The Marriage Deal

by Connelly , Clare

  My feet are wet before he realises I’m here. His eyes latch to my face and I stop moving, my breath exploding from me on one long exhalation. The part of me that’s been taught good, southern manners wants me to say ‘hi’, or to apologise for intruding, but the magic of the night renders me mute. He’s not wearing a shirt and his chest is everything I’d imagined it to be, and more. Chiselled, tanned, with a line of dark hair arrowing down his middle, disappearing into the water’s surface. His muscles are etched, his skin taut, and he has several tattoos, which I hadn’t expected. Lines of writing run up his sides. There are also graphics – a picture above his heart and one low on his abdomen. My mouth is dry; I look away.

  A bird flies overhead, wide wingspan and majestic, its flapping wings the only sound. Their rhythm is slow and determined, echoing something within my heart.

  I take a step forward, then another, my heart beating slowly but with a strength that pummels me from the inside out. His eyes follow me; I can’t look away. The water is the perfect temperature and yet I shiver again. Another premonition? But of what?

  The water laps gently at my hips. A few more steps and I’m close to him – just a few feet away. Still, he watches me wordlessly. My skin is covered in goosebumps, but not because it’s cold. The bird circles overhead, drawing my attention for a moment. It comes to land in a tree across the water, settling so I see its silhouette. Regal and proud, it shimmers like the sand, a silver sheen on its glorious feathers.

  When I look back at Zahir, he’s moved closer. The water around us ripples and I feel the poignancy of that – those ripples reminding me of life, and how every decision we make causes small vibrations that go outwards, changing things we can’t imagine.

  “You should be sleeping.” His words rumble and vibrate in the depths of my soul.

  “Says who?”

  His frown is infinitesimal, just a tightening of his lips.

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  I cast a glance at my wristwatch – a gift from my father on my eighteenth birthday. “It’s actually the early hours of the morning.”

  His smile makes my pulse hum. “So it is.”

  “You couldn’t sleep?”

  He dips his head in silent agreement.

  “Why not?”

  “I sleep very little.”

  A small laugh escapes my lips. “Because you’re so tough and macho, you don’t need something as dull as sleep?”

  To my surprise, he smiles – a smile that is genuine and makes his eyes spark with mine. Warmth floods my body; I sway forward. Magic surrounds us.

  “When my father was…sick,” he pauses a little before describing his father’s state. “I took to sleeping in his room. I made a bed on the floor, but I spent most of the night lying there with one eye open, listening to changes in his breathing, anything that might indicate he’d worsened.”

  Sympathy runs through me. “He died a long time ago?”

  He nods slowly, a look tightening his features that expresses a deep sense of grief. “I was nine when he got ill, and eleven when he died.”

  I shake my head sadly. “So young.”

  “In some ways, but not in others.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She died in childbirth.”

  A blade presses to me chest. For a moment, I see him as the young boy he must have been, robbed so cruelly of two parents, and with every expectation on his shoulders that he would be able to command and rule a country.

  “You didn’t come to the throne until you were eighteen?”

  “There was ostensibly a caretaker government, though I took control of that when I was thirteen.”

  “What an unusual childhood,” I murmur.

  He tilts his head to the side. “It is the only childhood I have experience with.” His smile draws something from me, a concession I don’t understand. I feel my lips curving into an answering gesture. “So not unusual for me.” He pauses a moment. “Yours was hardly ordinary, as well.”

  The moon disappears behind a wisp of cloud, casting us in darkness. “Why do you say that?”

  “You were raised by your father in a country that wasn’t native to either of you.”

  I nod slowly. “I’m a lot like my mom, and she’s American.”

  His eyes probe mine and I sigh softly. “But you’re right. I never really felt like I belonged. We left Qabid when I was only a little girl. I don’t remember much except the heat, and the smells of the markets.” I feel the pull of the past. “English isn’t my first language, though I knew a little because of mom. But it took me years to feel confident amongst my peers, and I never forgot that I wasn’t like them. I always felt…different.”

  He’s quietly watchful.

  “I came to realise that our sense of place is intrinsically a part of who we are. I saw that through my father – his grief, at having been exiled, was ever-present. I began to believe that same yearning to be here, in Qabid, was responsible for my own sense that I didn’t belong.”

  “And now that you’re back?”

  “I’ve only been here a few days,” I hedge quietly.

  “Long enough to know if there’s something inside of you that yearns for this land.” He gestures to the desert and when his hand comes back it inadvertently brushes my hip. I close my eyes, unconsciously responding to his touch, my nerve endings firing to life.

  “I do feel it.” The words are barely a whisper, an admission I think I’m afraid to make, even to myself. I’m surprised, because I think a part of me wanted to believe this marriage was a temporary move – a solution for dad that would have little impact on my life.

  But having returned to Qabid, it’s like my soul is being stitched back into shape.

  “I love my home,” I say, but the words are hollow; they don’t ring true. “And yet there’s something about this place…” I look to my right. The bird is still sitting there, watching us, his eyes shining. “I can’t explain it.”

