Marriage Behind the Fa?ade (5 page)

The words died, simply died. She couldn’t continue. His face said it all.

“This
is why you ran away like a child? Because of something you heard me say in a private conversation that you had no right to listen to?”

She swallowed. Her throat felt as if it were lined with razor blades. How dare he try to make her feel guilty! “You can’t turn this around, Malik. You can’t make it about me listening in on your private call when you plainly said you’d made a mistake. I wasn’t trying to listen. I came to remind you that we were due at the opera at seven.”

He looked so cold, so remote in that moment. She felt as if she’d violated his privacy when in fact
she
was the one who had every right to be upset. Damn it, he’d said he’d made a mistake! She’d been so desperately in love with him that she’d given up everything to go with him. Like some giddy schoolgirl with her first crush, she’d left her friends, her job and her home and followed him halfway around the world.

Because he’d asked her to. Because she’d believed he was the right man.

And then, when he’d suggested they marry, she’d been the happiest woman in the world. A little niggling voice had whispered doubts, but she’d ignored them. She’d been blind, thrilled, happy—and it had all come crashing down, just as she’d known deep inside that it must.

Girls like her didn’t get the fairy tale prince, not really. She was pretty, she supposed, but she wasn’t elegant. She wasn’t sophisticated enough for a man like Malik. She’d ridden the wave as far as it would take her, and then she’d had to go before it crushed her.

“You did not leave that night,” he said. “I remember the opera. It was
Aida.
You did not go for another week at least.”

“Because I kept hoping it was a mistake! I kept waiting—”

His gaze sharpened when she didn’t finish the sentence. “Waiting for what?”

She couldn’t answer. Because she’d been waiting for him to say he loved her. A foolish hope in light of everything that happened.

They’d gone to the opera that night, her heart feeling as if it were being ripped in two, and then they’d returned home. He’d had business to attend to, he’d said, and she’d gone to bed alone. She’d lain awake, waiting for him, but he never came. She’d finally fallen asleep as the sun was creeping into the sky, her heart still breaking.

She’d learned in the week that followed that a heart did not break cleanly or quickly. It happened slowly, agonizingly, by degrees.

And it wasn’t a sharp feeling, but a dull throbbing one that refused to go away. It was the kind of pain that permeated your entire body, your soul, and left you wanting to fall asleep and not wake up until it was in the distant past and you didn’t feel anymore.

Malik grew cold, detached. He spent his days closeted in his office, or traveling on business. He became darker, quieter, harder to read. But at night, he would slip into their bed and take her again and again, the pleasure so hot and intense that it took her breath away.

Soon, she’d started to think she’d misunderstood his conversation. And one night, when she was boneless and spent, her heart throbbing with conflicting emotions that were killing her inside, she’d let spill the words she’d been feeling for weeks but hadn’t been brave enough to say yet. She’d told him she loved him.

Sydney closed her eyes. Even now, the memory hurt.

He’d said nothing. It was as if he hadn’t heard her, but she knew he had because his grip on her tightened for the briefest of moments.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, though she’d had a vague hope he would tell her he loved her, too. When he said nothing, her last hope was crushed.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

His hand shot out, his finger tipping her chin up so he could gaze into her eyes. He was angry, yes, but he was also brimming with some other emotion she couldn’t quite pin down. Her skin sizzled beneath his touch. Would there be a mark when he pulled his hand away? Would she be forever branded with the imprint of his finger?

“Do not lie to me. Not now.” His voice was hard, dark, full of leashed fury.

“What does it matter, Malik?” she asked tiredly. “We’re finished. It’s over. What happened a year ago isn’t important. It won’t change anything now.”

“Tell me, Sydney,” he demanded.

She almost said it. Almost spilled her deepest desire to him. Her most foolish and misguided wish.

But he would pity her if she did. Right now, she still had her dignity. If she tore away that last veil, admitted her plaintive hope, she would reveal the depth of her foolishness to him.

Sydney jerked away, took a step backward as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have the right to ask. And I’m not answering. It’s
over.”

