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‘I know.’
Jamalia’s smile had just a hint of smugness in it, and as she glanced in the huge mirror on the wall she positively preened as she smoothed back a non-existent loose hair in her sleek black mane. But a moment later her self-control slipped just a bit, showing a touch of vulnerability beneath.
‘But... I can’t go alone. I’ll need someone to help me—dress me—a chaperone.’
‘But why does it have to be me?’
Why couldn’t it be anyone else? Jamalia’s maid? Some other attendant? If only their mother hadn’t taken ill at just this particular moment. Now when she needed it least there slid into Aziza’s memory the recollection of how she had claimed to be just that—Jamalia’s maid—that night on the terrace when she had come up against Nabil in the shadows of the night.
‘I don’t understand you.’ Jamalia’s frown was a mixture of disbelief and displeasure. ‘I would have thought that you would look forward to another trip to the capital. You enjoyed the anniversary celebration, didn’t you?’
Aziza made a sort of inarticulate sound that her sister could take as agreement if she wanted to. Enjoyment wasn’t a part of the way she looked back on the night on the balcony when she had met up again with the man who had once held such a huge place in her young heart.
How could he have changed so much in the ten years since she had last seen him? Or had he changed at all? Wasn’t it more likely that she had been the one who had changed? She had grown up, matured, and that had meant that she no longer saw through the eyes of a child. Instead she saw the truth about the man behind her childish crush. Nabil was no different from the lordly boy who had occasionally enchanted her with a careless smile. It was just that she had never seen the truth before.
He hadn’t even recognised her! But something in her had recognised what he was. All that was male and virile in him had spoken very clearly to her most feminine core. She still got the shivers inside at just the thought.
‘Are you sure you want to go at all?’
She knew it was the wrong question but she had to ask it. Diplomacy, politics, the uneasy truce between two warring factions demanded that the Sheikh had a wife, and Jamalia was a prime candidate to fill that role. That was why they had been at the anniversary celebrations, after all, in the hope that Jamalia would catch Nabil’s eye. But Jamalia and their parents hadn’t met up with Nabil that night.
Aziza had and, recalling the cold, bitter man she had talked with, she was now forced to wonder, could she watch her sister marry that man?
Nabil had been so changed from the boy she’d given her heart to when she was young, and her heart ached for the loss of the person she thought he’d been. She could have watched Jamalia marry that Nabil...or could she? Wouldn’t that have broken her heart in a very different way? Loving Nabil as she had, wouldn’t she have longed for him as her own?
So could she go with her sister—watch her perhaps be chosen—watch her marry the Nabil she knew existed now?
‘Do I want to? Of course I want to go. Think of it, Aziza—to marry Nabil...become the Sheikha...’ Jamalia’s eyes glowed at the thought. ‘The clothes...the jewels...’
‘Is that all?’
‘All?’ Jamalia shook her head in disbelief. ‘It means a lot—and of course there is the added advantage of the fact that Sheikh Nabil is such a gorgeous man!’
She shivered in delighted anticipation. A couple of days before, Aziza might not have recognised the full impact of her response but now it brought back echoes of the way she had felt on a moonlit night on the balcony of the Ashar palace. Even now, just thinking of it, her blood heated and tiny, stinging sensations of awareness prickled over her skin.
‘Besides, you have to be my chaperone. Papa says so.’
And if Papa said so then that was it, Aziza acknowledged. His word was law and there was no going against it. The thought of facing her father’s wrath if she denied his command was actually worse than the prospect of meeting up with Nabil again.
‘So will you come?’
There was no other answer she could give. She wouldn’t have to see Nabil. There was no reason for her to have any contact with him.
‘All right, then. Yes, I’ll come.’
CHAPTER FOUR
NABIL HAD HAD ENOUGH. He had thought that by agreeing to an arranged marriage he was going to make things easier. That all he had to do was to instruct his chancellor to find a suitable bride, agree to any terms her family proposed and proceed to the wedding ceremony. Now it seemed that the rituals and procedures would never end. Today he had expected to see the chosen candidates; pick one to become his wife. Instead he was weighing up possible treaties, the balance needed for peace.
