“As we have discussed, the ceremony is to be brief,” The Anaiso was saying, his manner relaxed in the company of the powerful Sheikh.
“No.” Kiral turned from the view he was contemplating beyond his window.
“No?” The most religious man in the land arched his brows. “But you requested this yourself. A simple statement of legally binding intent. The note I received requested that the matter be concluded as swiftly as possible.”
“I am aware of what I requested,” Kiral spoke sharply. “But I have since changed my mind.”
The Anaiso was shrewd. “Might I ask why?”
Kiral’s expression gave nothing away. “I wish to avoid speculation that there is anything untoward in this union. It opens my bride to disrespect if even I do not give her the courtesy of the traditional ceremony.”
“Yes,” The Anaiso smiled. “I agree.”
CHAPTER NINE
A soft moonlight filtered through the windows shrouding her in a veil made of sparkling silver. The room was not large, but it was grander than anything Abigail had ever seen. Marble, gold, glass, diamonds and thousands of long-stemmed roses created an impression of wealth and power.
The guests wore couture and the scent of fascinated expectation. Every single eye was trained on the woman who moved a little nervously down the wide aisle.
Kiral watched too. And he waited, his heart thumping hard against his powerful chest as he stared at her halting progress. With every step she took he inwardly urged her to continue. To take the next step. Not to balk at what she was doing. Not to back out.
Abigail McClean, the woman about to become his wife, was not more beautiful than usual. But on that night, surrounded by the ceremony and importance of what was happening, she had the air of a true princess.
Her hair had been styled in loose waves around her shoulders and clipped to fit the crown that had been designed for his bride. True, originally it had been made for Melania, but a subtle and swift re-working had taken place, incorporating new gems to complement Abigail’s complexion. Her fine neck was adorned with a necklace that was crowded with crisp white diamonds. The dress was a work of art, but even in something far more utilitarian, Abigail would have outshone the room.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she implored huskily. She flicked a gaze towards the assembled guests and then back to Kiral. “This is all just for Mikey. Our son.”
What did he look like? Could she see the desire there? The trepidation? The worry that he was marrying the one woman who would always despise him for the bullying way he’d procured her as his wife?
He made an effort to pull himself together but when he spoke his accent was heavy with emotion. “I have something for you.”
She looked again towards the guests. It was not a large gathering. Kiral had disbanded with most of the dignitaries who had arrived in Delani ready to witness the long-awaited union between the two powerful royals.
Such a gathering would have felt inappropriate for this wedding. It was intimate. Personal. And though he couldn’t have easily explained why, Kiral didn’t want the world witnessing his commitment to Abi.
There were only twenty or so people assembled, and Abi didn’t personally know many of them. In fact, only Lilah’s face was familiar to her. Her mother had, at Abi’s request, remained in the hospital with Michael. Would Abi ever feel safe to let him out of her, or her mother’s, hands?
“What is it?” Her question was a whisper as she turned her attention back to his handsome face. She was impatient, concerned that they were delaying the ceremony these people had come to witness.
Kiral, who had grown up expecting people to fall in with his every whim, had no such compunction. He reached slowly into the folds of the cream and gold robe he wore and lifted out a golden locket. She took it and, with fingers that shook, flicked it open. It had a picture of Michael’s lovely little face pressed into the frame.
The gesture almost brought tears to her eyes. She squeezed the locket in her hand and met his eyes unashamedly. “Thank you.”
“It is right that he is here tonight, in some way.”
Abi nodded. She couldn’t speak. Her throat was clogged by tears. It was a small gesture, but it reminded Abi strongly of how he had been at one time.
As the ceremony began, mercifully in English for her benefit, her mind drifted back to a time, three years earlier, when Ki had made a habit of rousing Abi every morning with a cup of tea. She had woken to its smell and it had made her smile, because it was such a simple way for him to show that he cared for her.
Her heart squeezed in her chest.
He hadn’t cared for her.
She had to remember that.
She had been a means to an end for him. A young, willing, stupid girl who had fallen into his bed at the first opportunity. He’d left without another thought when it had suited him to do so, and only the fact they shared a son had made him pursue this dramatic course of marriage.
That horrible evening was a brick of memory that would remain with her forever. He’d broken the news to her in the coldest, most devastating way imaginable. Like tiny little explosions he’d bombarded her with the facts of their situation. He was a powerful prince. He could never have a life with her. He had to return to Delani. He was engaged to be married. He could never speak to Abigail again. Their relationship must be a piece of their past; it’s over.
How those words had haunted her.
It’s over.
In her dreams they’d shrieked at her, humbling and devastating her again and again. And now, here she was, standing opposite him about to pledge to share her life with his.
Despite her protestations over breakfast that morning, her feelings were waging a far more complex battle inside of her. She knew she had loved him three years earlier when they’d first met. She knew that she probably still did. But she couldn’t hand that knowledge to him. He already wielded a terrifying power over her. The only way she could survive this was to maintain at least the appearance of independence.
