by Maisey Yates
She turned and stalked from the room and Adham watched her go, his heart tight in his chest. She was right. He was ensuring she was no longer naive. He was taking everything that was beautiful in her and destroying it. Poisoning it with the ugliness that tainted his life.
And yet there was no other course of action he could take but to keep her with him. She was to be the Sheikha of Umarah—his wife. She had already proven more effective than him at matters of diplomacy. And it would cost her.
That realization sent a shaft of burning pain through his chest more severe than he could ever remember feeling before. He had been numb there for so long he hadn’t imagined himself capable of experiencing that level of feeling. Not anymore.
But Isabella … she made him feel.
I love you.
It was easy to dismiss her declaration. She was young. He was her first lover. And yet, as easy as it would be to use those things to discredit her, the passion, the conviction in her voice, had hit him square in the chest.
He had been shot. Multiple times. Her words had held no less impact than a bullet. They even burned the same.
He didn’t want it to burn. He didn’t want to feel anything.
Emotions couldn’t be trusted. His people needed a leader—someone who led with his head, not his heart.
He had watched his mother lead with her heart, had watched her lose her life because of it. And he had lost her. He would not allow something to hold such sway over him that he would act so recklessly—not when other people needed him. As he and Hassan had needed her.
His chest ached. He ignored it. He could not afford this weakness. Not now. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERE were always reasons for Adham to avoid her in the weeks leading up to the wedding. He had many matters of state to handle, many press conferences and meetings with world leaders. And she was kept busy as well.
Being a sheikha was different than being a princess. In Turan she had done very little in the way of public service, but here there was an endless supply of things to do. She visited hospitals and listened to their needs, then met with the budget committee to discuss providing mobile medical units for the people who lived and worked out in the desert.
She was able to sit in on meetings with the education council and talk about the needs and concerns of the tribe she had met, was able to make it personal. She was making the most of her destiny even if her forced groom didn’t seem to want to be around her.
And now the wedding was tomorrow, and the entire capital city was gearing up for a massive celebration.
They had arrived back in Maljadeed that morning. Adham had been on the phone the entire flight over, avoiding her as best he could in the luxurious cabin of the private plane.
Would he continue to be like this even after the wedding? She hoped not. They did have an heir to conceive after all. She’d found out weeks ago that neither of their times together had gotten her pregnant. But she wanted more than his child, anyway.
She ached for him, body and spirit, missed him with an intensity that took her breath away. But he was so guarded, so closed off, it seemed there was no way to reach him.
She looked down out of the window of her bedroom. Lanterns were being strung in the garden, cords woven together to create a tapestry of light over the lush landscape. It was beautiful, exotic. It was actually the wedding she would have chosen for herself.
Not simply because of the décor, because of the man. For a while she would put aside the knowledge that Adham did not love or want her and simply picture the man of her dreams standing at the head of the aisle, waiting for her, waiting for them to be joined as man and wife. For now reality could take care of itself, and she would hold onto that one image.
There was a sharp knock on the door of her room and she turned quickly. “Come in.”
Her heart descended into her stomach when Adham walked through the door. She had seen him so rarely that the sight of him now sent her pulse racing. Although she knew that even if she had spent all of her time in the past two months with him she would still feel that way each time she saw him. She would never grow tired of him. Of that perfect scarred face that spoke of his bravery, his honor.
In that moment she loved him so much her whole being ached with it.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow,” she said, feeling her throat tighten, her breasts grow heavy with need.
“I have something for you.” He lifted his hand and revealed a small blue box with a round brass pull on top. It reminded her of the door in Paris—the one she’d taken the picture of. She frowned and lifted the lid, her mouth dropping open when she saw the ring that was nestled in ivory silk.
She pulled the ring out and held it up, letting the late afternoon sun play across the jewels. “This is perfect,” she breathed.
Tears stung her eyes as she examined the exquisitely designed piece. The lattice pattern of the platinum mirrored the Eiffel Tower, while the blue gems that were set next to the pear-shaped diamond were the same shade as the box, and her door. It was more than a ring. It was a small piece of her time with Adham. A bit of their history. This really was for her, really from him.
She held it out to him, her hand unsteady.
“Try it on,” he said, his voice hard. “See if it fits as it should.”
She frowned. She had expected him to put it on for her. She hadn’t thought he would get on his knees—not a man like Adham, not for a marriage like theirs—but she had thought he would at least slide it onto her finger for her.
But he didn’t. He only stood there, looking at her with no emotion evident in his dark eyes.
She put it on quickly, relieved when it went on easily. “Perfect,” she said again, her smile forced now.
“There is a wedding band that had been made to go with it, but you will get that tomorrow.”
She nodded, biting her lower lip. “Yes, okay.”
It was his turn to frown. “I still haven’t made you happy.”
She tried harder to force the smile. “You have. I love it.”
“You’re crying.”
