“That’s…sexist enough,” she said.
“How? It has nothing to do with you being a woman, and everything to do with being the wife of a sheikh. I have particular duties as ruler, and you have particular duties as the spouse of a ruler.”
“So if I was sheikh…”
“You very likely wouldn’t be called sheikh.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. If I were sheikha,” she said, drawing out the syllables, “then you would be expected to fulfill my sexual needs and hang on my arm at events?”
“That sounds fair,” he said, a frown marring his features. “I take it you are not thrilled with my expectations?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, feeling panic start to rise in her breast. “Does any of it matter? I’m stuck. You have the power here. You and I both know that.”
“I am not a tyrant, neither am I a dictator. I get no pleasure from beating you into submission. What do you expect from a husband?”
Love. If there was love, so many other things could be forgiven. But without it…what was there? “I…I would like to be considered as a person, not an ornament. I don’t want my life to begin and end with my husband’s needs. I want him to consider mine. I want a husband who will love his children and take an interest in them.” A husband who loves me.
His brows were drawn together, his expression contemplative. “It is not how things are done.”
“What isn’t?”
“There are…certain things expected of the Sheikh of Rahat, things I learned as a child and…they did not include caring for children or…many of the other things you mentioned. My duty is to my people.”
“But if you can’t love the people in your household, how can you expect to care for those you rule?”
“Ruling requires distance and a firm hand.”
Something inside her deflated and sank down to her toes. “It’s the love that you have trouble with.”
“I did not learn it.”
The way he said it, so authoritative and so final, told her he never intended to try.
Chapter Seven
Angelina pulled her thin robe more tightly around herself and stepped out into the gardens, the cobblestones, cooled by the night air, felt good on her feet. Calming. Soothing.
She followed one of the paths that led into the center of the lavishly kept landscape, her thoughts turning over that afternoon’s conversation with Taj. Taj didn’t know how to love. He hadn’t learned how.
A shame since she loved him.
She was certain of that now. That she loved him. That she had loved for him for years, and that no matter how bad their first parting had been, the good memories would always be stronger.
“What brings you out here?”
Angelina whirled around to find the voice in the darkness and nearly ran into Taj. “What are you doing out here?”
“I asked first. Come now, I am sheikh and I am accustomed to being answered.” He said it with no irony. Nothing but the absolute certainty of a man who only knew how to get his way.
She shifted her weight to one leg and put her hand on her hip. “You’ll have to be disappointed then, sugar.”
He narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. Good. “Then I’ll settle for giving you my reasons. I couldn’t sleep.”
She shrugged. “Oh, funny. I could. That’s why I’m out here. You’re just seeing my astral projection. I’m sound asleep in the house.”
“You have such a mouth on you,” he said. “I am not complaining. I’ve benefitted hugely from your use of that mouth.”
It was her turn to be annoyed. “A gentleman wouldn’t bring such things up.”
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said, his tone rough.
“Ah…no of course not. You’re a sheikh.”
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the fountain.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Come on now, Taj, you should know me better than that.”
He kept his dark eyes trained on her, his face shadowed in the dim light of the garden. He moved to the edge of the fountain and sat down, then touched the place beside him. “Please, sit with me.”