Duty, Desire and the Desert King

“You were gone for over seven hours.”

“I had the coronation.”

“I know!” She grabbed a pillow and squished it between her hands. “I know. You’re set. You’ve got it made. Wedded, marriage consummated, and now king. A big day for you.”

His expression shifted subtly, gold gaze shuttering, jaw hardening. “Yes, it’s been a big day, and a long day. Is all this drama necessary? It’s something my mother would do.”

Drama.

Something his mother would do. The mother he’d had nothing to do with for years.

She closed her eyes, turned her face away, as stunned as if he’d thrown a punch. The words hurt as much as a physical blow, and it took her a moment to catch her breath and then another moment to get her emotions under control. “I apologize for the drama,” she said when she was sure her voice was even. She even forced herself to look at him. “As you say, it’s been a long day.”

“Let’s just get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

She forced a smile. “You’re right.”

He stood, held out a hand to her. “Come.”

She looked at his hand and then up into his face. “I think I’d like to sleep here, in my own room.”

His black lashes dropped, concealing the gold of his eyes. “Alone.”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “If you please.”

He took a step away, made a rough sound. “If I please,” he repeated, his tone strange, almost mocking. “If I please.” He looked down at her, brow furrowed, lines etched at his mouth and eyes. “It’s our wedding night, Rou.”

A lump filled her throat and her eyes scratched and burned. She prayed that she could keep the tears from forming. “I know.”

“Then what? Are we not to be together? Are we already going to live apart?”

“But we’re not together. We’ve never been together. We’ve had sex, but we have no relationship. I don’t even know why you’d want me to sleep in your room. What am I to you, Zayed?”

His shoulders shifted. “My wife.”

“In name only,” she answered, her voice barely audible.

“But it’s not name only. I have vowed to protect you, I have vowed to honor you. I have vowed to put you before all women for the rest of my life. What more could I give you than that?”

Love, she wanted to say.

Friendship.

Respect.

But she couldn’t say any of it, feeling horrifyingly like her mother when her parents used to fight. Her emotionally fragile mother with all those needs her father had ridiculed. Needy, clingy, pathetic, weak.

Weak.

Rou blinked, trying to clear the gritty sensation in her eyes, but it wouldn’t go away.

She wasn’t weak, and emotions weren’t bad, and she had to find a way to reach him, had to find the words she could use, words he’d understand, words he’d relate to because so far she was just alienating him more.

Think, think. But her chest burned and her head ached and everything swirled inside her wild and chaotic. It was impossible to think clearly when she felt like this. If only he’d give her time. If only he’d sit back down, she’d try hard to calm down. If only he’d realize that this wasn’t just hysterics but genuine fear. She’d never allowed anyone close to her, was never open, never struggled to communicate emotion.

But she could see he didn’t understand. She could see his anger and disgust, and how he was drawing away.

Rou lifted a hand, reaching toward him, willing him to come back and take her hand or at least return so they could calm down and make themselves understood.

Zayed looked at her face and then her hand and slowly shook his head. “I wanted a strong woman, a confident woman for a reason, Rou. I don’t do drama. I don’t do scenes. I can’t.” He headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Panic and despair crashed through her. Ask him to stay. Ask him. Ask him!

Beg him.

Beg like Mother used to do. Beg. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Dad stopped walking out the door when she fell to her knees and begged.

But Rou couldn’t beg, and couldn’t speak, and Zayed paused at the top of the stairs to look down at her. “Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow,” he said, perfectly cold, perfectly controlled, perfectly played, as if he were her actor father, Oscar winner Max Tornell.

She nodded, tears blinding her eyes.

“Good night, Rou.”

And then he was gone, and she grabbed the pillow closest to her and, hugging it against her chest, she cried great soundless tears, her body wrenched with sobs.

This is exactly what she didn’t want, exactly the scenario she feared. Men walking away. Women crying. Men long-suffering. Women breaking.

Oh God, to have him just leave like that. To have him go as though nothing mattered.

It was her father and mother all over again.

This is how it’d always played out with them. The fights. The tears. The walking out.

Rou cried as if her heart was breaking, and maybe it was, because she just understood that she was no better than her parents, and if she weren’t careful she’d end up with nothing, just as they had.

CHAPTER TEN

SHE waited all morning for Zayed and he didn’t come or send for her, and the more time that passed, the harder it became to wait. She wasn’t good at turmoil, didn’t like tension, hated that sick, nervous feeling in her stomach.

After a sleepless night she knew that she’d behaved badly. Yes, he’d left her alone for seven hours. Yes, he’d left her without saying goodbye or leaving a note, but in his defense, he did have a great many things on his mind, and daunting new responsibilities. She, of all people, should be more understanding. She, of all people, should know how stressful his life was at the moment.

Rou just wanted to apologize. She wanted to go back to the moment yesterday when she’d opened her heart to him and try again. He wasn’t a bad man, he wasn’t dishonest. He’d never promised her anything he didn’t feel able to give.

Another hour passed and it was early afternoon now, lunch having come and gone without a word. But then just as she resolved to go to him, he appeared in her living room in his now-familiar white robe. He looked as tired as she felt.

“Hello,” she said, rising from her desk, where she’d been answering e-mail, e-mail that had included responses from all of the women she

’d contacted on Zayed’s behalf. Three of the four women she’d e-mailed were interested in meeting him, and two were quite anxious to set up the first meet. How ironic.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, gesturing to her computer.

“No. I’m just wrapping up.” She smiled, ignoring the flutter of nerves inside her. “How is your day going?”

“It’s been busy. I’ve been closeted with my new cabinet all morning, and then I’ve spent the last hour with Jesslyn and Khalid discussing Sharif’s funeral.”

No wonder he looked strained.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “I was wrong.” She colored, feeling the shame of last night return. “I was selfish and thoughtless—”

“You were a new bride and you were left alone for hours on your wedding day. That couldn’t have felt good.”

She recognized he was trying to meet her halfway, and relief rushed through her, relief so sweet that she exhaled, letting the tension leave her tight shoulders. “I was more upset about missing the coronation. I really wanted to be there. I know it’s a male-only event, but still, I care about you and I wanted to be part of it somehow.”

His forehead creased. “I hadn’t realized the ceremony would be followed by a formal dinner. I should have. I was there for Sharif’s coronation. The dinner went on for hours.” He exhaled and shook his head. “I should have at least sent word to you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she answered, finding that she could breathe properly for the first time since she woke up in Zayed’s bed yesterday. “All this is new to both of us, and you must be as overwhelmed as I am.”

“But this is my home, and my family, and my customs. I forget how little you know of our ways. However, I’d like to make it up to you. Let’s go out to dinner tonight. There’s a small, discreet place here in the capital city that I like very much, and it would get us out of the palace for the evening, something I think we could both use.”