Jane Porter - The Princess Brides - The Sultan's Bought Bride / The Greek's Royal Mistress / The Italian's Virgin Princess

There was no way she’d go through with this marriage.

Not even to rescue Lilly?

The little voice in Nic’s head made her sigh, close her eyes. She knew she’d marry Bluebeard if it’d save Lilly. But oh, let there be another way…

There had to be another way…

Once again Nic woke up in a bad mood. She hated lies. Detested hypocrisy. And yet here she was, about to begin another day pretending to be someone she was not.

Alea had breakfast waiting outside in Nic’s private courtyard, and after wrapping herself in one of the long silk robes from her wardrobe, Nic wandered outside, pulling her hair into a ponytail high on the top of her head.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the koi pond outside. Brown hair. Long messy ponytail. Dark circles under the eyes.

Princess heading to disaster.

Alea sat with Nic while she had her breakfast. ‘‘It’s going to be a busy day,’’ Alea said, studying Nic’s calendar. ‘‘Language lesson. Culture lesson. Then a wedding gown fitting—’’

‘‘No.’’

Alea looked up from the appointment book. ‘‘Did you want lunch before the fitting?’’

‘‘No. No, I don’t want to go to the wedding gown fitting—’’

‘‘It’s only scheduled for an hour.’’

Nic covered her face with her hands, rubbed her forehead, hating the headache that never seemed to go away. ‘‘I just wish…I mean…why can’t the fitting wait?’’ Nic shook her head. No use complaining. Alea hadn’t made the schedule and Alea couldn’t change her schedule.

But Alea frowned, feeling responsible. ‘‘Do you want me to send a message to His Highness? Would you like to speak with him?’’

Nic’s gaze rested on the courtyard’s lacy latticework, and her view through the open bedroom door to her suite of rooms. The ceiling in her bedchamber was high, and painted gold and blue, the floor covered in graceful tile mosaics—all lovely, all intended to seduce the senses, subdue the will—but Nic didn’t want to be seduced and subdued. She wasn’t here to be charmed. And she wasn’t about to be wooed.

‘‘These rooms,’’ Nic said, ‘‘they’re incredibly beautiful. Are all bedrooms in the palace like this?’’

‘‘Oh, no, Princess. There are just a few of these special rooms. They are reserved for the sultan’s favorites.’’ Alea smoothed a page in the open appointment book.

The sultan’s favorites? As in plural. Very nice. Nic’s eyebrows lifted satirically and she glanced around once more seeing the palatial use of space, large outdoor sunken pool, koi pool, and colorful mosaics with fresh eyes. ‘‘This was part of the harem.’’

‘‘For the sultan’s chosen.’’

Ah, well, that was much better, wasn’t it? Nic thought pushing away from the table, thinking it fitting that she moved from one excruciating test to another. Breakfast in the harem followed by Arabic lesson with the cousin. How could life get any better?

Nic survived the arduous lesson, and then happily the study turned to geography. Today Fatima pulled out a map of Baraka and its neighboring countries and Nicolette loved learning about the various geographical points of interest—the mountain ranges, the river, the great deserts.

Abruptly Fatima folded the map. ‘‘What do you know about our weddings?’’

‘‘Very little,’’ Nic answered, wondering why Fatima had taken the map away. She’d been enjoying the lesson immensely and they still had plenty of time left. At least fifteen minutes.

‘‘You should know about our weddings,’’ Fatima continued tersely. ‘‘They are very important in our culture, and they are very expensive.’’ Fatima’s lips curled but she didn’t seem to be smiling. ‘‘Wedding celebrations generally last a week. The wedding itself takes place over several days. Yours will probably be at least three days. Each day of the wedding week you’ll receive more gold and jewelry from Malik. And then finally on the wedding day, you’ll be carried in on a great table, covered in jewels and all the gifts Malik has given you.’’

Nicolette was appalled, disgusted that she’d be paraded about on a table like a roasted pig at Christmas.

‘‘You are very lucky,’’ Fatima added forcefully. ‘‘You are grateful for your good fortune, aren’t you?’’

A murmur of voices sounded from the doorway and Nic glanced over her shoulder to see the servants bowing. King Nuri had entered the room and Nic couldn’t be more relieved.

‘‘Good morning,’’ Fatima greeted, rising.

‘‘How is the lesson coming?’’ he asked, approaching them, wearing dark casual slacks and a long-sleeve shirt the color of burnished copper. The shirt flattered his complexion, enhancing his features and the inky black of his hair.

‘‘Good,’’ Fatima said stiffly. ‘‘We’re done.’’

‘‘Fine. Then allow me to steal my princess.’’ He bent his head, kissed Nicolette on each cheek, and waved off Fatima, indicating she was free to go and turned to Nicolette. ‘‘You’re certain the lesson went smoothly?’’

She glanced up into his face. His expression was guarded. She wondered if he’d heard something when he first entered the room. ‘‘It went smoothly. Your cousin is quite knowledgeable.’’

‘‘She is,’’ he agreed. ‘‘And at times a little formal.’’ He hesitated a moment. ‘‘I thought I heard her speak of our wedding customs.’’

So he had heard something. ‘‘She was describing the ceremony. I must admit, it seemed a little…otherworldly to me.’’

‘‘Which part?’’

She felt heat rise to her cheeks and tried to shrug casually. ‘‘The part where the bride is draped in gold and jewels and carried in, reclining on a table.’’

He laughed, the sound deep and husky, and far too sexy. ‘‘It’s not exactly the same thing as walking down an aisle in virginal white, is it?’’

It amused him, this little play acting of hers. The princess was determined to stick with the role, even though it didn’t suit her at all.

He’d known she was Nicolette from the moment she arrived, and yet he’d gone along with her charade, curious to see how far she’d let this go. He’d heard she was tough—spirited—independent, and her fire intrigued him. As well as challenged him. She might be a player, but so was he. He’d play her game. And he’d beat her at her own game.

Watching her face now, he secretly hoped she would give him a good run for his money. Women had always fallen at his feet, swept away by his power and money. Women had always been…too easy. But Nic wasn’t easy. And he liked that.

The fact that she’d come to his country and try to play him…now that was daring. She was a born risk-taker. Good for her. Too many people played it safe throughout life.

‘‘Should we go try on that wedding gown now?’’ he asked, feeling almost guilty for enjoying himself so much. And yet it’d been a long time since he’d felt so enthusiastic, or optimistic, about anything.

He saw how the word ‘‘wedding gown’’ made Nicolette’s jaw clench. It was all he could do to keep his expression blank.

‘‘You’re going to accompany me to the fitting?’’

‘‘Why not?’’ he answered with a shrug.

The tip of her pink tongue appeared, briefly touched the edge of her teeth. ‘‘Is it customary?’’ But she didn’t give him chance to answer as she immediately continued. ‘‘Because somehow I can’t imagine it’s allowed here. According to your cousin Fatima, the men and women are still so segregated. Once girls hit puberty, women begin to lead separate lives…’’ Her voice drifted off. She tried again. ‘‘Perhaps I’ve misunderstood her, or perhaps I’ve misunderstood you.’’