  He nods slowly. “I am the last person you need to explain it to.”

  Silence falls. His hand lifts, his fingers curling hair behind my ear, his eyes hooked to mine.

  “The legends of Qabid believe the first Sheikh was cast from the stone in the mountains, each piece being sculpted by a different element. Fire gave him heat and purpose, water gave him sympathy and kindness, the wind shaped him to be nimble and flexible, and the earth sacrificed its matter for his creation, giving of itself so that the Sheikh would always honour the elemental gifts and protect the people of this land with his whole being.”

  His hand drops from my ear to my shoulder. I can’t look away.

  “My lineage can be traced to that first Sheikh. It’s believed that those qualities are carried through my blood, each distilled into a ruling Sheikh’s body so that he will continue to honour those sacrifices, living only to protect his people.”

  His words weave magic through my heart. Still, I cling to something like anger, even when it feels forged. “My father would say my lineage boasts the same heritage.”

  “Your father is wrong.”

  My lips part in surprise. He lifts a finger, pressing it to my mouth.

  “Two hundred years ago, a powerful man who’d made his fortune in trade and through his friendship with the Sheikh, claimed he was the long-lost son of the Sheikh’s father. He had papers to show of an affair, claiming his mother was the be’darzi.”

  I repeat the foreign sounding word – one with which I’m not familiar.

  “The best translation is mistress.”

  “Ah.”

  “Harems were still very much in use then.”

  Heat spreads through my cheeks. His finger at my lips drops lower, pressing to the flesh between my clavicular.

  “The woman was indeed the Sheikh’s be’darzi, but whether or not she’d born the Sheikh a son could not be proved.”

  “Nor disproved.”

  He nods. “That was then. Now we have DNA testing. Your father’s
was done when he was a teenager. He carries none of the same links as my family. None. There is no way he is connected to the ruling line.”

  I want to reject that, and yet there’s something about Zahir that I – strangely – trust. I believe he is an honest man, and that lying to me would be beneath his dignity.

  “Regardless of this, the family continued to be one of the most powerful in Qabid. Wealthy and influential, and the cult around them grew. My father, or his father before him, should have acted sooner, but each generation tried to reason first, and then to ignore.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  His lips tighten; his smile is dismissive. “There were reasons, and I have not doubted, even once, that I acted in my country’s best interests.”

  His powerful certainty rushes through me and I shiver again, but this time, it’s easy to understand the reason for the response. I have become used to my father’s version of events, and I’ve never doubted them. I still don’t, and yet hearing Zahir speak, something of his feelings seep through me, so I’m torn for the first time in my life. Again, I feel that whip of betrayal, as though I’m letting down my father.

  “It’s unfortunate that your actions wounded my dad permanently.” I’m pleased that the words emerge clipped with disapproval, but less so when his eyes show surprise and his expression tightens over, resuming a look of cold distance.

  I feel as though I’ve lost something very special. My heart swoops and squeezes.

  “It could not be avoided. You should go back to bed.”

  4

  Amy

  ANGER BURSTS THROUGH ME. “Is that the way our marriage is going to work, Zahir?” The words are soft with accusation. “If I say something you don’t like, will you simply banish me for a time? Or if I really offend you, might you exile me too?”

  I’ve gone too far. Something flashes in his eyes and I feel tension emanating from every bone in his body. “Why do you seek to goad me?”

  I blink, caught off guard by his question. “I don’t.”

  He moves closer, our bodies now brushing. “You do.” He rubs his thumb over my lower lip, quickly, not gently, just like the kiss at our wedding. “You like to fight with me.”

  “I don’t like to fight with anyone.”

  “Then why push me this way?”

  He moves his finger to my chin, tilting my face to his.

  “Because you were pushing me away,” I snap, and then wish I hadn’t. The admission is far too revealing. I cover it with cool impatience. “You didn’t like the questions I was asking, or maybe you didn’t like the reminder that my father is who he is, but you dealt with that by attempting to send me back to the tent, as though I’m some troublesome girl you can no longer be bothered with.”

  His eyes lance me with the directness of his stare. “On the contrary, Amy, I want to bother myself with you very, very badly.” His intention is clear. My heart thumps and my knees tremble. “Particularly when you are cross with me. Sending you back to the tent was for your sake, not mine.”

  I’m dumbfounded. Staring up at him, silently, I wait for the words to make sense, but they don’t. I’m at a loss. “I don’t understand.”

  “The virgin act again?”

  I shake my head. “I never said I haven’t had a boyfriend before.”

  His features tighten into a mask of something I don’t understand. Nothing is making sense. The ancient night watches us, and I wish it could offer some explanation for how I’m feeling.

  “But I’ve never known anyone like you,” I continue weakly, blinking my eyes away while my face stays willingly captive to his grip. “The men I’ve dated in the past have been so different to you. Quiet and intelligent, well-read, cerebral.”

  “Non-threatening,” he supplies.

  “I’m not threatened by you.”

  “Not by me, but what you want from me.”

  Heat stains my face. Am I so obvious?

