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‘Of course. What else did you think I meant when I said you would stay in Khatrain?’
‘I thought you meant until I’d had the babies.’
‘And then what?’ he asked, sitting up. ‘Did you believe I would pack you off to America, out of our babies’ lives?’
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t give you much benefit of the doubt,’ she responded, her eyes devouring his naked form even as she tried to pull away from him.
‘You were wrong.’ He ignored her barb. ‘I meant for you, and the children, to remain here. Obviously we must marry, to ensure their place in the line of succession.’
It was all too much. India shook her head, looking around for the time. She could still make her flight. She just had to convince Khalil that was in everyone’s best interests—she needed him to see sense.
‘You believe that I’ve been engaged in the kind of career that no one in your kingdom would ever accept. What if we were to marry and your suspicions hit the papers? You were worried enough when it was a simple kiss in a bar, but marriage?’
‘That is a consideration,’ he said seriously. ‘But it’s a risk we must take.’
‘What about your father?’ She pushed, desperate.
His lips tightened. ‘There is no option but to marry—for the sake of our children.’
‘You’re not listening to me. I don’t need your help. I can raise my children in the States, on my own.’
‘But they are my children too, India, and I will fight for them with every last breath in my body. I will not allow them to be raised away from me. So what option do we have then?’
Consternation struck her in the middle. She looked around for her clothes—discarded at the foot of the bed—and pulled on her dress, preferring not to have this conversation while she was stark naked, her body still covered in red patches from his stubble and touch.
‘Let me put it this way instead,’ he said slowly, once she was dressed. ‘The line of succession in Khatrain is quite specific. On my thirtieth birthday—in a matter of months—I am to inherit the throne. I will be crowned Sheikh, but only if I am married. It is a peculiar requirement of our country’s constitution. I have known for a long time that I must choose a bride and marry swiftly. If we were to do this your way, and not marry, I still would not permit you to leave Khatrain until the children were born, at which point I would demand that they remain here. In the meantime, I would be forced to marry one of the women my advisors have urged me to consider, and that woman, my wife and Sheikha, would be a stepmother to our children. Is that the future you want?’
She gasped, hot, bright lights flashing in her eyes at the awful picture he painted.
‘Or,’ he continued, his voice husky, his accent thick, ‘you could accept my proposal. Marry me and we will raise the children together. You would live the life of royalty, my kingdom would be your kingdom, the homes I have around the globe yours to enjoy, a fleet of jets at your disposal to travel home and see family any time you wished. And there would be this,’ he reminded her, standing and placing his arms on her hips, holding her tight against his taut body. ‘A marriage that meets both of our needs, yes?’
‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head, even as the strength of his argument was impossible to fault. How could she deny what he was offering? And what he was implying would happen if she didn’t agree? He was carving out a place for her in his life, in royal life, and, most importantly, in their children’s lives. The alternative was not hard to imagine: she would be sidelined at first and excluded eventually, her children raised without her.
But marrying a man she didn’t love? Who despised her? Since she’d watched her mother fall in love with her stepfather, India had known she wanted exactly that for herself—true, everlasting love. A proper family. That certainty had only solidified as she’d continued to witness her parents’ happiness over the years.
Marrying for love was a luxury no longer open to her. She wanted—more than anything—for her children to be near to her. That had to override everything else.
‘And what will you tell your people about me? More importantly, your parents?’
‘My parents will be so glad to know I’m engaged. They will not ask questions beyond that.’
He made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t. Marriage to Khalil was paved with danger. If the last half-hour had taught her anything it was that she was monumentally weak where he was concerned. What would it be like when they were husband and wife?
It was all too much to consider—she needed more time, a chance to breathe and think this through. But Khalil was staring at her, his mind made up. And on one score, he was perfectly right. She was in his country. His word was law.
‘Getting married is extreme,’ she said, her voice juddering.
‘On the contrary, it is sensible.’
She analysed their situation from every angle, trying to see her way through this, to imagine a different future. But all roads led back to the truth: they were tied together already. Was there any harm in formalising it? And yet, still she clung to the idea of more time, a chance to be sure she wouldn’t live to regret this decision. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice as he moved closer, his hand lifting to her cheek, cupping it. ‘And it is not as though our marriage won’t have a silver lining. It’s clear we share this desire.’
She bit down on her lip as her body responded to his nearness, his touch, overriding her momentary uncertainty. His eyes probed hers and she bit back a sigh, because she wanted to lift up and kiss him, but as soon as she did that, she knew what would happen—again. They couldn’t simply tumble into bed together every time they got close. This conversation was too important to be overpowered by their very mutual desire. India forced herself to step back, away from him and temptation, but it did nothing to tamp down on the slick of heat between her legs. She looked away, frustrated at her body’s response.
‘You don’t understand,’ she murmured. ‘My parents loved each other. I’ve always wanted that.’
His eyes sparkled, a hint of challenge in their depths. ‘It’s unrealistic.’
‘A loving marriage? You’re kidding, right?’