“You are to be joined together in purpose and spirit. Yours is a marriage to one another, but more than that, to this Kingdom. Your vows tonight honour the promise that you will forever act in a way that benefits the people of Delani. Your marriage carries with it a sacred responsibility and an honour reserved only for descendants of the First Sheikh.”
Abi’s eyes lifted to Kiral’s face. She hadn’t really thought of it in those terms but of course he was descended from that royal lineage. She shifted her gaze to Lilah in the audience. Another descendant of the man first believed to have the power to rule the land. Only something in Lilah’s expression held concern.
Abi supposed that was natural. For all she had been so welcoming to Abi, she must still find this turn of events disturbing.
A man sat beside Lilah. He was dressed in a tuxedo and yet he looked somehow out of place; like he should have been roaming the wild frontiers or something.
“You are bonded now in a way that will never - can never - be broken. It is the hope of all present and those who live beyond these walls and rely upon the royal house for their prosperity and health that you are blessed, many times over, with the fruits of this union.”
For the briefest of moments, Kiral’s expression shifted into a small smile for her and then he was back to looking sombre and intimidating. The smile though flamed gold dust through her heart.
The ceremony lasted almost an hour, and afterwards, the small group of people in attendance wished to speak to her and offer their congratulations. There were gifts too, mainly of jewellery, and Abigail had to rail against a sense of societal injustice. After all, only a week earlier she’d been fretting over how she would pay for the life-saving operation her son needed. And now? She wore at least a million dollars in diamonds and more were being guarded by servants.
Abigail coped only by imagining that she was someone else, watching the proceedings from the outskirts. She pretended she wasn’t the centre of attention, for it made her u
ncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as the sky-high heels she’d been provided with.
After what felt like hours of standing and milling around and speaking, Kiral addressed the room. His eyes latched with Abi’s, and if she didn’t know better, she would have said her groom was glowing with love for her. He wasn’t, but he was a damned fine actor.
“I have been raised, from birth, to view marriage as a responsibility. My duty was to marry. I understood this and I accepted it. However, when Abigail accepted my proposal I discovered that it is also an enormous privilege. My wife is kind and loving, smart and beautiful, and she will be an excellent Emira to our people. I have loved her from the first moment I met her, and I am confident our people will feel the same unconditional adoration and respect that I do.”
Abi’s heart was burning in her chest. His words were beautiful but they caused her deep pain, for she knew he was simply performing a role. Perhaps he was even recycling the speech he’d prepared for Melania.
“Thank you for joining us tonight. My wife and I wanted you, a small group we value highly, to witness the truth of our love for yourselves. Like all of the stories that guide the people of Delani, ours is one that has taken many twists and turns. What I have never doubted, and never denied, is the truth of my love. I stand before you now as a man who has had his every wish granted. If I am dreaming, I do not wish to wake up.” His eyes sparkled with true happiness as he said something else - a short sentence in his own language. The crowd repeated it after him and then turned to Abi as one.
She was glued to the spot, her cheeks drained of colour, her lips parted so that she could draw more breath in. Just enough to stay standing.
The speech had been too much.
It had been too wrenchingly convincing.
It was a lie. A fabrication. And if Abigail forgot that, she’d lose her heart for good.
Everyone was looking at her and so she forced a smile to her face; it felt tight and wrong. She only hoped they couldn’t see her heartbreak as clearly as they could see Kiral’s false love.
The guests began to speak again and Abi — though she couldn’t believe her luck — managed to walk slowly away and slip unseen from the room. She pressed her back against the wall beyond and sucked in a deep breath.
It was only a moment before she had company. Not Kiral, but the man who’d been sitting beside Lilah throughout the ceremony. She quickly pulled herself together, pulling on a strength she hadn’t realised she possessed.
Her ability to fake it in this role came to her naturally, apparently. As naturally as Kiral’s ability to play the part of the doting newlywed.
Her smile was enquiring without being friendly.
“I’m Will.” He spoke with an American accent and his eyes seemed to linger on her face a moment, looking perhaps for recognition.
“Hi.” She tried to remember that before marrying Kiral she had been a normal person. A happy, social, talkative person. “I bet you know more people here tonight than I do.”
His grin was sympathetic “More than likely.” He lifted something from his pocket. An ID card of sorts. “I’m doing an in-depth profile on the family. It was supposed to be about the wedding but …”
“But the last-minute swap out of brides probably stuffed that up for you, huh?”
“You could say that.” He had a rugged charm that Abi understood. It didn’t appeal to her. He was incredibly handsome and she had no doubt women swooned for him, but Abigail was not personally affected by his attractiveness. In fact, Kiral had been the only man who’d ever set her pulse racing with a single look. This man looked, however, like he could fell a wild wolf with his bare hands. He was strong and confident with a tan that spoke of large amounts of time spent outdoors.
“Who do you write for?” She prompted curiously. Her feet were intensely painful.
“I freelance. I used to work permanently for The New York Times but now I go where the stories take me. This piece is for the Times as it happens, though I do a lot for The Guardian and The Journal.”
