Royal Weddings Read online

  “I will,” he promised, his voice deep and dark, sending her pulse haywire. She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled a dark grey cloth from the depths of somewhere. It was not large, but when he held it over her eyes it effectively covered everything from sight.

  “What are you doing?” The words were just a husk in the empty corridor.

  “Do you trust me?” He murmured, tying the cloth around her chignon, sending a few dark strands of hair into disarray.

  She bit down on her lip and drew in an uneven breath. “Yes.” And she did. Completely.

  His hands brushed her shoulders gently and then his arm was around her waist, drawing her close to him. She breathed in his masculine fragrance and shivers danced across her spine.

  He slowed his pace and they walked together, almost as one. Evie couldn’t have said which turns they took if her life depended on it, but eventually he stopped moving.

  A warm breeze rustled past, and Evie inhaled. Sweet blossoms were heavy in the air.

  “Are we there?”

  His hands were firm on her shoulders now, massaging her through the fabric of her dress.

  “Yes.”

  She lifted her fingers to the blindfold but he grabbed her wrists and firmly pulled them back to her sides.

  “You said you trust me.”

  Her mouth was dry; she swallowed but it didn’t help. “I do.”

  His fingers were deft on the buttons at her back. But by halfway down he swore quietly. “I do not like this dress.”

  She grinned, her heart flipping over in her chest. “Why not?”

  He said something in his own language and continued working, until almost her whole back was bare. “Fortunately for you and this dress I know that you are worth the effort.”

  She bit down on her lip to stop the smile from spreading.

  Finally, he pushed at the fabric and it fell to her waist.

  Evie’s cheeks flushed pink. “We’re alone, right?”

  He curved his hands around to her breasts and cupped her gently. “Of course. Do you think I would allow anyone else to see the beauty of your body? Knowing I am the only man to have possessed you?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “You say you trust me. Believe that I will do what is best for you always.”

  Her tongue was thick in her mouth and so she nodded, glad that the blindfold covered her eyes. Her emotions were rioting all over the place.

  He crouched before her, sliding the gown to the floor. Beneath it she wore a delicate lace g-string. His hands skimmed her thighs as he ran it downwards, revealing her naked body to him. In only the necklace, crown, blindfold and heels, he stepped back to study her.

  And an odd sense ran through him. He pushed it aside. He would not regret what he was doing: it was for the best.

  Evie stepped out of her shoes awkwardly and reached out a hand. He took it instinctively and then released it. “Stay there.”

  “I don’t think I dare move,” she said seriously. “I have no idea how close I am to the water’s edge.”

  He removed his own clothes efficiently then brought his body close to hers. She sucked in a deep, sharp breath of shock before exhaling shakily.

  “Hello.”

  He didn’t respond verbally. His hands grabbed her waist and he lifted her almost as though she weighed nothing. Holding her against him, he stepped into the water, moving quickly through its depths.

  Evie made a sound of surprise and again went to remove the blindfold but he stalled her. “Leave it.”

  Anticipation clawed through her slender frame. He was fascinated by the play of emotion on her features. Beneath the full moon, she seemed to glisten like some kind of other-worldly angel.

  “I want to see where we are.”

  “You will.” He lifted a hand to her hair, touching the elaborate style with interest. “You look like you were born to be my wife.”

  Beneath the blindfold, she blinked her eyes open. It was pitch black. She wanted to see him. So much of what he felt was evident in his handsome face. She concentrated on his voice instead. “I guess a heap of diamonds and a crown will do that to a girl.”

  His smile showed his teeth. “It isn’t only the jewels. Though they do suit you.”

  In the water, he circled her, sending little waves ricocheting against her naked breasts. She reached for him as he passed. Electricity hummed just beneath her skin as her fingertips connected with his hair-roughened chest.

  Her voice a soft caress. “Do you find it weird to think that we’re marrying?”

  He studied what he could see of her features. “Weird? In what way?”

  She bit down on her full lower lip and he knew she was searching for a better way to describe what she felt. “Just weird. That life had this in store for us.”

  His nod was slow before he realised she couldn’t see him. “I am no longer surprised by life,” he said simply.

  “If all this hadn’t happened, who would you have married?”

  The silence was broken only by the sound of one of the desert birds, calling across the plains. “There was no one in my mind.”

  “No one?” She pushed at the blindfold, batting his hand away when he went to stop her. The question was shoved from her mind on the exhalation of her gasp. They were in the open, beneath a starry sky. Exotic trees lurched overhead, their branches still but the leaves whispering in the soft, sultry breeze. The pool was shaped like a rectangle, more or less. As with the pool she’d seen earlier in the week, it had irregularities in its design – little curves in the corners. It was marble too, shimmering white, catching the moonlight and holding it in its watery basin. And around the edges, flowers grew in big pots, their bright red blossoms not dulled by night.

  “Where are we?”

  He brought his hands around her waist, drawing her close to him. Beneath the water, she felt the proof of his desire and her gut churned. “For many generations this has been a sacred and private retreat of the Sheikh’s. No one but I can come here. And now you. Even Sabra was forbidden.”