He stared at her, his jaw grinding—and then he swore. Explosively.

She took another step backward, both appalled and fascinated. She’d never, ever seen Malik lose his cool. Not once in the short time she’d known him. He was a passionate man, but a supremely regulated one. His rigid control never shattered.

“It’s not over,” he growled moments later, his accent thicker than she’d ever heard it. “Because you are here, Sydney, in Jahfar. You are my wife for forty days. And I
will
have satisfaction.”

She had no idea what that meant, but she shivered as he turned and swept away from her in a magnificent swirl of white robes. The air crackled in his wake, and she found herself sitting in her chair, staring after him, not quite remembering when she’d sat down.

Her stomach was hollow, her nerves stretched taught, almost to the breaking point. Coming here had been a mistake. Such a huge, huge mistake. She should have tried harder to find another way.

But what other choice had there been? It was the law.

And she
had
to get through it. They both did.

But she was beginning to doubt that either of them would make it through unscathed.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE did not see Malik for the rest of the day, nor did she see him the next morning. In some respects, it reminded her of their days in Paris, after the first couple of heady weeks when they’d been inseparable. Except this time it didn’t hurt so badly. She knew what to expect now, knew he did not love her.

Nor did she love him.

Malik was a prince, but he was also a businessman. He was lord of his own territory within Jahfar—Al Na’ir, she believed it was called—and he worked hard to make it profitable and self-sustaining. There was oil throughout Jahfar, but Al Na’ir had the richest wells. She remembered that he’d been working on a deal to modernize Al Na’ir’s oil industry when they were in Paris.

Sydney logged on to her computer and did some work on new listings that were coming up. In the past couple of years, she’d somehow become the office’s web guru. In truth, she loved playing with the site’s design. It wasn’t quite the same as painting pictures, but she hadn’t done that in years anyway. A twinge of wistfulness crawled through her, but she pushed it away and concentrated on the website.

This at least was something of which her father could approve. Something useful and practical, unlike art. She’d even thought of taking some classes in graphic design, of working to create things for people. It wasn’t the same as painting, but it was artistic—and you could make money doing it.

She made a few last changes, and then uploaded the new page to the website. The blazing purple graphic she’d created for The Reed Team stood out, her parents’ smiling faces gazing at her so confidently.

Now theirs was an admirable marriage. John and Beth Reed had met in college and been inseparable since. They’d married within a year, had two children, started their business and built it into something they could be proud of. Alicia, her older sister, was an overachiever like their parents. She was blond, stunning and wildly popular when they were still in school. As an adult, she hadn’t stopped excelling: a Rhodes scholar, Alicia had graduated at the top of her law class. She was a huge asset to The Reed Team now that they’d branched into commercial real estate.

Sydney slapped the laptop closed with more force than necessary. The old sibling rivalry was alive and well. She loved Alicia and applauded her success. But she’d always felt like the odd duck in her family of swans. She was the only fair-skinned redhead, the only artistic type, the only one who didn’t get a visceral charge out of making business deals. When she was little, she’d thought she was adopted—but now she knew it wasn’t true. She had her mother’s bone structure, her father’s eyes. She was a Reed all right.

But she was still the odd duck.

Lunch arrived sometime after the noon hour, served by Hala and a man who stood mutely by with the tray of food as Hala retrieved dishes and arranged them on the low table in the living area of Sydney’s suite.

There were dishes of olives, hummus, baba ghanoush, and grilled lamb with tomatoes that was served over fragrant basmati rice. Hala bowed and backed away, the man with her following suit. When they were a certain distance from her, they pivoted and hurried out the door.

Sydney blinked, and then shook her head slowly. The only time Alicia had been the tiniest bit envious of her was when she’d started to date Malik. If her sister could see this, she would no doubt turn pea-green.

Except that appearances were certainly deceptive. There was nothing to be jealous of, unless Alicia had a burning desire to live with a man who turned her inside out—and not in a good way—for the next forty days. Since Alicia’s current boyfriend basically worshipped the ground she walked on, Sydney doubted she’d want to trade places. Who would?

