Olivia Gates - The Desert Kings

He nodded thoughtfully. “A family friend. Yes. Someone that knows us, someone with a history with us. That would make the most sense.” Zayed leaned forward, snagged a pastry from the nearly full tray and took a bite. “Be ideal, actually.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said, making a few more notes on her pad of paper. “But tell me, I’m curious. Sharif has four children, three girls and a boy, two-year-old Tahir. Why wouldn’t one of them inherit the throne? Why does it pass to you?”

“It’s due to our old Sarq laws. In many ways we’re a modern country, but in other ways, we have changed very little in the past four hundred years, and Sarq tradition dictates that it must be a male ruler, and he must have reached the mature age of twenty-five, as well as be married with at least one wife—”

“At least one wife?” Her head jerked up. “How many wives are kings expected to have?”

“My father and grandfather were forward-thinking men and they both only took one wife. My great-grandfather had three.”

“But a king today could have more than one wife?”

“Legally, yes. Morally? No. For the past one hundred years, Fehrs have taken just one wife, and loved one wife. We are loyal to our women, and I—despite what you may have heard about me—will be loyal, too.”

“I suppose that would be a relief for your future wife.”

He smiled. “I thought so, too.”

“Now, do you have someone in mind, or are we to brainstorm and start a list?”

His expression turned lazy. “Oh, I have someone in mind.”

“Excellent.” Now they were getting somewhere, and she smiled at him expectantly.

He smiled back even more pleasantly. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve decided on you.”

Her pulse did a funny little flutter. Clearly she wasn’t following his logic. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve decided on you, Dr. Tornell. You’re perfect. Educated, accomplished, successful. And best of all, you’re an old family friend. Brother Sharif’s protégée.”

Rou stumbled to her feet, putting distance between them. “Have you been drinking?”

“I had a coffee, but it wasn’t an espresso.”

“Sheikh Fehr—”

“Perhaps it’s time you called me Zayed.”

Her voice hardened. “Sheikh Fehr—”

“We are virtually betrothed.”

Rou’s head swam. She sat down abruptly on the stone steps. “No. No, we’re not. Absolutely not. Under no condition, in any situation.”

“But I’m afraid Jesslyn and the children already believe it to be the case.”

She pointed down the hall. “Then go clear up the misunderstanding. I am here to help you find a wife, and that’s the only reason I am here.”

“I’ll still fund your research center. The money would still be yours.”

She, who never swooned, nearly fainted now. Was he serious? And had he really just mentioned money? That he’d give her money to marry him?

Rou grabbed the edge of the step with both hands and held on for dear life. Her stomach was doing crazy somersaults. In fact the room was spinning wildly. “We. Are. Not. Marrying.”

He just regarded her with lazy calm. “You know you’re the perfect solution. You’re exactly what I want. You know my situation. You know I need an arranged marriage and am not planning on a love match. You’re highly qualified as candidates go, you’re smart and interesting and our children would be very bright—”

“Good God! Children?”

“We could wait a year before trying to get you pregnant to see if Sharif is found, because if he returned, I’d of course free you from your obligations….”

“You’re serious.” Her voice fell to a whisper, and she once again was staggering to her feet, rushing for the privacy and sanctity of her bedroom and bath.

“There’s no reason to panic,” he called after her. “We’ll have the courtship. We’ll just begin after the ceremony.”

Rou turned in the doorway to her bedroom to look at him. He was still sitting where she’d left him, cool and calm and as confident as could be.

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even pretend he was insane. She knew the signs of insanity. He didn’t display those. But he was totally, completely out of touch.

She wasn’t the marrying kind. She’d never be the marrying kind. Thanks to her parents, she was committed to a life of celibacy. “If you won’t talk to Queen Fehr, I will,” she said fiercely. “Far better to clear the misunderstanding now than ruin all our lives.” She entered the bedroom and quietly but firmly shut the door.

ROU paced for a few minutes after Zayed left, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation because Zayed’s solution to the problem— marriage —wasn’t a solution no matter how you looked at it.

Although, she supposed that wasn’t entirely true. From Zayed’s perspective, if she married him, his problem was solved. He had a wife, he had a throne. He had it made.

She, on the other hand, gained nothing by marrying Sheikh Fehr. She loved her life. It was a great life, especially as she had no intention of ever getting married, and marriage was fine for other people, people who wanted a domestic life dominated by children and family. But that wasn’t for her. She loved work, needed her work, and there was no way she’d give up her career—her calling—for a man, much less a man like Zayed Fehr.

What she had to do was talk to Queen Jesslyn. Once Jesslyn knew the truth, Zayed couldn’t coerce her into marriage.

Although Rou dreaded going to Jesslyn now, especially after their breakfast together. Jesslyn had been so raw, so grief-stricken that it seemed unfair to hit her with one more thing now.

Rou closed her eyes briefly, sick at adding to Jesslyn’s burden, but what else could she do? Let Zayed manipulate her into marriage?

Never .

Although … and she’d never admit this to anyone, a tiny part of her was curious. Curious wasn’t the right word. Flattered might be better. It wasn’t as if she had hordes of gorgeous, sexy men in their prime beating down her door.

As a matter of fact there were no men beating on her door, and she was attracted to Zayed, terribly attracted. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as she fantasized about making love with him. Now a marriage proposal.

Not that she’d ever consider it.

No, she’d just have to talk to Jesslyn, and the sooner the better.

Rou allowed Manar to fill the gigantic marble tub in the equally gigantic bathroom for her. Rou would have preferred a quick, brisk shower but it wasn’t an option, and once Manar left her to bathe in privacy, Rou slipped out of her pajamas and into the steaming tub fragrant with vanilla and spice.

Rou almost laughed as she settled deep into the water. This was all so Arabian Nights, and if she were a different woman, she might be tempted to savor such luxury. Might even be tempted by Zayed’s proposal.

But she was a different woman, and she’d been raised with money, and she’d grown up in a sprawling mansion in Beverly Hills with maids and cooks, personal assistants and chauffeurs. And money didn’t buy happiness. Money didn’t protect love. Money just made people arrogant and selfish, petty and nasty.

While she worked with people who were wealthy, she never craved their toys, their bank accounts or their lifestyles. As long as she could provide for herself, material things were not her goal. What she wanted, needed, was independence. Confidence. Self-respect. She craved a world of her own, one in which she could control the emotions around her, including her own. Something she couldn’t do if she remained here in Sarq.