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But she wasn’t.
She heard the echo of Wyatt’s voice. I’m sorry, Beth. You’re just too...ordinary.
She heard Alfie’s, when after six months of oddly chaste “dating” she’d disastrously tried to kiss him the night of senior prom, and he’d flinched away. I’m sorry, Beth, he’d told her mournfully. The truth is, I’ve never been remotely attracted to you.
And now this. No wonder Omar had been so late to knock on Beth’s door that night—he’d been busy seducing Sia Lane. Beth sucked in her breath. All the time, while she’d been putting on lipstick, brushing her hair, imagining she might be pretty, he’d been kissing the beautiful movie star. And doing more than kiss her.
He’s a sheikh. A billionaire king. If he’s only kissing your hand, it’s pretty clear what he thinks of you, isn’t it?
Feeling sick, Beth covered her face with her hands. Of course he’d choose Sia Lane over Beth. What man wouldn’t? No matter how mean and rude the woman might be, she was too beautiful and glamorous to be ignored. So Omar had slept with her. Then he’d tried to blame his preference for Sia on the tourist board.
For the love of heaven, the tourist board!
A choked sob came from the back of Beth’s throat. How could she ever have imagined, even for a moment, that the two of them had forged a connection? That Omar might actually be considering her to be his wife?
She’d been right all along. Omar had never seen her as a desirable woman, or potential bride. He’d seen her as a pal, just like the rest.
It was for the best, she tried to tell herself for the umpteenth time. But her throat ached with pain. Wiping her eyes, she reminded herself about the extra million they’d get for cancer research after she went to Samarqara. And seeing that Beth was only an amusement for the sheikh, not a real contender, she had no reason to feel guilty.
But that no longer made her feel better. Not this time. Not when she’d just been sucker punched by this final proof of what her heart had always known.
There was nothing special about her. Nothing at all. And there never would be.
Leaning back against the door, Beth cried.
CHAPTER FOUR
BETH DIDN’T SEE Omar at all on the flight to Samarqara the next morning. He’d already left Paris earlier, on one of his other private jets.
“The king must travel separately from us. It’s required,” Laila al-Abayyi, who’d also been selected as one of the five women for the bride market, told her with a smile.
“Traveling separately? Why?” Beth asked, sitting beside her in the jet’s lavish cabin.
“Tradition. But it could be worse.” Laila grinned. “In the old days, the king’s potential brides had to arrive either by camel across the desert, or by rickety ship across the Caspian Sea!”
Beth returned a weak smile. But her heart felt sad. Even the thought of seeing exotic Samarqara didn’t lighten her spirits. All she could think about was how happy she’d been last night, when Omar had kissed her hand and made her shiver, as his dark eyes pierced her soul. I need you.
Yeah. He needed her for advice. As a friend. Looking woodenly out the window, Beth took a deep breath. Then she thought again of how hard it must be to be king, how lonely.
Omar al-Maktoun did need a friend, she decided. Setting her hurt aside, she set her jaw. So a friend was what he’d get.
Beth would do everything she could to make sure he ended up with a bride who could actually make him happy.
She heard Sia Lane talking loudly on the other side of the plane about her latest worldwide blockbuster. The two women she was talking to, Taraji, a Silicon Valley executive, and Anna, an internationally known attorney, looked bored.
Beth wished Bere Akinwande, the Nobel Prize–winner, could have been here. But at breakfast that morning, all ten women had been presented with a contract they had to sign in order to be chosen to travel to Samarqara.
The vizier told them tersely. “He requires you each sign, before I can announce the fina
l five.”
“And if we don’t sign?” Bere had asked.
“Then you won’t have even the chance to be chosen,” the vizier had said with a smile.
Feeling wretched and a little hung over, Beth had looked at the contract. The language was simple, asking each woman to assert that she had no impediment to marriage, and that she was interested in Omar as a potential husband—knowing that the wedding that would take place within a month, would require the bride to live permanently in Samarqara, and that if pregnancy occurred, would be indissoluble.
There were murmurs of dismay from around the table. “Of course he’s gorgeous and I’d love to date him,” Bere said, alarmed, “but...marry him in a month?”
