The Greek's Bought Bride. Sharon Kendrick
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to be a desert king. People are going to be looking at you, you know—especially as you’re the only family I’ve got.’
Tamsyn’s first instinct was to say she didn’t care what other people thought. And if she fancied wearing her canvas sneakers beneath the dress she’d picked up for a bargain price—then that’s exactly what she would do. But something about Hannah’s anxious face tugged at a conscience she would prefer not to have. Suddenly she recognised that any defiance in the clothes department might reflect badly, not necessarily on her—but on her sister. And hadn’t Hannah always done so much for her? Cared for and protected her during those deprived days of their fractured childhood...didn’t she owe her for that?
‘I don’t have any fancy clothes,’ she mumbled, feeling once again like the little girl who’d been mocked in the school playground because there was nothing in her lunchbox but a few scraps of bread and jam. You’re poor, the other children used to taunt—and Tamsyn had been too ashamed to admit that her foster father had spent all his money on gambling and womanising and her foster mother had been too weak to object. Her education had suffered as a consequence and she’d left school without qualifications, which didn’t exactly make her a big player in the job stakes. Money remained tight for Tamsyn and what little money she did have she certainly wasn’t going to waste on an expensive dress she’d only get to wear once. ‘I’m not stupid, Hannah,’ she said huffily. ‘I’m not planning to let you down. I’ll make the best of what I have, just like I’ve always done.’
‘I know you will. And when you bother to pull out all the stops you can look amazing. But this is different. I don’t want you and I to stick out any more than we already are. So let me give you something to wear, Tamsyn. Something beautiful—the like of which you will never have worn before.’ There was a pause. ‘Please.’
Tamsyn had vowed she wasn’t going to accept any more of Hannah’s charity, no matter how scared she was about the future. Her latest job in a café paid only peanuts and in the meantime her overdraft was getting steadily bigger. The latest blow had been the recent rent raise on her crummy little apartment, leaving her wondering how on earth she was going to pay it.
She thought about the glamourous women she had travelled over with on the Sheikh’s private plane and wondered what glorious surprises they would be pulling out of their suitcases for the glittering dinner tonight. And then she thought about a pair of cobalt eyes and the way they had trained themselves on her. She’d seen the way the Greek’s gaze had focussed in on her scruffy tennis shoes and the disdainful curve of his lips in response. Was it that which made her suddenly decide to take up her sister’s offer? To dress up for the party so that she might fit in, for once in her life?
‘Okay. You can find me something to wear, if you like,’ she said, casting a doubtful glance at Hannah’s covered head. ‘But I’m definitely not wearing a veil.’
* * *
Peering into the silvered surface of the antique mirror, Xan gave his tie a final unwanted tug. Raking his fingers back through the raven disarray of his hair he did his best to stifle a yawn as he deliberated on how he was going to get through the long evening ahead.
He hated these affairs with a passion and part of him felt deeply sorry for his royal friend, for being forced to marry some gold-digging little chambermaid from England. Contemptuously, his lips curved into their habitual line of disapproval. How could Kulal—a desert king renowned for an extensive list of sophisticated lovers—have fallen for the oldest trick in the book? There had been no official announcement but you wouldn’t need to be a mathematician to work out that a hasty wedding arranged between one of the region’s most exalted sheikhs and an unknown commoner—was bound to end up with a baby a few months down the line. Had the chambermaid deliberately trapped him, he mused? And if so, how could his friend bear the thought of that deception for all those long years which lay ahead?
He thought of his own marital destiny and not for the first time, began to see that it could have much to commend it, because Sofia was sweet and undemanding. He couldn’t imagine her ever trying to trap him by falling pregnant—probably because he doubted she would ever consent to sex before marriage. His mouth hardened for it was many months since he had seen his unofficial fiancée and he knew he couldn’t keep putting it off their arranged marriage indefinitely. Up until now it had been a private and completely confidential agreement between two families, but the longer he stalled, the more likely that the press would get hold of it and have a field day with it. His jaw clenched. He would set in motion the formal courtship when he flew out of here after the weekend, with a wedding pencilled in for the middle of next year.
But for now he was still technically a free man and unwillingly his thoughts turned to lust, for it had been a while since he had enjoyed a woman in his bed.
He was discreet about his relationships—for obvious reasons—and nobody outside their immediate families knew he had been promised to a beautiful young Greek girl. His recent sexual abstinence had certainly not been caused by a lack of opportunity—but because he had become jaded and bored by the attentions of predatory women on the make.
He scowled at his reflection before turning away. The press didn’t help his endeavours to maintain a low profile and he cursed the obsession which made certain newspapers speculate about when he intended to tie the knot. Wasn’t it such careless speculation which caused women to pursue him, as if they were hunting down some particularly elusive quarry? Didn’t they realise that the chase was the thing which fired up a man’s blood? Xan’s mouth flattened. At least, that was what he had been told—for he had never had to pursue a woman. They came after him in their droves, like dedicated ants flocking to a spoonful of spilled honey. Some he enjoyed and others he discarded—but he made it plain to each and every one that there was no point in wishing for any kind of future with him, though he never explained why. And wasn’t the truth that he enjoyed the protective barriers which his long-term engagement placed around him? It kept women at a safe distance and that was the way he liked it.
A servant came to fetch him to take him to the pre-wedding dinner and Xan quickly became aware of the excitement in the air as the wedding grew closer. Tall, burning flames lit the courtyard and in the distance he could hear the low beat of unfamiliar music which only added to the febrile build of atmosphere. Through wide corridors scented with jasmine and gardenia and lit with gold and silver candles, he followed the silent servant—taking his place at last in some inordinately grand ballroom, which he hadn’t seen on his last visit.
He had visited Zahristan once before, when Kulal had taken him out to the desert to see the state-of-the-art solar panels which the country’s scientists had designed, and in whose manufacture Xan had invested a great deal of money. He had combined the work trip with some serious riding on the most magnificent stallion he’d ever mounted and then he and the Sheikh had camped beneath the blinding brilliance of the stars in an opulent Bedouin tent. Xan remembered thinking that his powerful royal friend had the world at his fingertips—yet now he was being forced into a corner, trapped into a relationship he did not really want.
And wasn’t exactly the same thing happening to him? Briefly Xan thought about the Greek girl with dark eyes who was everything a man could possibly desire. No. He was walking into his future with his eyes open. Not for him the lottery of chance or ignorance. There would be no skeletons emerging from the closet of Sofia, for she was someone he had known all her life. She was pure and beautiful and... His mouth hardened as he allowed the unwanted thought to flit into his mind.
The chemistry would come later.
Most of the other guests were already assembled in the huge gilded ballroom, which led into a banqueting hall almost as vast. Beneath chandeliers which glittered like shoals of priceless diamonds, women paraded in their finery, the men beside them wearing dark suits, desert robes or uniform. For some reason Xan found himself looking round for the redheaded waitress but couldn’t see her anywhere and he wondered if she was somewhere deep in the palace kitchens, loading up her tray. Instead, he accepted a drink from someone else—a sharp-sweet cocktail containing fire-berry juice and drank it silently as they awaited the arrival of the royal couple.
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