She touched her cheek and her hand came away wet. “I.” There was nothing she could say. Not without sounding like a contrary female. And, truthfully, she felt like a contrary female. She had made such an issue over the ring, but now the ring wasn’t enough. What she wanted was his love, and she didn’t have it.
For one moment, seeing the ring, seeing everything that had gone into it, she had hoped. But then she’d seen his face, and her hope had dried up like water in the desert.
“Because it’s so beautiful,” she said, lying. He had his protection in place. She needed some too.
“I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Are you?”
“I am pleased that we are doing such a positive thing for our countries.”
As romantic words went, they wouldn’t win any awards.
I love you.
She wanted to say it. Wanted so badly to tell him how much he meant to her. But she couldn’t. She had already said it once. Already faced his absolute indifference to it. He hadn’t been angry, hadn’t responded in kind, he had simply ignored her declaration. She couldn’t face that again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said softly, needing him to go now. She couldn’t be with him and not want to be in his arms. She couldn’t stay with him like this and not tell him how much he meant to her. How she loved him more than anything.
He nodded. “Tomorrow.”
She almost said it again. And if he hadn’t looked like a man who was headed toward his execution she would have. Instead she waited until the door closed behind him and more tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I love you.”
The last of the wedding guests were spilling out into the streets, the celebration continuing even as the palace staff began to clean up after the reception dinner.
The country was happy with its new High Sheikh, and just as happy with his
new Sheikha.
Isabella’s family had come. It had been wonderful to see Maximo and Alison, and their beautiful daughter. Her relationship with her brother and his wife was always easy. It had been her parents she’d been dreading. But they had been pleasant—happy, even. Likely because the deal was sealed, the contract fulfilled. Not even she could mess it up now.
Of course she wouldn’t leave. She loved her new country, her new people. Her new husband. Her heart was here, as well as her duty.
Adham had been so handsome, the best looking groom she’d ever seen, in his loose white tunic and linen pants—a compromise between Eastern and Western fashion, as had been her cream wedding gown, with its intricate copper beading and loose, draping fabric that complemented her curves without clinging too much to them.
She had been involved in the design of her dress, which she had appreciated. She wondered if Adham had seen to that.
She closed her eyes, remembering the moment when she had walked down the aisle, when she had seen him and he had seen her for the first time. She had seen it again. That heat, the desire that had been absent from his eyes lately. He had not been able to hide it from her, not then. And when he had taken her hand in his their eyes had met, and she’d been shocked that neither of them were singed by the crack of electricity that had raced through them.
She had been filled with certainty in that moment. Now … now it had faded.
Now that she was in her room again, waiting for her husband. Waiting for her wedding night. She wasn’t even certain he would come. He had been stoic at the wedding, and thanks to Umarahn customs, which did not call for the bride and groom to dance together, hadn’t spent any time with her at the reception.
She wished not for the first time that she could simply read his mind. That she could know everything that went on behind that mask he put up, that wall he kept between himself and the world.
Maybe he was right and there was nothing but more rock beyond it. But maybe there was more. She believed it. She had to.
She sat on the bed, her wedding dress spread out around her. She hadn’t changed because he’d seemed to like the gown so much, but now she was getting hot and itchy after hours wearing the intricate creation.
Another hour went by before she realized Adham wasn’t coming to her.
She wanted to curl up and sob her heart out, to release all of her tears in the privacy of her room so that no one, especially not Adham, would ever know how much anguish she felt in that moment.
Life is simpler if you just ask for what you want.
He’d said that. And he was right. She could stay here and dissolve, give in to her tears, or she could go and get what she wanted. The Isabella who had run away from her brother’s villa would have stayed in her room and wept. She might even have run away again.
But the woman she was now wouldn’t do either of those things. And he was a part of making her who she was now, so he would just have to deal with it.
She opened the door to her room and walked down the hall, her bare feet not making any sound on the cold marble. She had done this before, snuck into his room at night, and then he had taken her body but ignored her love. He wouldn’t ignore it tonight. She wouldn’t let him.
She opened the door without knocking. Adham was standing by the window, his chest bare, the linen pants he’d worn at the wedding slung low on his hips, revealing his perfect body, his chiseled abs, trim waist and lean hips. Her heart bumped against her chest and her body ached with desire.
She shook her head. Later. There would be time for that later.
“Hi,” she said, not knowing what else to say. And as greetings went it was harmless enough.
A breeze came in through the open window, ruffling his dark hair, and her heart clenched tight. She loved him so much.
Earlier, her only thought had been protecting herself, but now she realized something, watching him, looking at the guarded expression on his handsome face. She couldn’t protect herself anymore. Not if she wanted him to open up to her. She had to be willing to lay herself bare to him, to put her own heart on the line, if she wanted him to be able to do the same someday.
“Adham … I love you.”
He jerked back as though she’d struck him. “Bella …”
“No. Don’t. Don’t tell me I don’t, or that I can’t, because I do.”
