The Sultan's Choice

Sadiq stood too, and inclined his head. He looked huge on the other side of the table. ‘By all means—be my guest. The car will pick you up at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. I’m afraid I won’t be here for breakfast as I’ve got an important conference call to take with my ministers in the morning. It’ll run into a few hours. But I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow evening.’

The following day Samia was grateful for the chance to lie horizontal while she had her eyelashes tinted. She’d hardly slept a wink after that conversation with Sadiq, and now she’d had the wedding dress fitting and had then deposited in this opluent beauty salon just off the Champs-Elysées, with Simone issuing a stream of incomprehensible instructions to the team of therapists assigned to her. For someone who’d never had a facial or a massage in her life, the whole experience was a little scary—if faintly pleasurable.

She wondered how many of his women had been brought to the same place, and couldn’t stop a dart of something that felt awfully like jealousy from spiking in the pit of her belly.

One day in the library last week, when the others had been on a lunch break, Samia—much to her everlasting shame—had looked up archived newspaper reports about Sadiq. Of all of the women with whom he’d been associated just one name had popped up more than once, and it belonged to a well-known and beautiful European socialite. Their on/off affair seemed to stretch back to when Sadiq had been quite young, and immediately warning bells had gone off in Samia’s head.

She’d witnessed her own brother change for ever and become hard after a love affair gone wrong when he was nineteen. She knew exactly how men like her brother and Sadiq could shut themselves off after feeling exposed. That memory of Sadiq in the library of the Hussein castle had taken on new significance.

A relatively recent photo of Sadiq with the same woman had said more than words ever could. They were entering an exclusive hotel in Paris and Sadiq was looking down into her perfect face. The intensity of his expression alone told Samia that if this man had once had a heart, it was long lost by now.

That evening, after their dinner had been cleared away, Samia looked at Sadiq and tried not to notice the fact that he looked tired.

In a bid to distract him from sensing her concern, she blurted out, ‘How will this marriage be?’ He frowned slightly, and Samia cursed herself. ‘What I mean is … are you going to keep mistresses on the side?’ She stuck out her chin. ‘Because I won’t stand for that. I won’t be publicly ridiculed.’

Samia was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. Clearly she’d gone from assuming he would have to take a lover to stay satisfied to rejecting the notion with every cell in her body. The picture of him with that woman was burning a hole in her brain.

Sadiq smiled, and it was mocking enough to make Samia want to slap him.

‘First of all, I’ve never had mistresses. I’m a one-woman man. At a time.’

Samia cringed. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I don’t currently have a mistress, as I would see it as incredibly bad taste to get engaged while entertaining another woman. And, contrary to what some people may expect—clearly all the gossips you were listening to—I have every intention of being a faithful husband.’

Samia flushed and said defensively. ‘I wasn’t listening to gossips … It’s not exactly a secret that you’ve had plenty of … lovers.’

A look of distaste flashed across Sadiq’s face. ‘My own father paraded his mistresses in front of my mother, and I always vowed not to disrespect a wife like that. It turned my mother into a recluse.’

A wife. So impersonal. Did he regard her as just a wife? As if she even needed that question answered. Of course he did. And why did that suddenly not feel

okay to her?

Wanting to avoid that line of questions and answers, she asked, ‘You didn’t get on with your father?’

Sadiq’s mouth twisted and he looked at her coolly, some indefinable emotion flashing across his face. ‘Not exactly, no. He was an angry man for much of the time, for various reasons. And he took that anger out on my mother—and me—when it suited him.’

Samia had an immediate sense of a small boy being neglected and hated, and her heart contracted at that image. She wondered if that anger had ever turned physical. She’d got used to avoiding her stepmother’s free hands and could sense that Sadiq too had become adept at getting out of harm’s way. This hint of vulnerability was making all sorts of flutters take off in Samia’s belly, and she longed to ask him more, but couldn’t. He was already looking as if he regretted saying anything, and she was just beginning to realise how little he revealed of himself at all.

‘Does your mother live with you?’

Sadiq nodded. ‘She has her own quarters in the castle. You’ll meet her when you come to B’harani before the wedding to settle in.’

Samia’s belly tensed. Her eyes darted away from his intense gaze. That blue that seemed to sear right through her. She fiddled with the ring on her wedding finger, unused to its heavy weight.

‘What if …?’ She trailed off. What Samia really wanted to ask was what if she didn’t please him in bed? How could he honestly say then that he wouldn’t take a mistress? But instead she said, ‘What if we have problems with children … getting pregnant?’

‘Then I would divorce you and marry again.’

The speed of his response and its stark finality made Samia look at him again. Her mouth opened and shut. She was not sure at all how she felt about that, and was not liking the feeling. Finally she got out, ‘What if it’s you that has the problem?’

He smiled tightly. ‘It won’t be me.’

His insufferable arrogance made Samia sit up straight in her seat. ‘Well, of course it could be you. Not even you can tell the future. You might be the Sultan but—’

‘I know.’ He cut her off. ‘I’ve had medical tests and there’s no evidence that there should be problems.’

Samia’s mouth closed. ‘But … why would you doubt your ability to have children?’