Surgeon Prince, Cinderella Bride. Ann McIntosh
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yet here she was, seriously considering his proposition.
It wasn’t just the money, although the lump sum he’d offered, along with an amount he’d called a monthly stipend but had sounded like a yearly salary to her, would definitely be a godsend. More than that, though, the gorgeous man sitting across from her seemed to embody adventure, and offer her a chance to see her ancestral home. He was also dangling a chance to play a fairy-tale role in front of her like the ultimate carrot.
Her. Plain, unremarkable, sensible and reliable Sara Greer, contemplating running off into the sunset with a real life prince to become a princess in her own right?
She must be losing her mind.
As though to distract her, her brain went off at a tangent and she heard herself say, “You sound Australian, but Kalyana is in the Indian Ocean. Have your family kept their accents after all this time?”
Farhan shook his head. “I don’t sound like the rest of my family because I went to medical school and practiced in Australia up until a year or so ago.”
In the midst of all the nonsense, she’d forgotten he was a doctor too. Somehow knowing that made her relax fractionally.
“What is your specialty?”
“I’m a general surgeon. My brother, Maazin, is one as well, although, having trained with the Royal Guard, his experiences have been far more interesting than mine.”
“Do you have a practice in Kalyana now?”
His expression was rueful as he replied, “I keep my hand in, but it feels as though I do more administrative work than actually practicing medicine. I’ve been trying to upgrade the medical systems, which has turned out to be more difficult than I’d imagined.”
“I’d need to work, if I agree to come with you.”
The words fell between them, were followed by a thick silence. Farhan’s eyes narrowed, and Sara knew why.
Despite the ambivalence of the statement, it sounded like capitulation.
Hadn’t she recently been thinking how much she wanted to see the place her ancestors came from? Wasn’t she longing for adventure, for a chance to advance, to make things better?
I’m going to do this.
And it was, as the old saying goes, all over bar the shouting at that point.
* * *
Somehow, before going to Canada to find her, when reading the PI’s report and looking at the photographs accompanying it, Farhan had felt he knew who Sara Greer was. Quiet and serious. Competent medically, but socially withdrawn. Nothing fun or fancy about her.
Yet when she’d tugged open her door before he could knock, and he’d seen her in the flesh for the first time, shock had fired through his system.
Damp and flushed, laughing down at the dog capering around her ankles, the sight had almost made him smile despite the stress he’d been under. But when their bodies had collided and she’d looked up, her gleaming brown eyes widening in shock, all his amusement had fled, replaced with a jolt of desire.
It still simmered beneath his skin, and he found himself taking in her every expression, every gesture, trying to parse them, wanting to understand what each one meant.
Not the most auspicious start to what was supposed to be strictly a business arrangement. This sudden surge of attraction was unwanted, as was the tug of sympathy he felt toward Sara Greer. Even as a child, he’d recognized the subtle danger of allowing himself to feel too much for others. Ali had been the golden son, Maazin the baby. Farhan had felt lost in the shuffle, ignored until he did something wrong. He’d craved his mother’s love, his father’s approval, but their attention had rarely strayed his way. Withdrawing into himself and avoiding emotional involvement had served him well.
A marriage of convenience, especially of a short duration, would suit him perfectly. With his need to serve his country foremost in his mind, he had no time for complications and messy relationships.
And it was time he made that aspect of it absolutely clear.
“What I propose is that we marry, and agree to stay together for at least a year.” Something in the way her cheeks pinked up made his pulse escalate, but he kept his face expressionless, and his voice level. “Obviously, this won’t be a union based on emotion and, while I’m content with that, I doubt you’d want to be locked into such an arrangement long term.”
“How would a short-term marriage help the situation, though?”
“If within the year no one finds out about your lineage, I’d think it would be safe to part ways, and the chances of anyone finding out who your father was are nil. I’m sure if anyone knew Bhaskar was alive all those years, they would have said something.”
The skeptical look she gave him made him impatient. She’d seemed set to agree to his terms, and now he felt victory slipping away.
“Look,” he said, leaning closer over the table, trying to ignore the way the lights made her eyes seem speckled with gold dust, “I’m doing this because my father ordered me to. He’s not been well, and I think he’s trying to wrap up loose ends as best he can, although I suspect he’ll live for many years to come. In his mind, a marriage of convenience is perfectly acceptable and you should be happy to become a part of a wealthy, royal family. He entered into such a marriage, and I knew eventually I would also, but trying to explain to him that modern women, like you, would find it strange and potentially insulting did no good.
“So I’m following his orders in the best way I know how, trying to be fair to you in the process. As Bhaskar’s daughter you would probably have inherited a bankrupt country, as my grandfather did, but I believe you’re still due compensation as his heir, so think of the lump sum in that light, even though it comes with strings. The monthly stipend will be for the sheer upheaval moving and playing your part will bring.”
He wouldn’t tell her the deal he offered wasn’t sanctioned by his father, who believed theirs would be a true, lasting union, not the limited one Farhan envisioned.
Sara still looked unsure, however, so he continued, “If after a time we part ways, my father won’t be happy, but that wouldn’t be his decision to make. He can order me to marry, but he can’t order you to stay in the marriage if you don’t want to.”
“That makes sense,” she said, shifting her empty cup back and forth between her hands. Then she cleared her throat, the blush now suffusing her entire face, but she bravely held his gaze as she said, “Before I agree, I have to ask: would you be expecting me to fulfill all the usual roles as your wife?”
He knew what she was asking; would have found her delicacy amusing if it weren’t for the ramifications of even thinking that way, coupled with the rush of heat up his spine at the thought of having her in his bed.
“No,” he said, quickly enough that her blush deepened. “Us being intimate isn’t part of the bargain.”
If his father had his way it would have been written into the contract. Uttam had gone so far as to say he would give Sara a million dollars to produce an heir within the first year, saying it might, “smooth the way to compliance.” Farhan found his father’s suggestion offensive in every way, and had no intention of telling her about it. Ever.
She looked back down at her cup, and he held his breath. He’d thought it would take weeks, perhaps even months to convince her to marry him, but beyond the shyness and anxiety in her gaze there was also curiosity and something akin to excitement. Farhan hoped it would be enough to get her to agree to his terms.
“Okay, but I’ll need time to get everything sorted out.”
Outwardly calm, but inside doing fist pumps and cartwheels, he said mildly, “That’s good. You won’t regret it.”
Then, with ruthless efficiency, he steamrollered over every objection