Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

She noticed that someone had left her bags in the bedroom and took the opportunity to freshen up, pulling out a pair of dark trousers and a long-sleeved cashmere top. Simple, elegant. Better than the powder-pink dress.

She took a quick shower, tying her hair up out of the way. It was too much of a job to get into washing and drying it now.

When she’d dried off and changed, she found a mercifully flat pair of shoes and took a breath and went into the cabin.

She could see Sharif’s dark head over his seat-back. When she came closer he was engrossed in his laptop. He glanced at her as she came alongside him and slid into the seat on the other side of the aisle. She only realised then that she’d left her hair in a knot on the top of her head, too wild to let loose.

The steward came over with a steaming coffee and Liyah smiled her thanks, accepting it gratefully, hoping she didn’t look too dishevelled.

She took a sip, relishing the hot tart taste, and then risked another look at Sharif. He closed his laptop and she noticed stubble on his jaw. He’d taken off his jacket but still wore the waistcoat of the suit. Shirtsleeves rolled up. He was utterly civilised and uncivilised all at the same time. A potent mix.

‘Did you work all night?’

He accepted a coffee from the steward too. He looked at her, arching a brow. ‘Concerned about me, Aaliyah?’

His voice made her insides tighten with awareness. This man was so dangerous. And he already knew so much about her. Too much.

Up until the cataclysmic moment when she’d realised who her husband was, she’d felt safe in the knowledge that her uncharacteristic behaviour would never be scrutinised in the cold light of day. But the universe was laughing at her now. Not only would her behaviour be scrutinised, but she’d married a man whose only impression of her was based on the illicit night they’d shared together. And she had no defence. She’d been bolder and more brazen than at any other time in her life.

‘Don’t call me Aaliyah. It’s Liyah. Please.’

‘Liyah, then.’ His gaze dropped, taking in her change of clothes. ‘Dark matte colours and pinks do nothing for you,’ he observed. ‘We’ll remedy that. I have lots of events lined up that you’ll be required to attend by my side.’

Liyah flushed at the way he assessed her so coolly, as if she was some kind of mannequin. Feeling defensive she said, ‘I didn’t choose the clothes. They were picked for me.’

‘Well, you didn’t offer any information on what you preferred,’ Sharif pointed out.

Liyah said nothing, because she had scant interest in fashion or trends, and she wasn’t sure she would have been adept at knowing what did suit her. The fact that she suspected this man did made her feel defensive all over again. She really knew next to nothing about him.

‘My father said you control a...a luxury conglomerate?’

His dark gaze narrowed on her face. She felt very bare. Not that she was used to wearing make-up, but she’d like some kind of armour right now.

‘Yes, I run it with my two half-brothers.’

So, he had family. Liyah absorbed that.

Sharif frowned. ‘You really didn’t know who I was at the oasis?’

She shook her head. ‘I figured there would be plenty of time to learn about who you were. After all, we’re married now, for better or worse. For a long time.’

‘You weren’t much interested in the prenuptial agreement. My staff told me you only glanced through it before signing.’

Liyah shrugged. ‘I thought that would please you?’

‘It intrigues me. I don’t know a woman who wouldn’t have gone through the document with a team of lawyers and dissected it to within an inch of its life before engaging in negotiatons for the maximum they could get their hands on.’

‘The women you know don’t sound very nice.’

A muscle in his jaw ticked. ‘That could very well be the case, but as one of the wealthiest people on the planet I do tend to attract a certain type. So what makes you different? I know you don’t have your father’s fortune to fall back on, because your family is all but bankrupt—like your country. Hence the eagerness to marry you, or anyone, off.’

Liyah blinked. ‘So it’s true...the rumour about the fiscal debt in Taraq?’

Sharif nodded. ‘Your father and his ministers have overextended themselves hugely in redeveloping the country.’

Liyah had heard the rumours—especially when she’d been abroad—but hadn’t known if they were true or not. Naturally her father would never share such information with her. Not even when she was helping dig her own country out of debt with this marriage.

‘I don’t depend on my father for an income or an inheritance,’ Liyah said. ‘He wrote me out of the family will long ago.’