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

His Calla lily.

His fingers found the rough edge of a tag and he peered at it in the dim

light. CC. This was one of her creations. He fingered the silky material again. It was remarkable. Exquisite. Totally unique. He tucked it up at his side as he lay back on the chaise, drifting off to sleep with the scent of Calla lingering in the air.

Sometime during the next evening, all the fevers broke, and the children went back to their regular routines. A twenty-four-hour bug if Calla had ever seen one. And thank goodness, too. The incessant worrying and fawning was taking its toll. She wouldn’t have eaten or showered last night if it hadn’t been for Fatim’s good sense to force her to do both.

Fatim doted on her as much as he did the children. It warmed her in a way that she had to remind herself was just part of their agreement. Even though it seemed very real and very heartfelt, it probably was not.

Because how could it be genuine when they had only married so he could avoid the consequences of an ancient law?

Still, the way he’d brushed his lips against hers the evening before betrayed something just a little bit more than avoiding ancient laws. Or maybe that was just her, being sentimental and romantic because the king of this tribal nation wanted to put his lips against hers. Probably he was just taking full advantage of their situation without worry of the emotional consequences. Men could do that. Men always did that.

Fatim urged her to return to her design work, and over the past week her studio from the city center had been relocated to the palace for both practicality and marital reasons. It didn’t look good for a tribal queen to have her own studio in the city center, Fatim had said, and Calla quickly agreed to relocate. She just needed to bring Rasha with her.

As Calla’s only Amatbahn friend, she needed her more than ever as the new queen. Because not only had her work space relocated—so had her bedroom. After the kids’ illness, Fatim had suggested that they begin sharing his bed. For appearances. She’d agreed, like a lovesick fool. And without Rasha, Calla would be lost.

Calla rushed to the royal tents where her design studio now sat, bathed in lush, natural light and more shelves and storage options than she could have ever fathomed. Rasha was there, working on a skirt.

“Hey, lady!” Rasha chirped as Calla entered. She left the heavy flap open to signal to the other tribal women that she was available, a practice that Fatim had counseled her on. The whole idea of integrating into the tribal community, especially with the other wives, still seemed distant and foreign. They hadn’t been married long, and now two days had been lost due to the children’s illness. She knew it would come with time, but she was eager to earn her place in the hierarchy. She still just felt like a hired wife, though nobody else in the royal sector technically knew.

Rasha and Calla quickly fell into a work flow. Calla resumed work on some traditional dresses that she planned on selling now that her name was more in the public eye. About a half hour into her stitching, a few women entered the tent.

“Good morning,” Calla said, sending a bright smile their way. Three ladies had sauntered in, and Calla recognized them as wives of prominent tribal leaders. They’d attended the wedding, and Calla had spoken with them briefly about her traditional designs. Excitement thrummed through her. Here, at least, was a window of opportunity to really wow them. Show them how much she could be like them, that she belonged here. “It’s so nice to see the three of your again!”

The wives smiled politely and murmured their greetings, keeping their hands clasped against their long, swishy dresses.

The tallest one, who had her hair swept back into a long, elegant black braid, said, “We actually haven’t met.” She bowed slightly, as was the custom for greeting the queen. “I wasn’t able to attend the wedding. My name is Sharisi.”

Calla tried not to let the embarrassment stain her face. She was the queen, dammit. She needed to remember who she’d met and who she hadn’t. “My apologies. The night was such a fun whirlwind. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sharisi.”

The other two women smiled demurely while they fingered finished pieces hanging on display. Calla adjusted her dress as they perused the studio, Rasha sending quizzical looks every so often. The three women conferred amongst themselves as they fingered the best traditional dresses that Calla had ever made. She nibbled on her lip, awaiting feedback, or praise, or something.

“These are very nice,” one of the other wives said, offering a forced smile. The three of them looked ready to leave, heading toward the tent entrance.

Very nice. Not quite what she was expecting. All traces of former enthusiasm were gone.

“Are there any that pique your interest?” Calla asked, hurrying to intersect them. The tribal wives liking her designs was a crucial part of the plan. And honestly, she hadn’t thought it would be hard to make something they’d be excited about.

The three guests shared a glance that Calla couldn’t read.

“These are very traditional,” offered Sharisi.

Calla blinked. “Well, isn’t that what you’re looking for?”

The tribal wives shared anther unreadable look before the short one said, “Actually, I was hoping for something a bit…different. Less traditional.”

Calla’s eyes widened. She had plenty of non-traditional things. But this didn’t quite make sense yet. “But I thought that’s what we all wanted here,” she said, gesturing around them, to the collective we-ness of their place in the tribe as wives. “You know. Tradition.”

Sharisi rolled her lips inward. The short one spoke again.

“This is not tradition,” she said, her voice coming out a little harsh. “This is a Western woman making what she thinks is tradition.”

Calla frowned, looking back at her dresses. Something in her words cut deep.

“We were hopeful that King Fatim’s choice in a Western wife would bring more modern influences into the tribe,” Sharisi added.

Calla couldn’t respond. She felt rebuked. Badly. This was her worst nightmare coming true—silent, unequivocal rejection from all of those around her. Or what felt like it.