipped in place more than made up for. Rebecca fingered it nervously. “Remember, you are Queen,” Monique whispered gently, sensing the Sheikha’s trepidation at this, her first official event.

Rebecca met her eyes in the mirror and nodded. “Yes. I am.”
And when she stood, she looked every bit as regal as she now was.

As she was escorted to the formal entertaining rooms by a small army of security and her attendants, she mulled
over how contrary her mind was. It wasn’t the prospect of her first diplomatic dinner that had her stomach in knots. Far from it. It was the knowledge that tonight she would see Tariq for the first time since their wedding night. That thought alone made her feel weak at the knees.

“Your highness,” one of the Emir’s staff greeted her at the door. He didn’t acknowledge the rest of her team. She supposed that was protocol, and yet she felt it was a slight, particularly to Monique.
“Please, come this way.”

Rebecca
turned and gave Monique a reassuring smile, then slipped through the thick wooden doors.

With relief, she saw that the gathering was small. Perhaps six or seven men and a matching complement of women. Her eyes scanned the room and stopped the second they crashed into
Tariq. He was in conversation with a blonde haired man, and for the first time, she saw him in a completely relaxed state. He was smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle a little at the corners, and his voice, which carried across to her, was jovial and enthused.

Rebecca looked away. She would not let him know she’d
even noticed his absence. Certainly not that she’d been pining for him.

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Rebecca Kassis Amari,” the man to her left announced to the room. She felt, rather than saw, the moment
Tariq’s eyes came to rest on her face. It was as if some sixth sense was attuned to his every moment. Forcing her legs to carry her into the room, she moved forward a few steps.

“Your highness,”
Tariq’s voice wrapped around her like cashmere.

She turned her sky blue eyes on her husband and fixed him with a steady
gaze that disguised the anxious state she was in. He moved to meet her, watching as her face remained impassive.

She was so demure, so perfectly in control of herself.
Qualities that a Queen should possess. And yet, looking at her now, for the first time in a week, he longed to pull her back into his arms and make her moan as she had on their wedding night. What deep rivers of passion ran beneath that very beautiful, very untouchable surface.

With effort, he restrained himself and settled for a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Wealth becomes you,” he said in an undertone, eyeing the designer gown she wore.

Rebecca pretended she hadn’t heard his insult, but inside, her stomach rolled. She took a tiny step backwards, to create some more space between them. Already, she could feel that unmistakable thrill of longing crashing through her body.

“Ah, the woman who’s made an honest man of my friend,” the blonde man was only a few steps behind
Tariq, a broad smile on his face. He was very good looking, but when Rebecca looked at him, she felt nothing. The fireworks exploding just beneath her skin were reserved for one man, and one man alone.

“Rebecca, this is Eric Hanssen, ambassador of Sweden.”
Tariq said smoothly, standing so close he was almost touching her. Through the fabric of her gown, she could feel the warmth from his body. “Eric and I were at Yale together,” he added. “So we are on a more relaxed footing than you might expect.”

Yale. She remembered that from his biographical information. And it explained the way he spoke English with an American accent.

“I’m pleased to meet you, your highness,” Eric said formally, and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Definitely no sparks. Tariq placed a hand in the small of Rebecca’s back and gently guided her forward, introducing her to each of the guests they would be dining with.

The last to be brought to her attention was
Faisal Kassis, a distant cousin of the Emir’s. Rebecca recognised him from their wedding reception. He’d spent most of the night glowering across the room, and when they’d spoken briefly on that night, he’d barely lifted his eyes from her breasts. He was having similar difficulties tonight. If they were back in England, she would have gone as far away from him as possible. Quite simple, Faisal gave her the creeps. But this was not England. It was a state dinner, and she was the Sheikha, representing the Kingdom of Assan and the royal family.

When he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it in a gesture of reverence,
she felt her skin prickle with distaste. Something about him made her feel very ill at ease.

Although
Tariq didn’t exactly make her feel relaxed- for entirely different reasons- she found herself seeking solace in his presence. It was her first diplomatic outing, but as the evening progressed, she realised that she had a natural instinct for small talk and flattery. Perhaps it was her job. Working with special needs children required a constant diplomacy and even temperament. Parents tended to be even more sensitive and protective when their disabled children were involved. To get the best results for her students, she frequently had to broach difficult conversations in the hope of getting everyone working together.

As time wore on, she felt a real glow of pride in how well she was coping with the intimidating situation.
The one blight in an otherwise pleasant evening was Faisal. How he made her shudder! At least Rebecca had been placed between Tariq and Eric, and though she felt Faisal watching her much of the night, she was able to keep her eyes averted and try to keep up with Tariq and Eric’s boisterous run down memory lane instead.

The
more she learned of this man she had married, the more she wanted to know. He had been raised predominantly in Europe and America, which explained why he was so westernised in so many ways. Why she didn’t feel that they were so culturally disparate.

“I had better get to bed,” Eric said on a languorous stretch once the strong Arabic coffee had been cleared.

“I will walk you to your room.” Tariq said, rising from his chair. It was a sign to the other diners that the evening was concluded, and they likewise stood and began to filter from the room.

Each guest farewelled Rebecca with a small bow. All, except
Tariq, who shot her a look that, to Rebecca at least, smouldered.

She waited until everyone had left
the room, and pressed the palm of her hand into her chest. Maybe if she pushed really hard, her heart would stop feeling so twisted out of shape. Maybe not.

She stood and slowly walked across the
formal dining room, enjoying the swish of her dress with each step she took. That was it. It was over. When would she see her husband next? Another week? Two? Was this really the life she’d chosen to lead?

She thought of the children she was spending her days with and at least that brought her happiness.

There was a creak at the door and Rebecca turned around slowly, her heart starting to race as she prepared to see her husband. Surely he had come back, after all. Maybe he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he seemed. Only it wasn’t Tariq. Faisal Kassis was back, and for once, there was not a security guard in sight.