Sydney frowned. She had to stop comparing her life to Alicia’s perfect one. It did no good and only made her feel worse.

“They do you honor because you are a princess,” Malik said, and Sydney whirled to find him entering her rooms from the terrace. Today he was wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a crisp white shirt. Not so exotic as the
dishdasha,
but still unbearably handsome. Even in Western dress, he somehow managed to look as if he’d just ridden in from the desert on the back of a fiery Arabian steed.

Sydney’s heart kicked up several notches as he met her gaze, her skin heating by degrees until she knew she must have been red in the face.

She couldn’t help it. She was flustered, embarrassed and angry. Not a good combination.

“I wish they wouldn’t,” she said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

His sensual mouth flattened. “I know this. Why do you think I did not bring you to Jahfar before?”

Sydney tilted her chin up. “If that was your reason, why couldn’t you have told me? Seems awfully convenient to say that now, Malik.”

He strode toward her. She stood her ground until the last second, until he was nearly upon her. Just as she turned to flee, he sank onto the cushions arrayed around the table. She stared down at him, her heart still fluttering like mad. What had she thought he was going to do? Grab her and toss her over his shoulder? Take her to his bedroom and have his wicked way with her?

A tiny part of her whispered,
yes, please.
She ignored it as she moved to the other side of the table. Malik grabbed a piece of flat bread and dipped it into the lamb-and-tomato dish. Then he speared her with a look.

“Think what you wish, Sydney. You seem determined to do so anyway.”

She stood there, undecided what to do next. She didn’t like the fact that what he’d said made sense. Had he really considered her feelings last year? Had he tried to spare her the intense scrutiny that went with being his wife here in Jahfar?

Was it possible? Or was he just very good at making her feel petty?

She watched him eat, watched the slide of his throat as he swallowed. For a moment, she considered leaving. But where would she go? And why? It would simply make her seem even pettier than she already did.

Besides, the smell of the food was driving her insane. It’d been a while since breakfast, and her stomach was about to eat itself. She sank onto the cushions opposite him. “I don’t recall asking you to join me for lunch,” she said, reaching for a dish.

“In fact, you are joining
me,”
Malik replied, lounging sideways on an elbow. “I instructed Hala to set lunch in here.”

Sydney looked away and popped an olive into her mouth. It was too intimate, eating with him like this. They’d shared meals before—some of them in bed—but this time was different. Harder because of the emotion she felt being here now. Knowing she’d given him everything, believed in him, and he’d only ever given her a very superficial part of him.

“Why?” she said. “I could have come to the dining room—or wherever you usually eat. Or I could have eaten alone. That would have been fine, too.”

“Yes, but tonight we dine with my brother and his wife. I had thought we could use this opportunity for instruction.”

Sydney coughed as the next olive lodged in her throat. “Your brother—the king?” she managed to ask when she’d swallowed it. “And his queen?”

“The king and queen of Jahfar, yes. They wish to meet you.”

Heat prickled her skin again. She was so completely unprepared for everything this life entailed. No matter that it was temporary. Dinner with a king?

A king who had not been pleased with Malik for marrying her. “Is that a good idea? I’m not really here to stay.”

He shrugged. “Probably not, no. But we are commanded to attend. My brother is curious, I imagine.”

“Curious?”

“About the woman who enticed me to give up my cherished bachelorhood. Though she now wishes to divorce me.”

Sydney cast her gaze down. The lamb she’d taken a bite of had been delicious—now it was more like a lump of sod in her mouth. “Please don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what? Speak the truth?”

“You make it sound as if you are hurt. But you aren’t, Malik. Your pride perhaps, but not you. Not your heart.”

She could see out of the corner of her eye that he’d gone still. “How well you know me,” he said, his voice containing that hint of mockery she hated. “I’m amazed at your insight.”

Sydney closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “I don’t want to do this right now,” she said. “Can’t we just eat?”

“We can,” he finally said, reaching for another piece of bread. He tore it in half, handed one side to her. His fingers brushed hers as she accepted it, a tingle of fire rippling up her arm in response.

