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His eyes narrowed and something dark crossed his expression. “Careful, sheikha. That sounds a lot like you are questioning my integrity.”
“How? By stating a fact?”
“You think I have been sleeping with other women?”
She was on dangerous ground and yet she couldn’t retreat. “I haven’t thought about it at all,” she lied. “But, if I had to answer that, I would say, of course. This isn’t a real marriage, you’re…”
“Yes?” He prompted with a dangerous edge to the words.
“Well, you’re you. All virile and masculine and no doubt used to regularly being…”
An eyebrow lifted up, and embarrassment flicked at the edges of Chloe’s mind, making it impossible for her to finish the sentence.
“I am a married man,” he said with a shrug. “I am not interested in breaking the vows we made to one another.”
She had thought the ground was tilting beneath her moments ago, but now, it fairly shook! Was he actually saying that he’d been celibate this past year? That the virile and masculine specimen of royalty and hotness had gone without a partner – because of her? Because of their marriage?
“Fine,” she said, as though this revelation hadn’t made her pulse fire. “But if this is just about assuaging Malik’s worries, then why not simply tell him we’re trying for a baby? Surely that will do the same thing?”
Raffa’s eyes narrowed. “I hope, Chloe, that we can provide him with more than the thought of an heir, before he leaves this earth. His condition is worsening, but I have no reason to think he won’t survive long enough to meet his grandson.”
“Or granddaughter,” she pointed out, sipping her water, holding it tightly in one hand to hide the way her fingers were trembling.
“Or granddaughter,” The sheikh conceded with a nod. “The gender does not matter. The constitution will recognize either as my heir.”
Chloe tilted her head thoughtfully to one side. “You already have a son, do you not?”
It was the first time she’d played that card, the first time she’d spoken about the secret child, Amit, who was not so secret after all. Everybody knew of him. The twelve-year-old who was the product of a youthful indiscretion – rumoured to have been a love affair that was strictly forbidden by Raffa’s father.
“Leave Amit out of it. We are talking about my heir,” he recovered quickly, taking a step towards her, so that she fought an impulse to step backwards.
“Aren’t they one in the same thing?”
“He’s not my legitimate heir,” Raffa said with a shrug. “You are my bride. Only you can provide Qad’r with the child it requires.”
“You’re to be the King. Surely you can change the rules of succession?”
“Of course you would think ancient rules should be set aside when they become inconvenient. How very American of you.”
She ignored his condemnation. “I should think you find it inconvenient as well.”
His nostrils flared. “Amit will not inherit the throne, and he knows this. It has never entered his head that he would. He wouldn’t want the job, even if it were offered,” Raffa remarked with an affectionate smile.
A throb of jealousy robbed Chloe of breath. Raffa loved his son – that was natural. Why did that hurt? Why did she feel a sense of pain to see the way Raffa softened when thinking of another human? Because he would never soften towards her.
Not because he hated her – he didn’t. She would take his hatred – she would take any kind of emotion in preference to the coldness with which they treated one another.
Coldness, and disapproval. Yes, disapproval, because he disliked the necessity of this marriage as much as she. Because he’d thought he was getting a certain type of bride and instead he’d found himself married to a woman with her own ideas about where she wanted to live and what their lives would look like. They’d butted heads from day one, and that didn’t look like changing any time soon.
“You’re nervous.” The words were grim.
For a second, Chloe almost dropped her mask of unconcern. “Not at all,” she lied.
“You’re inexperienced.”
Chloe lifted a brow. “Employing euphemisms? For your comfort or mine?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re a virgin,” he said simply.
