Susan Mallery: The Sheik & the Bride Who Said No

“Possibly pregnant,” Daphne added for good measure.

“No way. I’m not ready to have a baby now. ”

“And if Prince Murat is?”

Her niece glared at her. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“You bet. I’m willing to do just about anything to keep you from throwing away your life. If you’d met someone and had fallen in love, then I wouldn’t care if he was a prince or an alien from planet Xeon. But you didn’t. I would have gotten involved with this sooner, but your mother did her best to keep the truth from me.”

Brittany sighed. “She’s pretty determined to have her way.”

“I’m not going to let that happen. Tell me honestly. Tell me you’re completely committed to this and I’ll back off. But if you have even one hint of a doubt, you need to give yourself time to think.”

Brittany swallowed. “I’m not sure,” she admitted in a tiny voice. “I want things to go great with the prince, but what if they don’t?” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to do what my parents want me to do and I’m scared.” She glanced around the luxury plane. “The pilot said we were landing in twenty minutes. That’s about up. I can’t meet the prince and tell him I’m not sure.”

Daphne vowed that when she returned to the States she was going to kill her oldest sister, Laurel. How dare she try to guilt her only daughter into something like this? Outrage mingled with relief. She held open her arms, and Brittany fell into her embrace.

“Is it too late?” the teenager asked.

“Of course not. You’re going to be fine.” She hugged her tight. “You had me worried for a while. I thought you were really going through with this.”

Brittany sniffed. “Some parts of it sounded pretty fun. Having all that money and crowns and stuff, but I tried not to think about actually being married to someone that old.”

“I don’t blame you.” The age difference was impossible, Daphne thought. What on earth could Murat be thinking, considering an engagement to a teenager?

“I’ll take care of everything,” she promised. “You’ll stay on the plane and go directly home while I handle things at the palace.”

Brittany straightened. “Really? I don’t even have to meet him?”

“Nope. You go back and pretend this never happened.”

“What about Mom?”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “You can leave her to me, as well.”

Just over an hour later Daphne found herself in the back of a limo, heading to the fabled Pink Palace of Bahania. Because of the long plane trip, she expected to find the city in darkness, but with the time difference, it was late afternoon. She sat right by the window so she could take in everything—the ancient buildings that butted up against the new financial district. The amazing blue of the Arabian Sea just south of the city. The views were breathtaking and familiar. She’d grown to love this country when she’d visited ten years ago.

“Don’t go there,” she told herself. There was no time for a trip down memory lane. Instead she needed to focus and figure out what she was going to say to Murat.

She glanced at her watch. With every second that ticked by, finding the perfect words became less and less important. Once Brittany landed back in the States, she would be safe from Murat’s clutches. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous as the long, black car turned left and drove past elegant wrought-iron gates.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. Daphne drew in a deep breath to calm herself as she waited for one of the guards to open the door. She stepped out into the warm afternoon and glanced around.

The gardens were as beautiful as she remembered. Sweet, lush scents competed for her attention. To the left was the gate that led to the private English-style garden she’d always loved. To the right was a path that led to the most perfect view of the sea. And in front of her…well, that was the way into the lion’s den.

She tried to tell herself she had no reason to be afraid, that she’d done nothing wrong. Murat was the one interested in marrying a teenager nearly half his age. If anyone should be feeling foolish and ashamed, it was he.

But despite being in the right, and determined to stand strong against any and all who might try to get in her way, she couldn’t help a tiny shiver of apprehension. After all, ten years ago she’d been a guest in this very palace. She’d been young and in love and engaged to be married.

To Murat.

Then three weeks before the wedding, she’d bolted, leaving him without even a whisper of an explanation.

“M s. Snowden?”

Daphne saw a well-dressed young man walking toward her. “Yes?”

“The prince is waiting. If you will follow me?”

As Daphne trailed after the man, she wondered if he had any idea she wasn’t Brittany. She doubted Murat had bothered to brief his staff on the arrival of a potential bride. He’d rarely concerned himself with details like that. So she would guess that his staff member had simply been told to escort the woman who arrived to an appropriate meeting area.

“Someone is in for a surprise,” she murmured under her breath as she walked down a wide corridor lined with stunning mosaics and elegant antiques.

Just being back in the palace made her feel better. She wanted to ask her guide to wait a few minutes while she stopped to enjoy an especially beautiful view from a window or a spectacular piece of artwork. Instead she trailed along dutifully, concentrating on tapestries and carvings instead of what she was going to say when she saw Murat.

They turned a corner. Up ahead Daphne saw a large tabby cat sitting in a patch of sun and washing her face. She smiled as she recalled the dozens and dozens of cats the king kept in the palace.

“In here, Ms. Snowden,” the man said as he paused in front of an open door. “The prince will be with you shortly.”

She nodded, then walked past him into a small sitting room. The furniture was Western, complete with a sofa, three chairs, a coffee table and a buffet along the far wall. A carafe of ice water and several glasses sat next to a phone on the buffet. She walked over and helped herself to the refreshment.

As she drank she looked around the room and shook her head. How like Murat to have a stranger bring his prospective bride to a room and then drop her off. If Brittany had been here, the teenager would have been terrified by now. The least he could have done was to have sent a woman and then have her keep Brittany company.

But she wasn’t Brittany, Daphne reminded herself. Nor was she afraid. Ten years had given her a lot of experience and perspective. Murat might be expecting a young, malleable bride who would bow to his every wish and quiver with fear at the thought of displeasing him, but what he was getting instead was a very different matter.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. She set down the glass and squared her shoulders. Seconds later the prince from her past strolled into the room.

He still moved with an easy grace of one “to the manor born,” she thought as she took in his powerful body and elegant suit. And he was still a formidable opponent, she reminded herself as he stopped and stared at her.

Not by a flicker of a lash did he indicate he was the least bit surprised.

“Daphne,” the crown prince said with a slight smile. “You have returned at last.”

“I know you weren’t expecting me,” she said. “But Brittany couldn’t make it.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. “Has she been taken ill?”

“No. She simply came to her senses. Even as we speak, she’s on a plane back to the United States. There isn’t going to be a wedding.” She thought maybe she’d been a bit abrupt, so she added a somewhat insincere, “I’m sorry.”