The Sheikh’s Fake Marriage (Sheikhs of Hamari Book 2)

by Leslie North

  “I’m not worried about anyone, because my relationship with Kishon is a total sham. I’m not good at acting. And I’m not good at being a sheikh’s wife, clearly.”

  “Clearly?”

  “Clearly. I’ve spent enough time thinking he was cheating on me.”

  Nina cleared her throat. “Historically, kings used to cheat on their wives all the time. I can see why you’d think that.”

  “But this isn’t history,” Chloe said. “This is as modern as it gets. Who meets a king in a bar?” She shook her head. “I miss that man so much.” Her voice cracked on the word much. “He was something else.”

  Nina ate another chocolate, as thoughtfully as a person could eat chocolate. “I’ve known Kishon for a long time,” she said. “He’s tough on the outside, but really he just wants to be seen as the man behind the title. That’s been a big deal for him as long as I’ve known him.”

  “He said that, when we were talking. Back in the bar. He would…” Chloe laughed at the memory, the joy coming up unbidden. “He would stay until my shifts were almost over, running out the clock. We would talk about nothing. I saw him as the man he was. But he’s not that man now. Or at least he doesn’t think he can be.”

  “I bet he’s still very much the same,” offered Nina. “But the pressures of life in Hamari are different for him than other places. Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” echoed Chloe. “I just wish we could go back to the way we were there.”

  “What if you could, only in this royal world? You’re both still the same people.” She looked Chloe in the eye. “At least, I’m betting you are, based on the fact that you’re willing to be over here alone while Kishon angsts away in his rooms.”

  “He’s not hung up on me, I promise you that,” Chloe said. “He reminded me just yesterday that our marriage is temporary. As soon as Chakir is married, we’re over. We’re already over. I couldn’t even make him see—” Her throat went tight, and she couldn’t force any more words out. She waved a hand in the air at Nina. “You understand.”

  “I do.” Nina’s eyes lingered on her face. “But behind closed doors, you could both drop the act. It’s what I did. I was a socialite, and I stopped to become a nanny. I didn’t want the recognition that comes from being in the public eye. I didn’t deserve it. But you…you’re so good at it, Chloe.” She made a face. “I wish we’d had more time to talk, because I really do think you’re a good fit for Kishon. You see him. You didn’t meet him as a king. You met him as a man.”

  “He wants to be seen as a man, but he doesn’t want a real marriage. He’s made that clear.”

  “Then he’s being an idiot. I can say that, because I’ve known him for years. He’s just scared. And when men are scared, they fall back on their old patterns. Kishon is used to playing a certain part. My guess is…” Nina flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “My guess is that he’s fallen for you, and it scares the crap out of him.”

  Chloe laughed. “That’s your guess? Because my guess is that the thought of being with one person for the rest of his life scares him more than anything.”

  “It’s a big deal,” Nina said simply. “He thinks the stakes are higher than they really are.”

  “Aren’t the stakes pretty high when you rule a country?”

  “Yeah. But it’s worse to spend your life alone out of fear, I think.” Chloe opened her mouth to ask another question, but Nina’s phone buzzed. She fished it out and glowered at the screen. “Break’s over.” Nina flashed her a smile, and Chloe smiled back. She couldn’t help herself. “If you need me, come find me, okay? I’m always around.”

  “I won’t be around for long,” Chloe said, her heart collapsing in on itself at the thought. “But maybe someday we’ll meet again.”

  Nina winked at her. “Maybe someday. We’ll see.”

  17

  Kishon had called the meeting with the elders even though he dreaded it with all his soul. He didn’t even want to stand outside the council room. How many times had kings past stood outside this room with a cold sweat rising on the backs of their necks? He wished one of them could stand with him now. That ancient king would probably clap him on the back and tell him to stop acting like a child.

  He went into the council room and waited, still dreading it. He shouldn’t have come early. He should have waited until they were all seated and then come in, the way he always did, but this meeting seemed too important.

