Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

She nodded and walked in.

Sharif couldn’t help but notice the soft sway of her breasts under the material of her tunic. Dio. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Considering what he knew now, he suspected that was on purpose. Her talk of not needing money from him had been a cute deflection from her true nature.

‘A soda and lime would be nice, thank you.’

So demure. So deceptive.

Sharif poured her drink, handed it to her, and then poured himself a Scotch.

She hovered, as if unsure what to do or where to go.

Her apparent reticence irritated him now. It was all an act. He cursed himself for not investigating her sooner. But he had investigated her sister, and nothing untoward had come back, so he’d just assumed she would be the same. A serious lapse in Sharif’s usual attention to detail.

‘Please, sit, Liyah. You don’t need permission.’

Liyah sat on one of the couches, sending him a slightly inquisitive look, which he ignored.

Sharif chose a chair. Instead of demanding that she explain herself straight away, he decided to play dumb. ‘Did you rest this afternoon?’

She nodded and took a sip of her drink. ‘Yes, thank you.’

But Sharif knew he couldn’t string this out—he was too angry. ‘You don’t have to thank me for everything. This is your home now too, and you’re free to come and go. But...’ He paused for a moment, watching her carefully. ‘I will not tolerate the kind of behaviour you have displayed on your hedonistic jaunt around Europe over the last couple of years.’

Hedonistic jaunt.

Liyah had just taken a sip of her drink and she nearly choked, but she managed to swallow before she did.

She looked at her husband.

He’d seen the papers and the paparazzi photos.

The hurt that she’d felt the first time she’d realised she’d been so betrayed felt fresh again. The fact that she wasn’t similarly armed with information on Sharif made her feel very defenceless now. But then she told herself she was being paranoid.

‘What exactly are you talking about?’

His mouth thinned. ‘The nice little portfolio my assistant put together for me, featuring your various and myriad exploits last summer in Europe, mainly on the Côte d’Azur.’

She wasn’t being paranoid. Liyah’s insides cramped. ‘Those pictures weren’t—’

He cut in. ‘Weren’t what they looked like? Spare me the excuses, Liyah. It was pretty clear what they were—pictures of an entitled royal socialite living to excess. But I couldn’t care less what you got up to, or that you seem to like to affect this act of faux innocence and naivety. What I do care about is that you do not repeat that behaviour while you are married to me. Luckily the pictures didn’t get picked up by the wider gossip sites. And we’re going to keep it that way. You won’t be hooking up with any of your Eurotrash party friends while you’re with me.’

Liyah felt sick. She could see the pictures in her mind’s eye. Lolling on the deck of a massive yacht in the sparkling Mediterranean Sea drinking champagne. Falling out of famous nightclubs being held up by so-called friends. Shopping in the most famous shops and streets of Spain, Italy, Paris... You name it, she’d been there.

Except she hadn’t.

Because the girl in those pictures hadn’t been her.

The words to try and explain this to Sharif trembled on her tongue, but he was like a stone. Disgusted. Disapproving. And a need to protect herself rose up. She would only be with this man for a year at the most. He didn’t deserve to know the real her—the woman far removed from those pictures.

And how could she defend herself when his first impression of her had been the wanton woman he’d met at the oasis, who had shown no hesitation in jumping into bed with a complete stranger? No wonder he believed the worst.

She forced the emotion out of her voice. ‘You can rest assured that I won’t be a liability while we’re married.’

Thomas appeared in the doorway at that moment, with perfect timing, to announce dinner.

Liyah preceded Sharif out of the room and tried not to feel like a chastened child. But it was hard when she wanted to stamp her feet and tell him that he had it all wrong. The injustice made her breathless, but she felt a stronger need not to let him see the soft, vulnerable part of her that very few had ever seen.

To Liyah’s relief, Sharif hadn’t brought up those lurid paparazzi shots again over their deliciously cooked dinner of tender chicken and rice infused with herbs and spices. But it appeared that he wasn’t prepared to let everything go.