The Sheik's Arranged Marriage. Susan Mallery
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this marriage might be better than his last.
Without wanting to, he remembered his beautiful young wife standing naked in front of him, her mouth twisted in disgust as she stared at his arousal. “You’re an animal,” she’d said. “I don’t understand why I have to endure you touching me all the time. I hate it, and I’m not very fond of you.”
He pushed the memory away, but the feelings it evoked remained.
He rose to his feet. “I will not trouble you more than necessary,” he said through gritted teeth.
Heidi frowned. “Jamal, what’s wrong? What did I say?”
“Nothing but the truth. Come. Let us tell my father and grandmother the good news.”
“All right.”
Heidi still sounded troubled, but she trailed after him. He hurried, wanting to get the announcement over quickly. As soon as the congratulations were finished, Fatima would whisk Heidi into the harem where she would stay until their wedding day. They would not be allowed any time alone between now and then. The thought of not seeing her was a relief. If only he never had to see her again—ever.
Chapter Four
“I ’m going to hyperventilate,” Heidi announced as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the harem. She stared at her reflection and knew this wasn’t really happening.
Fatima paused in the act of smoothing out the creamy white robe that covered Heidi as effectively as a shroud. “Hyperventilate. Is that too much oxygen or not enough? I can never remember. One requires breathing into a paper bag, while the other means you should put your head between your legs.”
Dora sat on a chair, arranging the folds of the headpiece. “By the time we get it figured out, Heidi will have either passed out or healed.”
Heidi tried to smile at the joke, but she couldn’t. The sense of being trapped was too strong to escape, even for a minute. She was really and truly going through with this—she was about to marry a stranger.
She certainly looked the part, she thought with amazement, studying the person in the mirror. That woman was as much a stranger as Jamal. The white robe covered her from the top of her collarbone to the tips of her toes. In back, it fanned out like a bridal-gown train. Instead of being neatly contained in its usual tidy bun, her hair was long and loose, falling nearly to her waist. Fatima had lined her eyes with kohl and added color to her lips, which emphasized both features in a way that was oddly attractive, Heidi thought, but also unfamiliar. Then there was the matter of her hands and feet.
She lifted one hand and stared at the henna on her fingers and palms. The intricate patterns were traditional in an El Baharian wedding, as in many parts of the world. They marked her as a bride. For as long as the stain lingered on her skin, the bride was considered on her honeymoon. She would not be asked to participate in any household chores.
For Heidi the fading of the henna wasn’t going to make much difference in her day-to-day life. As a princess, she wouldn’t do any cooking or cleaning. But for regular women—the loss of the henna was a time of sadness. The magic of the honeymoon then faded to just a memory. Heidi actually managed a smile as she thought of the great lengths women would go to keep their henna from disappearing.
“You look lovely, child,” Fatima said, smiling at her. “How do you feel?”
“As if I’m entering history,” Heidi replied honestly.
She turned slightly so that she could catch sight of more of the wedding robe in the mirror. Intricately embroidered gold designs were scattered across the back of the garment, stretching from the hem of the train nearly to the small of her back. With each royal wedding, another picture was added. They represented something unique about each bride joining the Khan family.
“I know enough about the customs to understand the significance of the robe and the ceremony. I feel connected with the past.”
That much was true. Now if only she felt more connected with her husband. Since agreeing to marry him nearly two weeks before, she’d been living in the harem. She and Jamal hadn’t spent a single moment alone together. She’d spent her days working on her precious texts and taking riding lessons. She’d seen Jamal only twice, and both times had been at family dinners.
Dora rose and moved toward her, carrying the headpiece. The gold tiara-like crown anchored several yards of tulle. When Heidi approached her groom, every inch of her would be covered.
“I hate that robe,” Dora said cheerfully. “Not only did I have to rip out my stitches about fifteen dozen times, but I pricked myself even more.” She laughed. “So much for my innate sewing skills. Still, I think the design came out very well.”
Heidi glanced down at the new pattern. This was rested near her hip. It was an intricate rendering of the El Baharian medal of honor—the same medal that had been awarded to Edmond, Heidi’s grandfather, for all his help during the Second World War.
As the most recent bride in the family, Dora’d had the responsibility of sewing the next design on the wedding robe. She and Jamal had discussed several options before settling on the medal. Despite being the bride, Heidi hadn’t been allowed any say in the matter. She doubted Jamal could have picked a design that would please her more.
“It’s lovely,” Heidi said, trying not to think about her grandfather because she would cry and Lord knew what would happen to her makeup then.
Fatima read her mind. “Edmond would have been very proud of you this day,” she said. “He always wanted you to join the House of Khan.”
“I know.”
Dora took a step back and studied her. “You’re so lovely,” she said. “The perfect bride.”
“Thank you,” Heidi said with a sincerity she didn’t feel.
She wasn’t the perfect bride, she thought sadly. She was a fraud. She was marrying a man she didn’t know and didn’t love because she didn’t have the backbone to refuse the two people in the world she did love. It was a mess, and she felt like a fraud.
Heidi watched as her sister-in-law to-be fussed with the headpiece, then helped Fatima lower it in place. Dora was a confident, beautiful, content woman. She had an adoring husband, work that she loved, one healthy, happy baby and another on the way.
Heidi stole a glimpse at the slight rounding of Dora’s stomach. It was the only indication of her four-month pregnancy. So far no official announcement had been made, although Dora had whispered the happy news to her a couple of mornings before. Dora had the perfect life, Heidi thought, trying hard not to envy her. Would she and Jamal ever find that? She had her doubts.
It’s not that she disliked him—it was more that she wasn’t prepared to be married to anyone. Worse, she didn’t know him. If only they’d been able to spend more time together. If the few conversations they’d had were any indication, then she and Jamal had the potential to do as he’d requested and become friends. But so far there’d been no opportunity.
The main door of the harem swung open, and a young woman entered carrying a tray. Heidi smiled at Rihana, a servant she’d known for several years.
“I brought tea,” Rihana said, smiling happily. “To calm the bride and you as well, Queen Fatima.”
Fatima reached gratefully for a cup of the steaming liquid. “You’ve saved my life,” she said, then took a sip. “All these details to be worked out in a such a short period of time. I’m getting too old for this.”
“Never,” Dora said loyally, reaching for her own cup of herbal brew. “You shame us all with your energy.”
Rihana offered Heidi a cup, but she shook her head. The long veil was in place, and she didn’t want to disturb it. Besides, her hands were shaking, and she would probably end up spilling the entire cup down the front of her gown.
The dark-haired