The Sheikh's Bartered Bride

“Am I not your Prince Charming?”

She couldn’t help smiling at the question as she was sure she was meant to. “Well. You are a prince in Jawhar and you are charming, so I suppose it would be appropriate to call you my Prince Charming.”

“So, it is only the fantasy wedding you find impossible.”

“It s not something you can throw together in a week.” She couldn’t help the slight wistfulness in her tone.

“It is something that takes a minimum of six weeks?”

He had remembered her comment from dinner.

“I don’t know.” She’d never planned one and Felicity’s wedding had been organized over several months.

“With sufficient financial and manpower resources at your disposal, do you think you could put together this dream wedding in less than six weeks?”

“How much less?” What was he getting at?

“Could you do it under a month?”

“Are you saying you’re willing to wait?”

“It pleases me to make your dreams come true.” He sounded so arrogant, but could she blame him?

He was making her dreams come true.

“Three weeks?” she asked, as if she were bartering a deal.

“You will take sufficient time off after the wedding to visit Jawhar?”

With three weeks’ notice, she could arrange it… Just. “Yes.”

His smile flashed. “Then it is a deal.”

The engagement dinner was more like a party. Her mother had invited a hundred of her nearest and dearest, arranging for the meal to take place in an upscale Seattle restaurant with a live orchestra and dance floor.

Catherine circled the floor in her father’s arm and listened while he listed off Hakim’s attributes.

“Boy’s got a good head for business on his shoulders.”

She wondered how her sheikh would feel being referred to as boy. Suppressing a smile, she nodded her agreement.

“He’s considerate. Look at how he changed his mind about the wedding.”

Finally her amusement found vent in a small laugh. “Dad, you don’t have to sell Hakim to me. He’s not one of your matchmaking attempts.” Thankfully. “I chose him and he chose me. I want to marry him.”

Satisfaction coursed through her at the knowledge that her father had had nothing to do with her and Hakim meeting. She wasn’t a pity date, or being eyed as a possible way into her father’s good graces. Hakim wanted nothing from her father, needed nothing from Benning Mining and Excavations. His desire for her might be physical, but at least it was for her. He wanted her, Catherine Marie Benning, and nothing else.

Hakim waited for his bride at the front of the church. Organ music swelled and he turned to face the massive oak doors at the back of the church. They swung wide and Catherine’s sister came into view. Hakim felt shock lance through him. The filmy fabric of her dress was the color of a robin’s egg, but that was not what held Hakim motionless. It was the al-firdous style fo the dress. It has been embroidered and beaded in traditional Middle Eastern patterns with thread and beads the same color as the dress. Felicity wore the matching sheer scarf looped over her pale blond hair much the same way his own sister would have done.

Hakim felt his pulse increase as he waited to see his bride. He barely noticed the flower girl as she came forward, dropping rose petals along the white runner, or the small boy wearing a traditional tuxedo bearing the rings.

Each of the attendants had taken their place when the music halted for the count of several seconds. When it began again, the organ played the strains of the “Wedding March.” And then she was there, framed by the open portal of the two massive doors. Hakim’s mouth went dry. She had brought together east and west with mind-numbing effect.

The traditional white wedding gown fit snugly against her body, accentuating the feminine curves to her hips and then flared out in a skirt that rustled as she made the slow march toward him. But the hem, the edges of the medieval sleeves and the off the shoulder neckline had all been embroidered with gold geometric patterns. The semitransparent veil had matching embroidery around its edges, a veil worn in the tradition of his homeland covering all but the exquisite gentian blue of her eyes. Which as she came closer he could see had been outlined with kohl, giving his shy little flower a look of mystery.

Her lips were curved in a smile behind the soft white chiffon covering her face. She reached his side and her father put her hand into Hakim’s. He curled his fingers around hers. Her skin was cold and the hand holding her white bouquet was shaking. He squeezed, offering the assurance of his presence. She had wanted this large wedding, but that did not mean a lifetime of shyness had dissolved in a fortnight.