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“Dad.” I sigh heavily. “He’s heard about our wedding.”
“As I would have expected.”
My jaw drops. “I honestly thought we’d have a bit longer.”
“Why? You’re familiar with how events like this are covered in the press.”
“Maybe, but I thought…our wedding was so small, so quick. No fanfare, no photos.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m the Sheikh of Qabid.”
“You should have told me,” I groan weakly.
“I was under the impression you were aware of my position,” he responds with a tight smile.
I don’t return it.
“It didn’t occur to me. I’m not used to this.” Stupid, stupid me. “You called me naïve. Turns out you were right.”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I should have discussed this with you. I apologise.”
It’s the last thing I expect him to say. I turn to face Zahir as he looks at me, and something powerful lurches in my abdomen.
“He had to find out at some time.”
“I guess I just imagined breaking it to him myself,” I mutter.
“Would it have helped?”
“If I could have softened the blow with the news that he could return to Qabid,” I point out.
Zahir’s expression is inscrutable and the air between us has changed. Neither of us speaks again. The palace is surrounded by a huge fence on all sides. He approaches a gate heavily marked by guards, and three of them step forward to inspect the car. When they see Zahir behind the heavily tinted windows, the gates open and he drives through, up the sweeping drive, past pomegranate trees on one side and green grass on the other. At the east gate, he cuts the engine, but doesn’t step out. Instead, he turns to look at me, a frown on his face.
“What do you want?”
I blink, unsure how to answer that.
“It has become clear to me that you are not – and would never be – complicit in your father’s treasonous behaviour. I will not tar you with that brush, azeezi. So tell me what will make our marriage tolerable for you.”
My heart skips a beat. His statement touches something buried deep in my soul and suddenly I’m swallowing past a lump in my throat. I’m a jumble of emotions. I’m flattered. Glad. Delighted that he sees me as I really am, but mostly, importantly, I’m defensive of dad. This man’s constant condemnation of my father is unfair and I have to remember that. Steeling myself to resist the attraction humming between us, I fix him with a direct stare.
“I’ve told you already.”
His jaw tightens, his eyes stirring with some emotion I don’t compute.
I brush aside my doubts, needing to push home my point. “I married you for him, Zahir. All I want is for dad to return to Qabid. He’s old, and his health has been poor for a long time.” My voice wobbles. “I don’t know how long he has left but I do know he’s no threat to you. I will vouch for him with my life. Whatever you think him capable of, you’re wrong.” His eyes clash with mine. “You don’t know him.”
His lips twist with a weary cynicism. “You’re sure about that?”
I frown, not sure why he keeps digging in on this point. “Positive.” I reach out, putting a hand on his thigh. “My dad’s not capable of hurting a bug, let alone a human being. And he doesn’t want your damned throne, he just wants to come home and live his life.”
A muscle jerks low in his jaw, and before I can pull my hand away, he presses his to the top of it. “And this is all you want of me and our marriage? To bring your father here?”
I blink up at him, losing a part of myself then, needing to admit to both of us that I want so much more. I feel his inner-battle, that he’s wrestling with himself about what he’s going to say next, his features implacable. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”
I blink at him, frustration swirling through me. “Here?” I jack my thumb to the car window.
“Anywhere.”