Why couldn’t there have been another way? Why did she need to be here in Jahfar, living in Malik’s house, eating with him, gazing at his once beloved face across a table and knowing their relationship was in its death throes? And now, as if it weren’t painful enough, she would have to face the brother who knew that Malik regretted marrying her in the first place.

Beyond humiliating.

Sydney dipped the bread in the sauce the way he did, scooped meat and rice up together. She made the mistake of glancing at him after she’d put the food into her mouth. He was watching her intently, his dark eyes smoldering as they held hers.

Her stomach flipped. “What?” she said when she’d managed to swallow. “Do I have sauce all over my chin?”

“Not at all.” He took another bite of the food while she focused on the variety of dishes instead of him. “I was thinking that you seemed to appreciate your first taste of Jahfaran cuisine.”

She was confused, nervous, and angry with herself for being so. Confused because he watched her so intently and she didn’t know why. Nervous because she imagined he was cataloguing her flaws. And angry because she cared.

“It’s good,” she said. “I’m enjoying it very much.”

Or as much as possible when the man who’d turned her world upside down sat across from her as if nothing bad or hurtful had ever happened between them.

“I am glad,” he replied. “But tonight I imagine the fare will be more familiar to you. The queen is half-American and will no doubt wish to make you feel comfortable.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Sydney said. “I like trying new things.”

His gaze sharpened, and she knew with a certainty he wasn’t thinking of food. “Yes, I remember this.”

Sydney glanced away, her face reddening. The bad thing about being so pale was that there could never be any doubt when she was embarrassed. Everyone knew.

“You will need to wear an
abaya
tonight,” Malik said while Sydney sent up a silent thank you that he did not pursue that line of the conversation. “I have ordered several for you to choose from. If we had more time, I would have them custom made. But the seamstress will be able to tailor one to fit for tonight.”

“There’s no need to have anything custom made,” she said. “It would be a waste of money. And I will pay for the necessary garments myself.”

“You are so determined not to accept anything from me. You were not always this way, I recall.”

Sydney tugged at the napkin on her lap. It was true that she’d never protested when he’d spent money on her before. It hadn’t seemed necessary then. She’d never asked him for gifts, but she’d never turned them down, either. “I see no sense in it. I don’t want to feel like I owe you for anything.”

“How odd,” he said, his jaw tightening as he stared at her.

“Why is that odd?”

“Does this prohibition against owing me only extend to financial matters? Because I feel as if you still owe me something for the way you left like a thief in the night.”

It was a direct hit, and yet it made her angry instead of remorseful.

“What could I possibly owe you for that?” she flashed. “You could have called me. You could have come after me. You did nothing. Because you knew you’d made a mistake, Malik. Because you wanted to be free of me but you didn’t know how to do it!”

It hurt to say it, but it was true. He’d made a mistake, and she’d done the dirty work for him by leaving before he could push her away.

He looked so coolly furious in that moment. “Do you honestly believe I lack the necessary courage it would take to extricate myself from a marriage I no longer wanted?”

It didn’t seem like him, and yet what else could she think? If he’d cared, he wouldn’t have waited a year to come after her. Which he’d only done because she’d initiated divorce proceedings.

“I don’t know what to believe.” It was nothing more than the truth.

“The correct answer, Sydney, is no.”

She pushed back on two hands and glared at him. “Then why did you say you’d made a mistake? Are you trying to tell me I didn’t hear you correctly? Because I’m fairly positive I did.”

A muscle in his cheek flexed. His eyes burned into her. “No, you did not hear incorrectly.”

In spite of the fact she knew it to be true, a sharp pain pierced her heart to hear him finally say it. As if she didn’t already know. As if she were hearing the words again for the first time. Ridiculous to feel so much when she’d had a year to think about what he’d said to his brother. And how he’d reacted when she’d confessed her love.

Malik stood. “I said the words, Sydney, though I did not intend for you to hear them. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Her head tilted back as she gazed up at him. Tears pressed at the corners of her eyes, but she’d be damned if she let one fall while he stood there. She would be strong, unfeeling.