  “Servants?” She murmured, looking around curiously.

  “Not without my permission, and only when it suits me. Other than that, no. No one. It is here that we can be truly alone, Jamila.”

  She expelled a sigh and wrapped her arms around his back. “Then we should come here every day.”

  “Yes.” He pressed a kiss against the tip of her nose and then put some distance between them, swimming with a confident stroke to the other edge of the pool.

  “Do you feel, on the eve of our wedding, as you did when you married him?”

  Nick. She made a strangled noise of surprise. Guilt at how little she’d thought of her ex burned through her. “Oh, Crap. Nick. I should probably have told him about this.”

  Malakhi arched one dark brow, silently prompting her to continue.

  “As a courtesy,” she elaborated, her cheeks flushed with emotion. “It seems like something an ex-husband would want to know.”

  “There’s still time,” he said with a shrug. What did it matter if she communicated with the man? Soon she would legally become his wife, bound to him for always. And the legality of their union would confer upon him the same rights over Kalem as she currently held. More, given his position as Sheikh of the land.

  His smile was marked by the truth he hid from her. “Did you marry him believing it was right?”

  “That’s so like you,” she said with a wistful grimace. “You have this insane ability to just go straight to the heart of what I’m thinking.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yeah.” The column of her neck moved as she swallowed. How could she express to him how very wrong her marriage to Nick had seemed? How the date had loomed like a curse rather than a blessing? How she’d woken up in a sweat every night beforehand. How she’d come to dread his touch. She kicked onto her back, her eyes finding the night sky.

  Malakhi stared at her beautiful, sylph-like body as it floated o
n the water’s surface. Her breasts, shining from the water and firm, called to him. But he remained where he was. There was an element of barbaric self-torture in maintaining his distance.

  He wanted her. Hell, he wanted her more than he could understand. He longed to touch her, to feel her, to taste her. To tease her until she was moaning beneath him, begging him for sexual mercy. Yet he stayed still, taking cruel delight in testing the limits of his patience.

  “We were talking about you, anyway,” she said, tilting her head a little so that her eyes pinned him across the water’s surface.

  “Were we?” He swam a little closer but still didn’t risk touching her. She was fuel and he fire: one touch and they’d ignite.

  “You’re old enough and important enough to have married. Surely you’ve had suitable wives suggested.”

  He thought of the list of women his advisors and parliament liked to drag up from time to time. “Yes.”

  She selected her words carefully. “Sabra said you’re a lone wolf. That you don’t believe in it.”

  Surprise etched his features. “Did she? When? Why?”

  Evie kicked back to standing. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? That she spoke of you to me.”

  He didn’t bother lying. “It … interests me. You were closer to her than I was.” His voice roughened on the unpalatable concession. “You knew her better.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she whispered, desperate to comfort him. “I didn’t know anything about their plans to bring Kalem to live in Ishala.” She swam nearer, but almost as if she were indulging the same masochistic challenge to maintain a distance, kept her hands by her side. “I think I owe you an apology.”

  Her gaze drifted downwards as she thought about the sentiment she was trying to express. “I was so sure they would want me to have Kalem.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t see that you had just as much claim on him as I do.” She pierced him with her apology; her eyes searing through the dark realities his sole bore. “We did everything together. I was always at their house. I have a room for Kalem in my house. I know he was their son, but he felt a little bit like mine too.” She lifted her shoulders. “It was arrogant of me. And unfair to you, and Sabra. Of course she would want you to be a part of his life.”

  His face barely shifted but inside he was a tornado of self-disgust. Her pain was obvious and he had the power to relieve it, but far too much was at stake. If he told her of the will and the custodial rights that had been conferred on her would she refuse to marry him? After all, why would she? She wanted Kalem. And she had him.

  Malakhi turned away, pretending fascination with the palace behind them. His heart was hammering against his ribcage as he realised the tenuous position he found himself in. Worse; there was a very real temptation to be honest with her. To alleviate her concerns that she had so badly misread the situation.

  “I made you feel like you didn’t belong,” she continued softly. “Like you were an outsider. And that wasn’t true.” She cut through the water, wrapping her arms around his broad chest and pressing a kiss against his watery shoulder. “Sabra talked of you often because she missed you. She was happy. But she missed you so much. She wanted you to be a part of Kalem’s life.”

  He closed his eyes on the surge of feelings she was inundating him with.

  “I was just so scared of losing him that I never stopped to see you felt the same way.”

  He had to stop her. This apology, given the bald facts he possessed, was like the blade of a knife being dragged across his very conscience. He turned, his face giving little away as he stared down at her. “We marry this weekend, and we raise him together. This is what Sabra would have wanted.”

  The words rung with a confidence he was nowhere near feeling.

  Because it wasn’t true, was it? Surely she would have stipulated something to that effect in her will. He’d been left out; not even mentioned. Panic was flashing through him – an entirely new sensation that he had never before encountered in this degree. He definitely didn’t relish its bitter grip on his central nervous system.