  He tried to tell himself that he didn’t dread it. He tried to tell himself that this was all going according to plan, except for one slight hitch—it was supposed to happen after Chakir’s ceremony. He was going to have to convince the elders that breaking with tradition was the right thing after all, and that was an uphill battle.

  They filed around the table where he stood, waiting, and he beckoned for them to take their seats. His heart rattled in his chest, feeling like it might give out at any moment.

  But he had to do this. He had to do it for Chloe, most of all. She wanted to be finished with the charade, and he would give that to her, even if it killed him.

  Qamar cleared his throat. “Sheikh Kishon. If you’d like to begin, we are all waiting to discuss your urgent matter.”

  “I’m here to tell you that I will be divorcing Chloe,” he said without preamble. If he hesitated at all, he wouldn’t go through with this—and he had to go through with this. He let his words sink in for a beat, and the elders shifted in their chairs like a flock of agitated birds.

  “Divorce?” Qamar’s frown, which he wore almost all the time, deepened.

  “It’s time for me to be honest about the circumstances of my engagement to Chloe.” Kishon launched right in. He told them about his visits to the bar. He told them about the fight. And he told them that he had not, in fact, proposed to her before the video came out. They had agreed on it after the fact.

  They were speechless.

  “I’m here to follow tradition.” Kishon’s mouth felt tired from telling the story. His soul felt tired from dragging his body all the way here. “I’m here to notify you of the divorce that she wants. Even though…” Stop, his mind cried out. But he couldn’t stop. “Even though she’s proven herself to be an excellent queen. She’s done everything I’ve asked of her. She introduced herself to this council, she’s been charming and open at all our events, she’s stood by my side and held up her end of the bargain even after…even after we decided to end our arrangement early.”

  There was a long silence. Kishon watched the dust particles in the air float gently across a sunbeam and tried to quiet the pulse pounding in his ears. Soon, this awful moment would be over. Soon, they’d grant him the divorce, or they wouldn’t. Soon, soon, soon.

  Qamar’s voice broke through his cycling thoughts. “This doesn’t sound altogether non-traditional to me.”

  Kishon peered at him across the table. “Which part of our marriage sounds traditional to you?”

  “The proposal was certainly not traditional.” Qamar drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. “But we’re long past the proposal. The two of you are married.”

  “Yes. The marriage is official,” Zehab piped up. “How is it traditional to turn your back on a marriage that, by your own account, has been a credit to the nation?”

  “I—”

  “You cannot turn your back on it,” said one of the elders, slapping his hand down on the table. “After less than a month? The week before Chakir’s wedding?”

  “That’s why I wanted to come to you,” said Kishon into the rising energy. “Because Chloe no longer wants a marriage on false pretenses. And I believe that my brother should be able to wed, even if my own marriage has failed. I will do this regardless of your blessing, but I came to ask for it nonetheless.”

  “Failed,” scoffed Zehab. “You haven’t even given it a chance. Have you taken any steps?”

  “Steps?”

  The whispers at the table rose and fell, and suddenly the elders had transformed from an in
timidating group of men who influenced the entire country into a flock of grandfathers.

  “I read a book for my wife,” said a soft-spoken man. “She wanted me to read it for years. She said it was one of her favorite pieces of text, and I always had something better to do. Naturally the theme of it turned out to be that things in common are the bridge to happiness.”

  “I learned to cook French food,” said Zehab, and Kishon could absolutely imagine him preparing French dishes. He’d never thought of it before, but of course Zehab would. “My wife challenged me to do it. She said I was too used to our position in society to learn how to do anything new. So I taught myself to cook a variety of French dishes.”

  Qamar laughed. “For me, it was singing. My wife wanted me to join a singing group she attended each week. I told her that I didn’t have time to do something as frivolous as sing songs out in someone’s garden. I’m not a good singer.” He looked down at the table, and Kishon could tell that he was looking back into his memory. “The first time I went, I could see why it mattered so much to her. There’s something about voices raised in song that reminds a man about the things he has to fight for. The lovelier things.”

