The Sheikh’s Wife Arrangement (The Safar Sheikhs 1)

“I thought that in addition to being my nanny…you could also be my wife.”

5

Calla laughed. In the king’s face. She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to silence the unsanctioned giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What did you just ask me?”

“I realize this sounds absurd,” Fatim went on, his dark eyes swimming with sincerity. “But I’m not joking. I need a wife, and I need one fast. This would be temporary and only to skirt the law.”

The urge to laugh dissolved inside her. He was serious.

“I would pay an obscene amount of money for the inconvenience,” he went on. “I’m assuming that marrying the king was not part of your original agenda, so I am prepared to do whatever necessary to make sure your time here flows as smoothly as possible.”

More money. He wanted to throw even more money at her. At her last count, she had just barely made the entry fee for Fashion Week, which left her in a particular type of pickle: she could afford to get in but couldn’t afford to purchase any additional materials or assistance. Scrounging would become the only way she could make it work. But did she really want to alleviate her financial concerns by marrying the king?

He was right. It was absurd. And even though she’d struggled with saying no her entire life, this proposal pushed her to the limit.

“I’m not sure this falls in line with my goals while in Amatbah,” she finally forced out past dry lips.

“You’re right. You have specific goals.” Fatim worked his jaw back and forth, his gaze raking over her again. “And I’m prepared to help you achieve them. As the king’s wife, you will have unlimited access to resources and connections that will put you exactly where you want to be. Make no mistake—I will open up every door available to me so that you can achieve what you are seeking.”

His words rang through her like harmony. Unlimited access to resources and connections. It was hard not to scream YES! on the spot. But still, she should think about this. Take some time to sit with the idea and figure out if marrying the king was ultra-stupid, or ultra-smart.

Besides, she hadn’t moved to Amatbah to marry her employer. Even if he was hotter than sin and the world’s most eligible bachelor.

“I hardly know what to say,” Calla stammered.

“Say yes.” Fatim’s grin nearly prompted the word from her lips.

“I need some time to think about it.” Calla tucked stray hair behind her ear. Stepping away from this office and this man’s penetrating gaze seemed wise, so that she could put her thoughts in order and weigh the pros and cons.

“I understand. Take a day. Let me know tomorrow.”

Calla nodded, letting herself out of the office. It wasn’t until she’d left the palace and was halfway to her studio that she realized she hadn’t even asked the king the questions she’d gone to him with. And maybe that was the sign that she was just as much a people pleaser as ever. She’d let the king’s interests stand in the way of her own. First nanny, now marriage? She stormed into her studio, suddenly angry.

Her studio mate, Rasha, jumped when Calla burst through the door. Beads flew from the tray she held on her lap.

“You scared the life out of me!” Rasha exclaimed. She scrambled to pick up some of the beads that had scattered on the floor.

“Sorry,” Calla mumbled, bending down to help her. With so much on her mind, the only safe way of coping was sewing. She had two hours before the kids arrived back at the palace from their tribal day school, which was part traditional schooling, part etiquette, part military history. Two uninterrupted hours of furious sewing would help her decide her fate here in Amatbah.

“You look troubled,” Rasha said, slowly easing the door shut to their studio. “Is everything okay?”

Calla grunted. Rasha had become an unexpectedly necessary part of her time in Amatbah. Living in the palace kept her in a bubble. These frequent trips to Al Ghuman helped her stay grounded and out of the royal fantasy. And now the king wanted her to become even more firmly entrenched inside that bubble. They started out strangers, but now Calla considered Rasha one of her only friends in the city. Maybe she would be the perfect person to ask for advice.

“I’m kind of in a situation with my employer,” Calla started.

“You mean King Fatim?” Rasha immediately got that starry-eyed look whenever the king was brought up. She’d been wanting to meet him for years and never got the chance. Along with half the population of Amatbah. The man was a celebrity around here. Every single woman of child-bearing age wanted a crack at King Fatim.

“Yeah. I was recently promoted from royal seamstress to royal nanny.” She plopped into the chair in front of her small sewing desk, dumping her backpack beside her. “Which is sort of a horizontal promotion instead of a vertical one.”

“His kids are sooo cute,” Rasha gushed.

“They are. They like me, which is a plus. But now, the king wants me to do something else for him.” She nibbled on her lip, trying to weigh the pros and cons of opening up to Rasha. She was basically the only confidante she had here in Amatbah. The only other person she might call in a quandary like this—her mother—was out of the question, because she was one hundred percent certain her mother would turn it into an I-told-you-so moment. After a childhood of learning Amatbahn customs and being groomed, more or less, for a traditional path in life, Calla had fought hard to get her parents to accept the fact that she wasn’t coming to Amatbah to settle down—she was coming to pursue her dreams. Calling home with a marriage proposal would only show her mother that she’d been right.

“What? Marry him?” Rasha snickered.

Calla sent her a flat look. “Actually, yes.”