The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

And he did watch her. He watched her always, watched her with intense speculation. A snake in the desert. A hawk in the sky. He was simply biding his time. Waiting.

Waiting.

Tally ground her teeth, tension making her shoulders, head, jaw ache. “I wasn’t raised with money. We didn’t have any. We didn’t even go to college. At least, not away, not to the good ones, the expensive ones. My younger sister, Mandy, got an athletic scholarship to Washington State University and one of my brothers went to University of Washington while another went to school in California—but that’s because they played sports. I didn’t.”

“So what did you do?”

She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes, her teeth clicking as she bit down once and again. Goddamn him. She hated his stupid questions. Stupid annoying questions. Stupid annoying facts. He was a sheikh and she was a poor church mouse.

From a trailer park.

From North Bend.

From a place that got more rain and cloud than sun.

She sighed, rubbed her neck, stretched a little. Her head hurt, filled with strange pain and she’d thought it was tension, but wasn’t so sure anymore. “I went to Bellevue City College.” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue feeling thick, numb at the tip. “Took courses there and then went to work.”

“I’ve heard of Bellevue. Home of Microsoft, and Bill Gates, yes?”

“More or less.” She closed her eyes, woozy. Tally drew a deep breath and then another. Maybe it was just remembering the past that made her nauseous. Maybe it was the hurt that lingered all these years later.

Why tell him the truth about her past? Why did he need to know her real world? There was no reason he should have all the details.

She swallowed with difficulty, her throat thickening. Wouldn’t it be better to just pretend she was someone she wasn’t? Wouldn’t it make more sense to go with the rich and fashionably chic world of Bellevue instead of the damp misty town at the base of the Cascade mountain range? Pretend she shopped at Bellevue Square instead of North Bend’s outlet stores? Pretend she had money to spend in the first place…?

“You didn’t play sports?” Tair asked, persisting with his line of questioning.

His voice seemed to come from far away. She looked at him, forced herself to focus. “No. Not really.” Her forehead furrowed as she looked at a spot on the low table between them. “Well, I did, in high school. Volleyball.” She suddenly smiled, a wry remembrance. She’d been good, too. Really good. Not the tallest, but dang, she’d been fast, and aggressive. Tally had gone after every ball…

“I used to love volleyball. And softball. But volleyball was my sport.” Her head cocked and she seemed to be looking back, listening to voices in the past and her smile faded. “I used to spend hours working with my sister Mandy.” She hesitated, choosing her words more slowly. “I was glad Mandy got the scholarship. Mandy was good. At least one of us got a chance to go to college. Play in college, and not just any school, but a good school. A big name school.

Tair’s dark eyes rested on her face, his expression perfectly blank. “But you were good, too.”

Tally briefly nodded. She nearly smiled but it was too much effort. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you get a scholarship then?”

She looked off to the side again, looking back to a past that had been more pain than pleasure. “I was the oldest.”

“And?”

“Needed at home.”

Tair’s black eyebrows pulled. “So you were awarded a scholarship?”

To UCLA. A great school with a great program. And she couldn’t go, couldn’t take it. “My parents—” She broke off, swallowed, shoulders shifting in that same uneasy shrug. If only she felt better. If only her head didn’t hurt so. “Dad—” She broke off, tried again, “Dad wasn’t well and Mom was working full-time. Someone had to watch the younger ones.”

“And that someone was you.”

It took Tally a long moment to speak. “The oldest.”

“And a girl.”

Her tight, pained smile grew even tighter, more painful. “I guess being a girl has its drawbacks in every culture.”

So that was it, Tair thought, leaning back, absorbing the revelation. This wasn’t just about him and her—this was bigger, greater. This was about gender. Identity. Discrimination.

Tally leaned forward against the table. She felt increasingly woozy and weak.