  Lovely things. No matter what he’d thought of women before he’d met Chloe, he had to admit that she was the loveliest thing—person—he had ever met in all his life. The way she laughed, nose wrinkling. The way she flirted with a light in her eyes. The way she stood up under pressure. It was all lovely. And even lovelier was the way she’d come with him on a grand adventure, without any guarantees. It had been more than lovely—it was brave.

  “My wife didn’t desire me,” one of the other elders said. “For a long time, I blamed her for it, only to discover that—”

  No. That was where Kishon drew the line. He held up a hand. “You think I should save the marriage, then. Transform it into something it’s not.”

  In an instant, they were back to being elders, with matching serious looks on their faces. “Transform it into something it has not had the chance to be,” said Qamar. “You owe it to yourself, and to this country, to put in the work.”

  How am I supposed to do that? The question stalled on the tip of his tongue. The elders had given him several ways to connect with his wife, but he’d need a unique approach for their unique situation. “I have your blessing?”

  Qamar gave him a solemn nod. “You do. But you should fix this before Chakir’s wedding. It would not do well to have the nation view you as the kind of man who bows out of his commitments at the first sign of pressure.”

  Kishon had never thought of it that way. He’d only been trying please Chloe, but then…a divorce wasn’t what she wanted, was it? She’d said as much to him before she moved out. I want you.

  The moment of humanity he’d experienced with the elders already felt like a kind of fever dream, but it didn’t matter. Kishon was wide awake now.

  18

  “I think we’re ready. I really do.” Iyad’s expression was filled with hope, right through the genuine sadness on his face. “I’m only sorry that you won’t be more…hands-on.”

  Chloe sat across from Iyad at a table in one of the art rooms at the youth center. A pair of the new teachers she’d hired with Iyad’s help moved in and out of the room. They were stocking the shelves. For all her tours, she had never once looked inside the cabinets. Until today they had all been empty.

  “I’m sorry, too.” She was sorrier than she’d ever been in her life. “But the main goal is that we have a wonderful art department for the kids.”

  “I’m almost done with hiring for the theater group,” said Iyad. “I’ll send you videos of the performances we do.”

  “I’d like that.” She reached out and patted his hand. “Keep me updated as much as you can.”

  Chloe could have lingered at the youth center forever, but she knew it would only hurt more when she left. So instead of helping the new art teachers unpack, she got up, gave Iyad a tight farewell hug, and went out to the playground.

  It was uncharacteristically empty this afternoon. The teachers at the youth center had rounded up all the kids and taken them to a swimming pool in the center of the city. That was one of Chloe’s stretch goals—athletic instruction. The art department would be funded first, and athletics would follow. She’d planned for the kids to create pieces that could be used for outreach, which would generate even more funding, which would start a virtuous cycle that she hoped would change their lives for the better.

  She stood out under the big tree, fighting back tears. She’d done something good here—something really good. And it had reinforced everything her mother taught her. Money could solve problems, but only if it was used with a genuine intent. Pouring money into a wound didn’t guarantee that the wound would close. She’d learned that firsthand.

  Her marriage had crumbled despite Kishon’s riches. They hadn’t had a shared foundation. And when she’d tried to build a new one, Kishon had turned it down.

  She couldn’t blame him, she supposed.

  “Chloe!” Iyad stood at the door to the center, waving her back in. “Do you have a moment? A few minutes only, I promise.”

  He led her back into the building to one of the art studios. “The teachers set this up for you as a bit of a thank you,” he said. “They were worried you’d already gone. I’ll tell them you saw it.”

  They’d set up an easel by the window, paints and canvas ready to go. Tears sprang to Chloe’s eyes. “The view here really is something else,” she said.

