Royal Weddings: The Sheikh's Princess Bride / The Doctor Takes a Princess / Crown Prince's Chosen Bride. Annie West
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especially when Tariq looked just as debonair as ever. A lot of big men couldn’t pull that off, appearing either too lean and lanky or so heavy-set you knew they’d run to fat with age. By contrast Tariq was perfectly proportioned and frighteningly attractive.
Samira’s heartbeat skidded into a kick start. It was as well he hadn’t agreed to marry her—that was clear from his carefully neutral expression. She didn’t like the way her body behaved when he was around.
Samira scrambled to her feet, brushing down her dress, noticing for the first time sticky patches where the boys had shared their food.
‘No doubt you had more important business to attend to.’ More important than declining her proposal. Her mouth tightened.
Only sheer doggedness had made her wait despite the lengthy delay. She was determined to make him say the words to her face, despite the temptation to avoid further embarrassment and slink away. She tilted her chin. She was a princess of Jazeer. She would see this through.
‘You don’t understand.’
‘There’s no need to explain.’ He’d already made his position clear. ‘I understand perfectly.’
‘There’s a crisis in Al Sarath. I’ve been dealing with it long-distance.’
Samira froze. ‘A crisis?’
‘One of the provinces has been hit by severe flash flooding in the mountain ravines. It’s wiped away whole villages.’
Samira sucked in her breath, indignation fading as the import of his words hit. The mountain provinces were the poorest in his country. She remembered adobe houses perched in arid gullies so steep they became death traps on the rare occasions distant mountain rains brought unaccustomed water.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Guilt pierced at her petty indignation. No wonder he was late! ‘You must be wishing you were there.’
He nodded, his expression sombre. ‘We fly out soon. I need to be on the ground.’
‘Then I won’t keep you.’ Relief filled her as she spied her shoes beneath a jumble of wooden blocks.
‘You don’t want to hear my decision?’
His voice stopped her as she bent, reaching for her discarded heels. Slowly she straightened. There was no chance Tariq would change his mind. He’d been dead set against the idea, even outraged. And now... She looked up into a penetrating stare that gave nothing away. He didn’t look like a man about to grant her wish.
He was so stern, as if she represented a problem he had to tackle.
Again she wondered if Tariq would go behind her back to her brother, warning him she was going off the rails.
The idea almost made her smile. Asim had worried about her for too long—not because she was wildly kicking over the traces, but because she buried herself in her work instead of ‘embracing life’. She knew he secretly feared she hadn’t fully recovered from what had happened four years before. Surely propositioning his best friend counted as embracing life?
‘Of course I want to hear. That’s why I’m here.’ But she refused to feel even a scintilla of hope. He’d given her no encouragement, not even a smile.
She almost began to be thankful. It had been a lunatic idea. Imagine her and Tariq...
He closed the space between them with one long stride, making her more aware than ever of their physical differences. Barefoot, she scarcely came up to his shoulder.
One large, warm hand closed around hers, lifting it high. Tariq bent his head, the light catching the blue-black sheen of his thick hair. Samira felt the press of surprisingly soft lips on the back of her hand as he made a courtly gesture that sent a shocking thrill right through her body.
Her breath was a sudden hiss, her lungs pumping like bellows as he lifted his eyes to hers. This time his expression wasn’t grim or guarded. It was full of anticipation.
‘You honour me greatly with your proposal, Princess Samira.’ He smiled and the world tilted around them. ‘I accept with pleasure. We’ll be married as soon as it can be arranged.’
‘AT LAST! AFTER five days of celebrating we finally get to the wedding. These royal events are a real test of stamina.’
Samira looked at her sister-in-law, Jacqui, lounging on a couch, taking a glossy cherry from a silver bowl.
‘How can you eat?’ Samira’s stomach was performing a nervous twist and dip that would have done an Olympic diver proud.
She had to call on all her years of training to sit still, rather than shift edgily and risk smearing the intricate henna patterns being painted on her hands and feet. Two ladies-in-waiting sat before her, creating the traditional designs.
Bridal designs.
For the first time, today, the wedding became real.
The official functions so far had been comfortingly familiar, like untold numbers of royal celebrations she’d attended in the past. Why that should be comforting, Samira didn’t know. This marriage was her idea. It would be wonderful for all of them: her, Tariq and the boys.
Yet suddenly today she felt ridiculously wobbly.
Bridal nerves were normal, she assured herself. Even if she wasn’t a bride in the usual sense.
Most brides looked forward to a night in their new husband’s arms.
Her insides cramped and the skin at her nape prickled. Samira’s brain seized at the thought of complicating this carefully planned arrangement with sex. Already she felt she walked a knife edge. Her unbidden physical awareness of Tariq was a constant undercurrent. As if there was a disconnect between her mind, that knew intimacy would be a mistake, and her body, that trembled at his touch.
‘You think I should stop eating because of the upcoming banquet?’ Jacqui shook her tawny head ruefully. ‘I never used to have much of an appetite.’ Her other hand slipped to the baby bump barely visible beneath her aquamarine top. ‘But I’ve never been so hungry.’
‘Except last time you were pregnant.’
‘You’re right. I was ravenous then too.’ Jacqui laughed and Samira smiled. Jacqui distracted her from the anxiety that had somehow grown to a peak of apprehension.
‘Pregnancy suits you. You really are glowing.’ Samira smiled, feeling only the tiniest flicker of envy. She’d come to terms with her barrenness and couldn’t begrudge another woman such happiness. Instead she basked in familiar warmth at the thought of her brother’s family. Jacqui was the sister she’d never had, loving and supportive. She almost made Samira wish she could have what Jacqui had: a marriage based on love.
But that wasn’t for her. She knew too well she wasn’t cut out for that.
There was a bustle as her attendants rose and all four women admired the results. Samira’s hands, wrists, feet and ankles were works of art, covered in ancient designs that proclaimed her royal lineage as well as talismans of good fortune, happiness and fertility.
She swallowed, ignoring a pang of regret. There was no sense pining over what could never be. She was the luckiest of women, about to acquire a wonderful husband she could respect and trust and two delightful sons. She could ask for nothing more.
Samira thanked the women warmly. When they’d left, Jacqui put aside the bowl of cherries and sat up.
‘Now, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’
‘Wrong?’ Samira stared. ‘Nothing. Tariq has done everything to make the celebrations a huge success. And the ceremony this afternoon—’
‘The celebrations. The ceremony.’ Jacqui waved her hand