“You prefer to work for yourself?” She asked with natural curiosity.
His smile was a grim slash in his face. “I do.”
“Why?”
His eyes flashed with something like interest. “I’m the journalist, aren’t I?”
She laughed. “Does that mean you have a monopoly on the questions?”
He shook his head ruefully. “I’ve been told you’re nothing like Melania. And it’s true.”
It sobered Abi. Who had said that to him? Kiral? Lilah? Both of them? Or someone else? And did it really matter? Of course she was worlds apart from Kiral’s first choice of bride. “Though I suspect it’s morbid to want to know, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t ask. In what ways am I different?”
“Too many to enumerate,” he said with a shrug. “You are entirely the opposite to her.”
“I see.” She packaged up that assessment to process later. “So why give up a stable job with a prestigious paper like The Times?”
His laugh was rich with amusement. “Straight to the point, huh?”
“Always.”
“I had my reasons.”
“You know, if the shoe were on the other foot, you really would make a terrible subject for an interview.”
“Just as well no one’s asking to profile me then.” His teeth were even and white. His eyes scanned her face thoughtfully. Will was good at his job. No, he was great at it. He’d won a George Polk for foreign reporting and a Pulitzer for his piece on refugee migration. He could size up a subject almost-instantaneously.
Along with Kiral, Will had probably been the only one at the wedding who could see that the bride was far from overjoyed. “You’ve known Kiral for years,” he prompted.
But Abi was shutting down. The warmth she’d felt a moment earlier at exchanging light-hearted banter with a stranger was dying inside of her. “Yes,” she said simply.
Will concealed his smile. She wasn’t sure about him anymore. That was normal. Even Lilah had taken some convincing at first. “My sources tell me you met him when he was engaged to Melania.”
Her heart was hurting along with her feet now. “Do they?” She said, careful not to react.
Again, a smile tickled his mouth but he didn’t give in to it. “Is it true?”
“If your sources claim it is, then it must be.” She stood a little straighter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said without meeting his eyes. “My husband will be looking for me.”
And he was. Ki was, at that moment, just emerging from the doors Abi had crept through minutes earlier.
“There you are,” he said, his accent sending delicious shivers of anticipation dancing along her spine.
“Here I am,” she agreed, her tone giving little away.
“Will.” He sent the man a look that spoke volumes. Abi didn’t understand it.
“Hey.” Will’s greeting was relaxed in the face of Kiral’s power. Abi barely noticed. She was staring at her husband. The man she had just married. The man she had pledged to spend her life with. “Congratulations, your highness.”
“Thanks, Will.” His eyes smiled at the American. “I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my Emira?”
“Indeed.”
“We are to meet with you soon?”
“Yeah. It’s in your official diary.”
“Good. I look forward to it.” Kiral seemed to be searching for words but Will shook his head.
“I’m pleased for you, Ki.”
Kiral nodded, and shook Will’s hand once more. “Thank you. It is time for us to depart,” he murmured, transferring his hand to the small of Abi’s back.
“Shouldn’t we say goodbye to your guests.”
Not our guests, he noted.
The look he lanced in her direction was so loaded with sensual promise that she felt her insides begin to roll. “No.”
He stopped walking and so she did likewise.
“You are hurt.”
&
nbsp; She frowned. Was it that obvious? “I’m fine,” she contradicted, but her words were husky.
“You are limping.”
“Oh.” She blinked as his meaning became clearer. “These shoes are a lot higher than I’m used to.” She winced. “I’m pretty sure they won’t kill me though.”
He suppressed his amusement. “We can’t take any chances, can we?” He crouched down before her. “How good is your balance?”
“Not as good as it was before I had Michael,” she said truthfully.
“Then you had better lean on me.”
She rested her hands on his broad, strong shoulders and one by one he slipped the dangerous shoes from her feet. He unfolded himself to a standing position and studied the pale cream construction.
“You are mistaken, Abi. These would make formidable weapons.”
Her feet were relaxing with instant relief. “Thank you,” she said simply. She would never have felt comfortable to remove her shoes in the palace without his invitation. Would she ever feel comfortable in the palace to do anything?
“You did well tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning her face. Something like concern was hinted at by his handsome features.
Immediately Abi’s stomach clenched with worry. It was an instinct that had been finely honed over the past two years. “What is it? Has something happened? Is it Michael?”
His frown deepened. “Michael is fine.”
“Don’t … don’t say that if he isn’t. I’d rather know …”
He shook his head to show how little he understood of his wife as he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He passed it to Abi, a small smile on his lips. “Your mother sent this photo not ten minutes ago.”
Abi looked at the image with a swollen, aching heart. Their child. They had made him. He was a mixture of their genes and their souls. His face was almost completely Kiral, but his dimples were Abi.
“I miss him,” she said softly, wishing she could reach through the screen and stroke those downy little cheeks.
The effect of his wife admiring their son did something strange to his own heart. “It is too late to go to him now. But tomorrow, we will visit.”
The Sheikh's Secret Baby: Nothing stays hidden forever ... Page 11
