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So she simply nodded. ‘I guess I can do that,’ she said, even though she knew full well he hadn’t really asked her. He had told her.
His arrogance was something else they could work on in their ten days together, she thought ruefully as he dropped his caressing thumb to clasp her hand in his and lead her to the ruling elders, who were still hovering nearby, waiting patiently for their littletête-á-têteto end.
As they marched round the fountain together, Liah pushed her unruly hair back from her face, wishing she had at least had a chance to wash before making these introductions.
It doesn’t matter, remember? You’re not his real fiancée.
‘Gentlemen, I present my future wife,’ Kamal announced, the thick pride in his voice not sounding all that false. Who knew the man was such a persuasive actor? ‘And the future Queen of Zokar, Crown Princess Kaliah Khan of Narabia.’
The men dropped into low bows, some of them even kneeling before her and genuflecting, a custom that had been done away with in Narabia during her father’s rule.
But, as the ruling elders greeted her formally and congratulated her profusely on her new role, with a deference which made her feel like a total fraud, Liah could see the stunned shock on everyone’s faces but Kamal’s.
She knew just how they felt, because as Ashreen was led away by the palace grooms, and she was spirited away by a trio of new personal assistants and shown to a lavishly furnished suite of rooms in the women’s quarters—where she was to spend the next twenty-four hours being ‘prepared’ for her first official engagement as Prince Kamal’s bride-to-be—her fake engagement didn’t feel at all fake any more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
One week later
‘LIAH,IT’SSOmarvellous to see you here.’
Liah spun round at the familiar voice to see her old Cambridge University acquaintance, Clara Turnbull, approaching her through the throng of people gathered in the ornate rose garden of the Zokari embassy in London’s Mayfair. The torchlight gleamed off the woman’s elaborate blonde chignon.
Liah’s heart sank and the nerves in her stomach twisted.
The daughter of a British investment banker, Clara had been one of Colin’s friends, not hers, but it didn’t surprise Liah in the slightest to see the woman at the exclusive gathering being given in Kamal’s honour by the Zokari ambassador.
She forced herself to smile and accept the obligatory air kisses. ‘Clara, why am I not surprised to see you here?’ she managed, trying not to let the nerves that had besieged her for the last week show.
She was used to being at lavish diplomatic gatherings like this one, where champagne and diplomacy flowed freely and important relationships were forged between nations under the guise of small talk. After all, she’d been brought up in this rarefied world and she knew how it worked.
Unlike Kamal. She had been watching him all evening on the other side of the garden, looking tense and irritated in his formal suit, after he had been whisked away from her side as soon as their engagement had been lavishly toasted.
Her heart pulsed with sympathy for him.
One of the many things she had discovered about Kamal in the past week was that he hated small talk, almost as much as he hated wearing a suit, because he saw no need to fit in. And he didn’t drink alcohol, so he couldn’t even use its effects to relax as he was paraded round like a prize—something she also knew he hated.
She wondered if he had really factored in what his position would entail when he had worked so hard to achieve it. Because during the whirlwind activities of the past week—as they’d done a whistle-stop tour of the commerce capitals of Europe, attending a series of equally lavish events, then tearing each other’s clothes off as soon as they were alone each evening—she had seen the toll it had taken on his patience and control.
She knew from the conversations they had late at night, after they’d made mad, frantic love—his ferocious need for her as intoxicating as listening to the plans for his country she had never expected him to share with her—that all he had ever really wanted was to see Zokar thrive. And to evolve the more traditional customs which he felt held the country back from achieving its full potential.
Even though his was mostly a ceremonial position, she knew he’d spent his own money, not just restoring the prince’s palace to its former glory but also investing in Zokar’s ageing infrastructure, its education and health system. He understood very well the importance of attracting more investment to the region, but what he didn’t understand—and, she had discovered in the last week, had no aptitude for whatsoever—was how to be diplomatic. To pretend to be one of the ruling elite. The fact Kamal did not consider himself one ofthem, and had no desire to pretend otherwise, didn’t help either.
‘Darling, I heard you were going to be here with your princely new desert hottie, and I could not resist angling for an invitation,’ Clara supplied, sending her an arch look which made Liah want to punch the woman on the nose.
Desert hottie? What the actual...?
‘Kamal’s not a piece of meat, Clara, he’s incredibly intelligent and erudite.’ Something else Liah had discovered more about in the past week. ‘And he’s also the heir presumptive to a vast and extremely prosperous desert kingdom. Not to mention a successful businessman.’
She felt the little trickle of shame which had assailed her more than once over the past seven days. Hadn’t she herself objectified Kamal once, even considered him unsophisticated? But her first impression had finally come crashing down all the way during their tour. He was blunt, yes, and had no time for the insincere niceties used in the name of diplomacy. But that was because he did not suffer fools and dealt with everyone with the same honesty and integrity—no matter their station in life.
She’d been there to smooth his path, and it had flattered her when he had seemed grateful for her presence. She’d loved the thought he needed her there, that he genuinely valued her input and expertise. Who knew she had more diplomatic skills than she’d ever realised?
They’d been feted in Italy, having toured a series of vineyards and olive farms, where the minerals which Kamal’s company had discovered in the dry river beds of the Zokar foothills were proving so effective as a natural insecticide. They’d also received a lavish welcome in France, where they had toured a series of factories and wineries, and where a reception had been held in their honour amid the Baroque splendour of the Palace of Versailles.
Kamal had conversed in faltering but functional French with a host of dignitaries and businessmen about the investment potential for them in Zokar’s vast mineral wealth. But he had been more than happy to let her handle the more detailed conversations because she was fluent in the language. Not to mention all the small talk necessary to finesse a commitment out of cagey investors and politicians.
They wanted what Kamal had to sell and he knew it, which was why he had no patience with attempts to finesse a better deal out of Zokar. But he had relied on her to soothe ruffled feathers. They actually made a good team, out of bed as well as in it.
