Susan Mallery - Desert Rogues Part 1

“Exactly.”

“I don’t have a four-year degree. I had a scholarship, but things didn’t work out, so I earned a two-year degree, instead.” She paused, not sure she wanted to go into the mucky details of her past. Fatima was warm and friendly, but she was a woman of class and breeding. Dora doubted she would understand how Dora could have gotten herself in such a mess.

“You never went back to complete your education?”

Dora pressed her lips together. She’d meant to. Once the pain and the humiliation had faded, she’d thought she might apply to one of the many colleges in the Los Angeles area. If enough time had passed, perhaps no one would care about the scandal.

“Time slipped away from me,” was all she said.

Fatima continued to study her. Dora felt as if the older woman could read her thoughts. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Fatima guessed the source of her problems.

“Men are odd creatures,” Khalil’s grandmother said at last. “The weak ones run away from their problems and blame the world. The strong ones accept responsibility, but they have other flaws. They resist admitting they need someone to be complete. They want what they can’t have. Sometimes they need to almost lose something to appreciate it.”

Dora smiled. “Is that why you have me living in the harem?”

“Perhaps. Does Khalil need to be tricked into seeing that he has married a jewel?”

She was charmed by the compliment and uncomfortable with the question in equal measures. “I hope not.”

Fatima nibbled on a watercress sandwich. When she’d finished she wiped her fingers on a linen napkin. “I have enjoyed having you with me in the harem.”

Dora glanced around at the luxurious quarters. “It’s even more lovely than I’d imagined.” She grinned. “And my education is quite different from what I’d thought it would be.”

Fatima made a dismissive gesture. “You were thinking we would discuss sexual arts. There is plenty of time for that. The first year or so of your marriage will be a time of great passion. It is all about quantity and emotional bonding. After the first child is born, we’ll talk of men and women, of lovemaking. Then you’ll be ready to learn the ancient secrets.”

Dora felt herself flushing at the other woman’s candor. Were there really secrets she could use to keep Khalil in her bed? She thought about their single night of lovemaking. It had been wild and amazing, and she couldn’t imagine anything better than when he’d held her in his arms. She’d spent many hours reliving their intimacy, remembering the touch of his fingers, his tongue as he’d—

“Why did you marry Khalil?” Fatima asked sharply, the question jerking Dora out of her reverie.

Dora stiffened and stared at her. Fatima’s expression was unreadable.

“He swept me off my feet,” she blurted without thinking. “I was deeply impressed by him, but I didn’t think he would ever notice me. I thought he assumed I was simply a very efficient robot. But that wasn’t true. When he told me he cared about me and wanted me, I couldn’t resist him.”

“I see.” Fatima’s eyes gave nothing away. “He is not an easy man. Of course, look at his brothers, or his father for that matter. They don’t understand the heart of a woman. You will have to be the slender reed, bending in the storm.” She sighed. “How I loathe to speak in clichés, but it’s true in this case. The men of the Khan family are great leaders, honorable and just, but they are also arrogant and unyielding. So stubborn I wanted to hit my husband with a frying pan more than once.”

Dora didn’t know how to respond to Fatima’s confession. She pictured the slender, well-dressed queen of El Bahar toting an oversize frying pan from room to room in search of her annoying husband.

“Khalil is a man worth having, but only if the woman is worthy and strong,” Fatima continued. “You must be those things, my dear. Even if you don’t yet feel them.”

Dora swallowed, but didn’t respond. Nor did she ask how this wise old woman had figured out the truth…that Dora didn’t feel the least bit worthy of Khalil or her new title. Nor did she know if she would be able to bend like a reed. While it wasn’t in her nature to fight for something, she wasn’t sure she could simply acquiesce, either.

Fatima changed the subject, mentioning a charity fashion show that they would attend together at the end of the month. Dora listened, grateful that Khalil’s grandmother hadn’t asked anything difficult…like why Khalil had wanted to marry her. Dora knew it had happened; she had the wedding license and the ring to prove it. She saw the passion in his eyes, a fire so bright she could almost believe it. But none of that answered the real question of why he’d chosen her.

Dora stared at the henna staining her hands. The intricate pattern worked its way across her palm, then circled each finger, like dark lace.

Fatima brushed the back of her hand. “Tradition has it that a bride does not do work in the household until the last of the henna has faded. It marks the end of the honeymoon. You can imagine how for centuries young brides avoided water, or anything else that might hasten the fading process.” Fatima smiled fondly. “That is not for you to worry about, however. You’re a princess in this great house, and we’re unlikely to set you to work in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know,” Dora teased. “I peel a pretty mean potato.”

Fatima didn’t return her smile. “I would imagine you can do anything you set your mind to. Don’t forget that, child. Don’t give up too easily.” She rose to her feet. “Listen to me, prattling on like the old woman I am. Stand up, and let me look at you.”

Dora did as she requested. Like Fatima, she dressed traditionally for the ceremony. A simple silk chemise served as her only undergarment. Over that she wore a long-sleeved lace dress, fitted to the waist, then falling loose to the floor. Heavily embroidered robes went over the dress and covered her completely. Rihana had worked wonders with her hair, pulling it up and securing it with a diamond headdress. Except for the gold thread from the embroidery, she was dressed entirely in white.

Fatima, whose slender body was draped in exquisite robes of blue and green, circled her. “Just lovely. This wedding robe is more than a hundred years old. I was married in it myself.”

Dora glanced over her shoulder so that she could see the expanse of fabric in the mirror. El Baharian tradition prescribed that each bride add something to the marriage robe, a small picture of something symbolic to her alone. In the royal family, the picture was chosen by the groom and sewn by a female relative in his household. Fatima had stayed up late several nights completing her contribution to the robe.

The older woman touched a small design of a tree with many branches, just over Dora’s right hip. “That is the symbol of my homeland of Bahania. There was much discussion about what symbol would be added for you.” Fatima laughed. “Jamal suggested a portrait of Elvis, while Malik favored the American flag.”

She couldn’t imagine the king agreeing to either. “What did Khalil pick?”

“This.” Fatima touched a small flower near the hem. “Khalil said he wanted a symbol of the desert rose.” She smiled. “But he specified that one of the leaves was to be made to look like the paw print of the desert cat. As we have no such creature in our country, I thought it was a most unusual request.”

Dora could feel herself blushing. She remembered their night of lovemaking, when he’d first compared her to a desert rose, then afterward had called her his desert wildcat.

“Very interesting,” she said without meeting Fatima’s gaze.