Duty, Desire and the Desert King

She glanced up and saw Zayed studying her again, his brow furrowed. She reached for the linen serviette and brushed at her mouth. “What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. It’s good to see you eat. You’re so very thin—”

“My mother was thin,” she interrupted, “Unfortunately I inherited her fast metabolism instead of her stunning cheekbones.” Rou smiled at her own joke but Zayed didn’t smile back.

“I suspect you don’t eat enough.”

“Sharif used to say the same thing. But I have this terribly sensitive stomach. When I’m nervous, or anxious, I can’t eat anything. My throat just closes up and tea is about all I can manage.”

His golden gaze had darkened at the mention of Sharif’s name. “You knew my brother well?”

Rou glanced down at her lap where she spread the linen cloth flat. “I think you know I earned the Fehr scholarship at Cambridge. It’s what helped me pay for all my graduate studies.”

“And that’s why you’re so devoted to Sharif?”

She felt herself blush. “No. But Sharif became a friend as well as a mentor during my years at Cambridge. It wasn’t until after I’d earned my advance degrees that I realized he helped me because of his sisters.”

“How did he help?” Zayed persisted.

“He offered advice and wisdom. He listened to my goals. He made introductions when he could.” She looked at Zayed, saw the skepticism in his expression and shrugged. “I know it sounds strange. Your brother is a powerful man, a very wealthy man, but he’s also a compassionate man, and I think in his own way, he needed me as much as I needed him.”

“Sharif needs no one. He’s the rock of the family. Invincible.”

Rou wrinkled her brow. “You think so?”

“From birth he’s been groomed to lead. From the start he’s known what is expected of him and he’s done it, without complaint.”

“But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t felt loss, or pain. Or worry, or doubt.”

“You’re not describing my brother—”

“And you just don’t want to see your brother as a man, and vulnerable.”

“Sharif isn’t vulnerable. He’s never been vulnerable, and he’s going to be found. He’ll be back in Sarq, running the country again in no time.”

Rou studied him curiously. “If you really believe that, then why go to all the trouble of finding a proper wife and getting married? Why not just wait for his return?”

“I can’t.” His tone was curt, his frustration evident. “Sarq law requires a present king, therefore I must assume the throne, but I can’t without a bride.”

She was silent a moment, digesting this, as well as wondering how to best word what she wanted to say next. “Sheikh Fehr, I have to be honest. If you want a woman to marry you so you can assume the throne, then that’s one thing. But if you want a woman who is your life partner, that’s entirely different.”

“The woman needs to be one and the same. I need a bride, and I want a successful marriage. Surely you have someone in your system who would be open to a short courtship? Someone not opposed to, say, an arranged marriage? Someone who would benefit from my position, and wealth? Someone who could contribute to our lives here…?”

She knew the answer. It was no. None of the women she’d met and represented would want to be whisked here, married within days, and then left here for the next twenty-some years. For most modern women it’d be a horrific prospect. “Forgive me, but Sarq is in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yes.”

“You’re isolated.”

“And…?”

“Do you intend to remain here permanently, then? Or will you live part-time in Monte Carlo? I know you have a home there.”

“As king I have to live where my people live.”

“And your new bride?”

He gave her a look that indicated she might have lost her mind. “She’d live with me, of course.”

She ran a hand over her eyes, already exhausted. This was impossible. He had to realize that, didn’t he? Wonderful, successful, intelligent, confident, strong women didn’t just run to the Middle East and marry a sheikh and stay there, buried in the desert. It was one thing if a woman was desperate, or had no choice, but the woman he described as his ideal wife would have a choice, and she wouldn’t find his life as a desert king appealing. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re describing an arranged marriage, and if you want an arranged marriage, you’re better off with a woman from your own culture—”

“No.”

“—who could embrace the concept of arranged marriage,” she continued as though he’d never spoken. “Western women won’t

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