  “I think you’re right.” Her smile outshone every gem on her head. He hated himself for what he was doing to her. And he knew of only one way to drown out the darkness of his emotions. He took possession of her lips, the intensity of his kiss helping to wash away the very strong proclivity to tell her to cancel the wedding. To leave him. To forget she’d ever known him.

  As he drew her body to his, only one fact lodged with any certainty in his mind.

  She could never know the truth.

  Never.

  Truth, though, is a little like an air bubble at the bottom of a bath. It travels insistently towards the surface, requiring release through whichever means it can be obtained.

  And their truth was no less desperate to find freedom than any other.

  * * *

  The wedding had been beautiful. Evie’s heart sung with love. And though it was bitter-sweet to have celebrated so joyous an occasion only months after plunging to the absolute pit of emotional darkness, she could barely contain the happiness she felt.

  For once, it seemed like everything had just worked out.

  She didn’t want to overthink it.

  That she loved him and he didn’t feel that for her was not especially relevant. He loved being with her. He needed her in the same way she needed him. And they doted on Kalem. That, for now, had to be enough.

  Across the banquet hall, he spoke with a man she now knew to be the head of his parliament. The Prime Minister had spoken in perfect English and Evie had enjoyed talking to him for many reasons, but primarily this.

  Though learning the native language would be a top priority once they returned from their honeymoon. How could she sit beside the Sheikh without being able to communicate with the people of the land?

  Her smile was serene as she tilted her head, studying the rest of the room. There were not so many people as had come to the betrothal ceremony. The wedding itself had been a more private affair. And the celebration that followed had exceeded every single one of her dreams.

  “Champagne, madam?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  Though people were imbibing freely and the atmosphere was resoundingly festive, she found she didn’t want anything to dull her memories of that night. The conversation beside her continued and she nodded as though she was listening, but all of her concentration was on her husband.

  As though he felt her looking at him, he turned to face her, his expression showing wariness.

  She smiled, and he visibly relaxed. Would it always be this way with them? So charged, with every moment humming with emotion?

  “Excuse me,” she said softly, leaning towards her companions.

  She moved through the room, greeting those who wished to congratulate the new monarch. But she didn’t stop. Her goal was clear. She wanted to see her husband. To speak with him. To reassure herself that none of this was a dream.

  “Hello.”

  She turned, the social smile plastered on her face in expectation of yet another well-wisher. It dropped the second she saw Leilani, but only for an instant. She lifted it once more, though it hurt her cheeks.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Evie lied, knowing instinctively that it would be very undesirable to make a scene in front of their wedding guests.

  Her laugh was resonant and drew the attention of several people nearby. “You are as dishonest as he is.”

  Evie was sorry for this woman; her predecessor. What had Fayaz said? That Malakhi had cared for her? And undoubtedly, obviously, she for him.

  “I’m sorry,” Evie said gently. “I know how difficult this must be for you.”

  Leilani rolled her beautiful, expressive eyes. “You know nothing about me.” Her accent was thick, so that when she spat the word ‘nothing’ it sounded like ‘Nushink’. Evie recoiled a little at the force of the other woman’s hatred, but sympathy was quick to flood her system.

  “I
know he cared for you a great deal,” she spoke slowly, hoping the words would soothe Leilani’s mood. She leaned forward and smelled alcohol on the other woman’s breath.

  “I know this too,” Leilani spat. “He loves me. And yet he is your husband. How can you live with that?”

  Evie absorbed the hateful words with the appearance of calm. “If you love him, then you will avoid making a scene here,” she said through gritted teeth, her smile tight on her lips. “We both know he would hate people to see us having this argument.”

  “Then come and argue with me privately,” she taunted, leaning forward. “Or are you too afraid?”

  “Of course I’m not,” Evie denied, grateful she’d abstained from even a sip of champagne. Having her wits about her made it easier to spot that the other woman was on the edge of a meltdown. Out of concern for Malakhi’s pride, but a greater compassion for this jilted lover, Evie nodded in the direction from which she’d just come. “There is a powder room over here. Come.”

  How the regal command rolled off her tongue! She’d learned from the best, she supposed, a small smile battling through the tension to curve her lips. She walked with her head held high through the assembly, her gaze focussed on the edges of the room. She didn’t check that Leilani was following her – that she would was a given.

  The elegant parlour was staffed by two servants. Evie’s smile didn’t soften the cold intention of her words. “Please give us privacy.”

  They left immediately.

  It felt surprisingly good to flex her muscles as Sheikha. The power that came from her position was something she could become addicted to. Leilani entered the room in a puff of perfume and liquor. She’d grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter and held it to her lips, her eyes manic as they latched to Evie.

  “You think this is your right? To wear this dress? And that crown? To speak to the palace staff as though you are its mistress?”

  “It is my right. I am mistress of the palace now.” Her eyes held a challenge that Leilani lifted to meet.

  “You speak of right. But who are you? Just some woman from the other side of the world. What are you to him? To me?”