“Bella, this isn’t what I want from you.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s the truth. I love you. Because you are the most honorable man I have ever known. Because you taught me what was important in life. Because you took me to Printemps, and took my picture in front of the Eiffel Tower.”
“You don’t know me,” he said roughly. “Not really.”
“I do.”
He turned to her, his expression fierce. He walked toward her, stopping when he was close enough for her to reach out and touch. “Do not make me into some romantic paragon. I’ve killed men, Isabella. It doesn’t matter what the reason was. There is blood on my hands.”
She reached out, took his hand in hers, ran her fingers over his palm. “I don’t see it.”
“I do,” he ground out.
She raised his hand and pressed a kiss to it. “I know that your hands have been gentle with me.”
He pulled away then, the pain in his eyes apparent for a brief moment before he brought the shutters down again. “Stop,” he said, his voice strangled.
“I’m being honest with you because I think it’s important. I love you, Adham.”
“Then I will be honest with you,” he said. “I don’t want you to love me.”
She hadn’t expected that. Not in all of the scenarios she’d played out in her mind had she expected that.
“I don’t believe that. What about this?” She held her hand out to him, showed him her precious ring, the one that had been designed and crafted with such care. “This means something. I know it does.”
He shook his head, his throat moving up and down. “It is just a ring.”
“Not to me. I love you. You can’t kill the love that I have for you. You can’t make it so I don’t feel it.” Strength, love, desire, pain, all rolled through her body. Her heart was pounding fast and hard. “You taught me to be strong. You taught me about the importance of duty. And, I know you didn’t mean to, but you’ve also taught me about love, about desire. So you have to deal with who I am because you were a part of making me. And I’m not backing down. I know you hate it, Adham, but you can’t control the way I feel about you.”
“Go, Isabella.”
“What?”
“Get out. I don’t want your love. I don’t want you.”
Her heart squeezed tight, and her lungs felt caved in, as though she couldn’t breathe. “I …”
And that was when she was sure she saw fear in Adham al bin Sudar’s eyes. Her warrior husband was genuinely afraid. Of her. Of her feelings. Of what they might mean to him, do to him. She remembered what he’d said about his mother—how her love for his father had made her act recklessly, how it had stolen her from him. And she knew he saw anything that had the power to control a person as a weakness.
“You’re afraid, Adham. You’re afraid of what you can’t control, and you know that you can’t tame an emotion as strong as love. You think it makes you weak, but it doesn’t. I’m stronger because I love you. I’m stronger than you are because I’m not afraid, even though it hurts.”
She inclined her head and turned, walking away from him, her heart feeling as though it was slowly cracking, breaking into thousands of tiny pieces.
“Where are you going?” he asked, when she reached the door.
“If you don’t want me here, Adham, I won’t stay.” And she closed the door behind her and went back to her own room.
Adham’s feet pounded on the desert sand. The night air was cold and dry in his lungs as he tried to force himself into a state of exhaustion that was strong enough to erase the last few moments of his life.
She had said he
could not stop her from loving him, but he was certain that he had. The look in her eyes before she’d turned away from him had been so bleak, so desolate, he had felt the pain—her pain—reach into him and grab his heart from his chest.
She had taken it with her. But then, he suspected that Isabella had had his heart long before tonight.
And he had hurt her. He had told her the ring meant nothing. The ring … it was everything. The act of creating the design, of working with the jeweler to come up with the perfect thing for her. He had wanted so badly to remain distant from it, but it had been impossible. So he had poured everything into that design, had hoped it would get those memories, those feelings, out of him.
If anything, they had grown stronger.
He stopped and leaned forward, gripping his shins, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t know how far he’d run, only that he had been desperate to drive every rational thought from his mind. It was impossible, though. No matter how hard he tried, he could only see Isabella.
She was in him. A part of him. What he felt for her was more powerful than anything he could ever remember feeling in his life. And she was right. It did terrify him. To his core.
He had faced down men holding guns, had been forced to make split-second decisions to save his life, had endured torture, and this was more frightening than any of that. To let someone mean so much to him.
Losing his parents—his mother, especially—had been so altering, so destructive to him. If not for Hassan, if not for the fact that he’d been able to pour all of his anger into protecting his brother, his country, he did not know that he would have survived it.
What would happen if he lost Isabella? Did he even know how to give her love? He had spent so many years traveling, working, burying himself in his sense of duty and honor so he didn’t have to deal with real relationships. He didn’t know if he would have any idea of how to open himself up now—not when he’d spent so long shutting himself down.
And she didn’t deserve that. She deserved better than him. She deserved a man who had never been forced to choose between his life and the life of another man. She deserved someone who had not been so scarred by tragedy, both inside and out. Life hadn’t touched her. She was beautiful. Pure and perfect. And being with him … he was afraid he might damage her in some way.
