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“Your second mistake,” he said coldly. “You were supposed to vet the candidates.”
Khalid looked pained. “She signed the contract E. Farraday,” he protested. “There are few photos of her sister. I believed she’d just gained weight.”
Gained weight in all the right places, Omar thought. He remembered the sweet feel of Beth’s soft body against his. He’d been so sure he’d found the woman to spend his life with. So sure that he’d immediately married her and taken their wedding night.
Khalid was right. The bride market had been a mistake.
“I don’t understand why the banquet is still set to continue, sire. Why have you not thrown her from the palace in disgrace?”
When Omar had told him that he’d married Beth in the old, intimate ceremony, his vizier’s howls had been loud. Now he replied, “You know why.”
“Yes.” The vizier’s lip curled. “But why not divorce the American shop girl in private, as you married her? Announce Laila as your queen. The people’s hearts will be glad when they see a Samarqari bride, and they will soon forget the other.”
Omar rose to his feet, slamming the table with his fist. “When will you understand? I will not marry Laila. She still reminds me of...”
His old friend went pale. “Of Ferida.”
Silence fell. Omar looked away, his heart tight.
I belong to another, for as long as I have breath.
He remembered Ferida’s tortured note, written right before the desert consumed her.
I can never belong to you, even if you’re the king, even if it’s the law.
Omar shuddered with pain. After Ferida’s death, he’d changed the law so that any woman had the right to refuse to marry, even if her parents ordered it, even if the demand came from the king himself. But he’d never wanted to risk another unwilling bride.
That was what this bride market was supposed to prevent. Instead, it had fallen apart. Because of Beth Farraday’s lies.
It was just supposed to be fun. A chance to see Paris and do some good in the world.
He remembered how she’d felt beneath him in bed, the first time he’d pushed into her. How he’d shuddered with the difficulty of self-control, so desperate he’d been to please her. He’d even married her instantly, rather than disrespect her.
And all the while she’d been lying about the most basic thing imaginable: her identity.
Omar had wanted a woman he could respect and trust. Instead, he’d gotten the opposite.
Setting his jaw, Omar looked out the window toward the tall tower, where he’d left her.
I’m sorry, she’d repeated in a small, quivering voice. Had she really expected his forgiveness? he wondered bitterly. When, for the sake of money and a free trip to Paris, she’d carelessly destroyed everything he’d sought to achieve as king?
In spite of his precautions, Omar knew it was just a matter of time before the rest of the world discovered he’d been tricked by the wrong sister. His people would think him either a weakling or a fool. Perhaps they’d decide to get rid of the monarchy altogether, leading the kingdom into chaos.
From the day he’d taken the throne, Omar had tried to bring his people together, and build the prosperity of all. It hadn’t been easy. As a boy he’d once dreamed of freedom, of being able to do whatever he wanted, without the chafing bonds of duty. But since the death of his older brother, that had remained just a dream.
Having a solid marriage, a partnership of friendship and trust, was his biggest dream of all. His own parents had hated each other; after his brother died, they’d separated in fact, if not name.
Omar had thought he could do better. Because how could a man unify a country, if he couldn’t even unify his own home?
Remembering how happy he’d felt with Beth in his arms, he felt sick. At any point since she’d arrived in Paris—when she was chosen for the top ten, when she made the top five, when she arrived in Samarqara—she could have confessed the truth. Instead, she’d made the choice, again and again, to lie.
And if she was pregnant...
He would permanently have a liar in his bed. As his wife. As the mother raising his children, and the future ruler of his beloved kingdom.
Assuming there even was a kingdom, after it was discovered Omar had defied the unanimous advice of the high council, and rejected the most honored heiress in the land, to marry not a world-famous scientist, but a lying gold digger from Houston.
Hassan al-Abayyi would likely lead the revolt. Fairly or not, the man held a grudge against Omar for the death of his eldest daughter. He would never forgive this second insult.
