Royal Weddings: The Sheikh's Princess Bride / The Doctor Takes a Princess / Crown Prince's Chosen Bride. Annie West
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don’t?’ Samira stared at the wedding patterns staining her skin, then across to the table littered with ornate jewellery. Gold, rubies and huge antique pearls caught the light. On the other side of the room hung her bridal gown, the sumptuous cloth of gold shimmering.
Jacqui followed her gaze. ‘The trappings are there, but something is missing.’ There was concern in her eyes. ‘You don’t look like a woman in love.’
Samira flinched, then made herself smile. She was making the best of her life, choosing hope over regret instead of locking herself away to fret over what she’d lost. She would build something positive and make a useful contribution, helping to raise a family.
She was being strong.
And, if the best she could hope to achieve didn’t include romantic love, that suited her. She was far better without that.
‘Not all brides are in love, Jacqui. Arranged marriages are common, especially between royals.’
‘I know, I know. Asim said the same.’
Samira tensed. Jacqui had discussed this with Asim? She hated that she’d been the subject of such discussion, even though she knew it was because they cared for her. They’d been there when she’d needed them in her darkest hours. But she was fine now.
‘It’s just that I want you to have what I have, Samira.’ Jacqui looked so earnest. ‘I want you to be happy, to be loved and in love.’
‘Thank you.’ She reached out and touched Jacqui’s arm. ‘But I am happy. This is exactly what I want.’
Still her sister-in-law frowned.
‘Not everyone wants to fall in love. Asim must have told you about our parents.’
Solemnly Jacqui nodded. ‘They were unhappy.’
Samira’s huff of laughter was bitter. ‘They were miserable and they made life hell for us too. They were either so in love no one else mattered, or they were fighting like wild cats, doing anything to score a point over the other, even using us in their battles.’ She looked down to find herself pleating the fine fabric of her skirt. Her chest tightened.
‘Your parents were volatile and self-indulgent.’ Jacqui’s voice penetrated the memories. ‘Love needn’t be like that.’
‘I know and I can’t tell you how happy I am for you and Asim.’ Samira paused. ‘But I don’t want love. I tried that and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m too much like my mother. I was swept off my feet by romantic dreams, blindly putting my trust in someone completely wrong for me.’
‘Jackson Brent is a louse,’ Jacqui growled. ‘You can’t blame yourself.’
Samira sat back in her chair, warmth filling her at her sister-in-law’s instant support.
‘I do blame myself. I wasn’t a child. I made the decision to throw everything over, all I’d worked for and dreamed of, to be with him. I fooled myself into believing in him and I was utterly, devastatingly wrong.’ Her palm crept across her belly as if to prevent the clenching pain, a phantom memory from four years ago.
‘One mistake...’
‘That was enough. What if I made the same mistake again? I can’t go through that again, Jacqui, I just can’t.’ Samira ducked her head, ashamed at the welling distress that filled her even after all this time. She drew a calming breath. ‘I’m too like my mother. I let passion override judgement and I paid the price. But unlike her I won’t make the mistake of staying on that merry-go-round.’
‘And Tariq knows this?’
‘Of course he knows.’ Samira smiled, her confidence returning. ‘Don’t look so worried. This marriage is everything I want.’
* * *
‘Samira.’ Her name on Tariq’s tongue made her blink. It sounded...different. The noise of the wedding banquet faded as she met his eyes.
Or was it she who was different? Hours spent at his side through the wedding ceremony and celebration had left her unaccountably on edge. She felt his presence with every cell of her body.
Applause filled the feasting hall as he took her hand and stood, drawing her up. He was resplendent in robes as white as the distant snow-capped peaks. His jaw was lean and hard, a study in power, his eyes a glint of cool green as he looked down at her and slowly smiled.
Instantly heat shimmered under her skin, a heat that intensified when his warm fingers slid against hers, enfolding them completely. Sensation trickled through her from her tight lungs, meandering all the way down through her belly to a single pulse point between her legs.
She inhaled sharply, eyes widening as he held her gaze. There was something different about Tariq. Something she couldn’t identify.
‘My queen,’ he said in a voice barely above a whisper, yet it amplified in her ears, blotting out the sound of their guests. Or perhaps that was the thud of her pulse.
‘Your Highness.’ She dipped her gaze in acknowledgement. She owed him her loyalty as her new sovereign.
His fingers tightened around hers, making her look up.
‘Your husband.’ His nostrils flared as if drawing in her scent and shock buffeted her. Tariq looked so intent, so close, his tall frame blocking out everything else. Samira felt a heavy throb of anticipation deep inside as his head lowered purposefully towards hers.
Instantly, disconcertingly, anxiety shredded her composure. It was all she could do not to step back, but she was sure he felt the flinch of her hand in his.
His eyes narrowed, a twitch of a frown marking his brow. Then he lifted her hand. She watched him press a kiss to the delicate, hennaed pattern on her flesh and felt the warmth of those firm lips.
Her breath hitched, her breasts rising hard beneath the ponderous weight of ancient gold jewellery that suddenly seemed far too oppressive.
Tariq smiled. She felt the movement against her hand and wondered, dazed, what amused him. Finally, eyes still meshed with hers, he straightened to his full height.
The crowd stood, applauding so loud it was a wonder the crystal glassware on the tables didn’t shatter.
A herald appeared before them, bearing a golden goblet studded with cabochon emeralds and amethysts. Tariq took it in one large hand.
‘Long life to the happy couple,’ roared the herald.
Tariq lifted the goblet and drank, then held it out to Samira, turning it so her lips touched the spot from which he’d drunk. Heat sizzled through her as he watched her over the rim and she swallowed the heady, sweet mixture that tasted of honey, cinnamon and unknown spices.
‘May they be blessed with peace and happiness and honoured by all.’
Again Tariq drank. Samira watched, enthralled, as the muscles in his powerful neck moved.
He held the drink out to her, again presenting her with the same side of the goblet that he’d used. She told herself she imagined the taste of him there on the beaten gold. Yet it felt incredibly intimate, pressing her lips where his had been, even though she knew it was merely a symbolic gesture as old as the traditional marriage ceremony. She gulped a little too much, feeling the concoction catch the back of her throat.
Tariq’s hand squeezed hers and Samira’s tension eased a little. It would be all right. They were almost through the celebration that had somehow turned into an ordeal.
‘And may they be blessed with strong, fine children.’
Samira was ready for it but still the words caught her a slashing blow to the midriff. She pasted on a bright smile and watched Tariq draw a deep draft from the golden chalice.
He lifted it to her mouth, tilting high so she had no choice but to swallow more than the tiny sip she’d planned.
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