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Silence fell.
“My punishment,” Sharif said, “is that you will take her away to live in peace far, far from Makhtar City. And in return—I will say nothing of her betrayal when I announce my change in wedding plans.”
The man slowly straightened. His wrinkled face was filled with awe. “You will say nothing of our shame?”
Sharif nodded. “I will say the reason for my change of bride is a personal matter. I will say it’s because I’ve fallen in love for the first time in my life, and there’s only one woman I want to be my partner on the throne. Only one woman fated to be my wife. Only one I want to be the mother of my children. I will give this explanation to our people today, but only on one condition.” He looked at Irene. “If you agree to marry me right now.”
“Say yes,” the older man gasped.
“Say yes,” Aziza cried from a short distance down the hall.
“Say yes!” cried Basimah and Hassan and all the rest of the palace servants who’d gathered to watch from the ends of the hall.
Irene looked at him, her beautiful pink-cheeked face shining with love.
“Yes,” she whispered.
It was the single sweetest word Sharif had ever heard. As he pulled her into his arms, he dimly heard the servants and courtiers burst into spontaneous applause and cries of approval. But all he could think about was the moment his lips would touch hers.
And then...they did.
* * *
“Feel married yet?”
Sharif’s voice from the bedroom of their Denver hotel suite was equal parts wry and frustrated. Irene smiled at herself in the bathroom mirror. She couldn’t blame him for feeling a little impatient. They’d been officially married in Makhtar two days ago, but had yet to have a wedding night.
It had been a hasty, very formal ceremony. Since she had no official father or male representative, Sharif had abruptly changed the law and decreed that from now on, the marriages would be signed and arranged only by the bride and groom themselves. They’d signed the contracts, then before they’d even had a chance to kiss, the two of them had been forced to part for a full day of wedding celebrations, with the traditional separate feasts for women and men. Irene hadn’t been thrilled about attending any six-hour party without Sharif at her side. But as the new sheikha of the land, she’d done it anyway.
Her first royal obligation hadn’t been all bad. The women at the feast had come up to her, some shyly, some happily, but all of them relieved to have Irene as the new queen in Kalila’s place, even—perhaps especially—the heiress’s cousins and distant relatives. Irene was truly touched by their kind words and gracious welcome. Of course, Aziza was over the moon about it, bouncing with joy she didn’t even try to disguise. Privately, Irene had thanked Basimah with tears in her eyes. Basimah had demanded that she never mention it again, but then sniffed and wiped her eyes and said she hoped Irene would be a good ruler, loyal and kind.
Irene had still been in shock. She, a nobody from Colorado, the girl who had been mocked and tormented through school about her poverty and family’s scandalous past, was now the honored queen of one of the wealthiest nations in the world. She just wished her family could be here to see it...
Her family.
The instant Sharif had arrived at the women’s feast to give the groom’s traditional greeting, she’d grabbed his arm. “We need to go to Colorado right away,” she’d said anxiously. “My sister and mother missed the wedding. They need to be part of it, too...”
“I’ll send my plane and bring them here,” he growled. He’d stroked her cheek. “I want you in my bed tonight. Right now...”
She’d trembled from his touch but remained stubborn. “My mother can’t leave Colorado, she’s just started rehab. But she might be able to leave for just an hour or two and meet us for a quick ceremony in Denver. Please, Sharif,” she’d whispered. “Please.”
He’d looked mutinous, then sighed. “Of course, your family must be part of it.”
“And,” she said thoughtfully, “I could maybe invite Emma—and Cesare...”
An hour later, they were on Sharif’s private jet, heading for Colorado. Irene would have been more than willing to have their wedding night at cruising altitude, to join the Mile High Club on their way to Denver, which was nicknamed the Mile High City. But this time Sharif was the one to grumpily refuse.
“You haven’t waited all your life for your wedding night, to have it haphazardly on some random plane.” He’d kissed her, and said softly, “We’ll have only one first time, you and I, and it’s going to be done properly. In a honeymoon suite at the best hotel in the city, after your family has seen us well and truly married.” He’d sat down on the white leather sofa, looking very pained as he muttered under his breath, “Even if it kills me.”