  “Yes, I understand how you feel, little one.” My eyes dart back to his. “You want to hate me for what I did to your father, and yet at the same time, you want me to make love to you. You don’t want a baby with me, and yet you want to feel my body move within yours, simply for the pleasure you know I can give you.” His words reach inside me, shifting things around, making me intimately aware of every cell in my body.

  There’s no sense in lying. “I do want that.” I face his eyes bravely now, courage stirring through me with the admission. “I’ve never met a man and felt such an instant attraction. I can’t explain it, and God knows I resent it. Why you, of all people?”

  His lips twist in a humourless smile. “A question I have asked myself, believe me.”

  My eyes widen.

  “Yes, azeezi, I feel it too.”

  “But you’re far more experienced,” I murmur. “You must be used to this kind of thing.”

  His head dips forward. “It’s true, I’ve known many women.”

  Jealousy spears me, sharp and unexpected.

  “But you’re the first wife I’ve wanted.”

  It’s a joke, and I smile, flattered in spite of the fact it’s meaningless; I’m his only wife.

  “I didn’t come here for this.”

  “Here on our honeymoon?”

  “Here to Qabid.” I valiantly search for my dignity. “It’s not just how you look. I’d seen pictures; I knew you were handsome. But when I walked into your office yesterday,” I frown, looking at my watch. “The day before,” I correct. “I felt…”

  His eyes roam mine, his nod slow. “It was the same for me.”

  “So why tell me to go back inside?”

  His exhalation of breath ruffles the hair on my head. “Because you’re not what I expected.”

  “No?” My heart thumps.

  “I thought I would hate you.”

  “You don’t?”

  His smile is dismissive. “Not entirely.”

  “Jeez, thanks.”

  He runs his thumb over my lower lip and my mouth opens on a sigh; he slides his thumb inside so I groan a little, swaying forward. “I thought I would hate you, and that I would sleep with you to cement our marriage. Now, things are considerably less simple.”

  “So not hating me is a…bad thing?”

  He runs his thumb down my chin and I make a soft, juddering noise. His eyes are watchful as his thumb grazes the flesh of my throat, tormenting me with the lightness of his touch, the promise in that small, gentle contact. “It changes things.”

  I close my eyes, surrendering to this. “What things?” The question emerges as a tortured whisper.

  “How we should proceed. Go to bed, azeezi.”

  I shake my head slowly, my eyes opening to find him staring at me, eyes loaded with intent.

  “Go to bed now, before I change my mind.”

  Zahir

  I deserve a medal. I swam for an hour after she went inside, my body pulling through the water as far as I could go before it became too shallow and my knuckles grazed the sandy bottom. Then I’d turn around and swim back the other way, hoping I could wear myself out enough to put her from my mind. What the hell is happening to me? Thirty six hours ago I hated this woman with a passion and now what? Because she’s blinked her enormous blue eyes at me a few times and played dumb about her father’s determined efforts to overthrow my government I’m wanting to see the best in her?

  Since when did I get so soft? So gullible?

  It’s not that I think she’s lying to me. I truly believe Amy has no idea about her father’s actions, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t do whatever she could to further his goals. The question is this: at seventy nine, with his daughter already installed on the throne as my wife, will he continue to stir up trouble? Is it possible he just can’t help himself?

  My face is grim as I turn to face her. The bed is not wide enough for us. I can’t help but touch her as I lie here, my back pressed to the soft feather-filled mattress,
my breathing hushed in case I wake her. She is now sleeping on her stomach, a sight that brings a reluctant smile to my face. Her head is turned in my direction, her lips parted as she breathes quietly, in and out, over and over. My fingers ache to move her hair – it’s falling over her brow and I wonder if she’d be more comfortable with it out of her way?

  But touching her would be a bad decision. Employing all my willpower, I close my eyes and keep my hands right where they are, balled into fists at my side. Ending this honeymoon as soon as possible is the last thought I form before drifting into a shallow, unsatisfying sleep, and it’s the first thought I capture when I wake, a scant few hours later.

  Amy

  “What do you mean, ‘go back to the palace?’”

  He lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. “Is it a complicated concept?”

  “We’re meant to be out here for three days,” I remind him stubbornly. “That was your decree, not mine. What’s changed?”

  Unconsciously, I invoke the exact question I’d asked the night before, as he bathed naked in the oasis, beneath the stunning, full moon. Heat glows in my cheeks at the reminder of that.

  “Well, quite simply, we’ve decided to shelve the matter of a baby, so I cannot see the point in remaining here.”

  Indignation fires in my blood. So because we’re not sleeping together, he wants to go back to the palace and ignore me? Until when? I reject that idea immediately, refusing to let him dictate a plan that seems guaranteed to lead to unhappiness for both of us.

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”

  “Amy, I’m not sure if I need to point this out to you, but you do realise –,”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I interrupt, waving a hand through the air. “You’re the all-mighty Sheikh and I’m supposed to do whatever you say, just like everyone else in this country seems to.”

  The beauty of his grin surprises me. I hadn’t expected it and it’s like the sun cutting through the tent, bathing me in warmth.