  “Would you mind?” Iyad grinned at her. “We’d like to hang your painting in the front lobby. I told them you like to paint en plein air, and I know this isn’t technically outside, but…I thought you’d be up to the challenge.”

  Chloe could only nod for a long several moments. “You’ll have a painting soon.”

  Iyad left her there by the huge window. The view outside was of the river, and the afternoon light was abundant on its surface, coming together in little diamonds. It was the perfect scene.

  She tried her best to focus on it. The river, she told herself. The water. The rocks. The grass.

  But she couldn’t stop herself from adding a man to the scene. A tall man, with beautiful muscles and a regal jawline. He stood easily on the bank, in charge of all the space around him, with his hair tied back behind his head. She couldn’t see the man bun from this angle, but she knew it was there.

  He had striking blue eyes. A shade of blue she’d never attempted before. She swirled paint on her palette, trying one, then another. Chloe felt herself tipping forward, into that color, trying to get it exactly right. It would never be exactly right, though, would it? The only place she would see that color was in Kishon’s eyes.

  “I don’t want to scare you.”

  She startled, but the voice didn’t scare her. It made her heart explode with emotion. “Kishon. What are you doing here?”

  “You called me.” He nodded over her shoulder. “I must have sensed that you were painting me, because I couldn’t resist coming to find you.”

  Her heart climbed into her throat and bounced from side to side, giddy in spite of herself. “I’m saying my goodbyes.”

  “Don’t.” He came to her and took the brush and palette from her hands. “Don’t do that, Chloe.”

  “Say my goodbyes?” A tight feeling flashed across her throat. “Why not? I’m leaving. If not now, then next week.”

  “Because I want you to stay.” The blue eyes that she’d almost managed to capture in her painting leveled on hers. “I love you, Chloe, and I made…a monumental error when I told you that I wanted our arrangement to be temporary.”

  She could hardly speak. She could hardly breathe. The air vibrated as if they’d been plunged into a dream. “Go on.”

  Kishon’s smile lit up his face. “To you, I’ve never been just a sheikh. I’ve always been a man, too. And for some reason, when we landed here, I got caught up in perfecting our performance, not seeing you for who you are.
I only saw you in your role. And in doing that, I pushed you away.”

  She scoffed, but it was true. He put a hand to her face and ran his thumb down her jawline.

  “I’m done with all that now,” Kishon said. “I’m done playing games.”

  “Kishon, you—you don’t want me for a permanent wife. For a queen.” It hurt to say it, but she had to. “I’m not cut out for the part.”

  “Not cut out?” Kishon was incredulous. “I walked through the building before I came here. I met the new people you had a hand in hiring. I spoke with Iyad, who can’t stop talking about you. You are the one person who saw me for the man I am. You are the one person who saw the youth center for what it could be. Chloe, you’re creative, you’re kind and warm, you connect with people…you connected with me.” His eyes were stunning. They stunned her speechless, even now, even though she had stood up in front of a crowd and married him. “I love you, and I want you to stay. More than anything.”

  “I love you. I—I love you.” A happy laugh burst out of the deepest part of her. “That’s all I have to say. I love you.”

  “I hope that’s not all you have to say.”

  “In words, that’s all I have to say. But I’ll paint whatever you want.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Will you paint the Eiffel Tower for me?”

  “One day, yes, I will paint the Eiffel Tower for you.” She laughed again, her happiness big enough to blanket the world. “If you want that. But a sheikh like you doesn’t need a painting of the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Oh, I don’t want a painting one day. I want a painting of the Eiffel Tower this week. Tomorrow, even. I’m taking you to Paris.”

  Paris. The one place she’d always wanted to go, with the man she’d wanted to go with since the moment he first walked into her bar. “We can’t go to Paris.” Chloe ran her fingers down the buttons of Kishon’s shirt, aching to unbutton them. “Chakir and Hannah are getting married in less than a week. How could we leave now?”