The Sultan's Virgin Bride: A story of lust, loyalty and passionate resentment.

by Clare Connelly

  She covered her sceptical glance quickly. “Thank you.”

  “Do you want another apple?”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks.” She began to move in a separate direction to Ryan, then stopped, and turned back to face him. “Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ever call me ‘ma’am’ again.”

  “What shall I call you, your highness?”

  She poked her tongue out. “You can call me Ellie.” She shrugged. “That’s what most people call me.”

  “Ellie. Suits you.”

  “Thanks.” She turned back to the side entrance to the palace.

  “Hey, Ellie,” he called when she was almost at the gate. She turned and squinted back towards the grove. “Cheer up. Your husband’s one in a million. You’re a real life Princess, whether you wanted it or not. Life ain’t so bad.”

  She laughed and waved a hand. It had been a short conversation, but it had left her feeling substantially cheered. She stepped into the cool marble courtyard of the palace just as an idea occurred to her. “Excuse me,” she approached a servant with a smile. “Would you have twelve green apples collected from the orchard, and taken to the kitchens for my personal use?”

  The servant didn’t express any surprise at the odd request. “Certainly, your highness.”

  “Thank you.” She hummed as she went. She was not the woman Aki had accused her of being. She was not vapid. She was not a wall flower. She was smart, and courageous and a fighter, and she would make this life of hers work. She’d committed to Aki, and she’d damn well roll her sleeves up and make the most of being his wife.

  The apples were perfect. Exactly twelve were lined up in a neat row on one of the stainless steel benches when she entered the large cavity.

  The palace had over two hundred staff and guests in residence at any one time, and the kitchen housed a dedicated army to cater to their every whim. The team of more than a dozen chefs bustled about her in a way that made her feel almost invisible. Almost, but not quite. No one came within six feet of her. No one made eye contact with her. There was a deference towards the Emira that clearly marked her as unique.

  She began to peel the apples one by one, enjoying the mundane familiarity of the chore. They were still warm from the beating sun. One by one, she replaced the pale fruits on the bench, until they were all finished. Making apple pie was a Rami family tradition. Her mother Katherine had won the state fair three years in a row with her grandma’s recipe. She’d handed it down to Michelle and Eleanor both, but it was only Ellie that truly captured the spirit of the pie.

  On autopilot, she assembled the ingredients and kneaded the pastry by hand. The apples she cubed and tossed with cinnamon, sugar and currants, then added a little squeeze of lemon juice at the last minute.

  Finally, she began to roll the pastry and assemble the pie in a heavy-duty tin. She popped it in the oven and set a timer on her watch. She wanted to remove it from the oven herself. That was the best moment. Well, almost the best moment. Taking the first bite was hard to beat.

  The palace had, at first, seemed like a complex rabbit warren of luxurious rooms and hallways, but it was now familiar to her. She trailed the ground floor, towards Aki’s study. She had gleaned that he spent most of his day in either his study, or the pool beyond their rooms. She hazarded a guess that he would still be working.

  As she approached his door, she heard his voice, and her skin began to crawl. It brought back a searing memory of the conversation she’d overheard, and her steps slowed of their own accord. But there was no return voice, only silence, and so she quickly surmised he was speaking on the phone. As to the content, his words were in his native language, and so indecipherable to her. She paused for a moment to gather her courage and then knocked on the door.

  A brief beat passed and then the door was pulled inwards. Aki stood, phone cradled beneath one ear, an expression of concentration on his handsome face. He wore a slate grey shirt with jeans that showed off his tan and strong arms. And, as always, her heart turned over painfully in her chest. He was her husband. This awkwardness had to stop. She pushed past him and took a seat on one of the leather wing back chairs. Her body radiated a confidence that was completely assumed.

  Aki studied his wife openly, as he put a swift conclusion to the call. His friend Tariq, Emir of Assan, had a problem that needed lengthy consideration and discussion. But at that moment, he was far more interested in what had brought Eleanor swanning into his study. Her shining brown hair was looped up into a bun, as it often was, and she was dressed head to toe in white. He came and leaned against his desk, beside her, so that he could see her face. No make up. She seemed only to wear it for official occasions. Around the palace, she was bare faced and beautiful. His lips quirked as he saw that she wasn’t completely bare faced now. On her cheek, there was a smudge of something white and powdery.

  He reached over on instinct and rubbed the pad of his thumb over it. Eleanor seemed to startle, then lifted her own fingers and wiped at her face. Embarrassment was evident in her delicate features, and in turn, frustration puffed Aki’s chest. He said a final farewell to Tariq, and disconnected the call.

  “Flour,” she said quickly, by way of explanation.

  Only it explained so little. “Flour?”

  “You know. That you cook with?”

  “Yes, of course I know what flour is. Why is it on your face?”

  She took in a deep breath and met his gaze unfalteringly. “I’m making an apple pie. I came to ask you to share some with me.”

  His frown was bemused. “Apple pie?”

  “You know, it’s an American staple.” She fluttered her lashes down, recalling his statement that had been a criticism of her ‘American-ness’.

  “I have had it before, yes,” he drawled quietly. He crouched down on his haunches then, surprising her. “Why?”

  She licked her lower lip and fixed her gaze on an elaborate tapestry that hung across the room.

  With a sound of frustration, Aki lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, angling her face to his. “I will share your pie, on one condition.”

  “What is it?”

  “A kiss.”

  “A kiss?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened, her heart hammered into her rib cage. She furrowed her brow. “You know, Aki, I’m really not stupid.”

  His expression didn’t change. At least he didn’t attempt to placate her on that score. He stayed silent.

  She shifted uncomfortably, and when she spoke, her words were cracked with emotion. “I know that you married me because you had to. That, if you’d had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

  Still, he did not speak.

  She dropped her eyes to her knees. “I think we don’t like each other very much. That we have a complicated history that has nothing to do with me and you, but one that nonetheless makes it difficult for us not to carry a burden of hate.” She linked her fingers together in her lap. “And I know that I won’t be any match for you. Sexually.” She gulped. There. She’d said it. “I have no experience.” She shrugged. And though she was trying to establish a new, open relationship with her husband, she couldn’t resist adding, “I’m sure that sleeping with me will be bland for you. Perhaps even boring.”

  If she’d been looking at his face, she might have seen a flash of recognition in his handsome features.

  “Let me show you something,” he said, his voice hoarse. He reached down and put his hands over hers, where they were clasped together. Gently, he pulled her to standing, her body cleaved to his. “May I?” His eyes were on her lips, his intention obvious.

  She nodded silently.

  His kiss was not bland. It was desperate. A silent plea of a desperate man. One who found his wife far more desirable than he could have imagined. Who had damned her with feint praise and low expectations and realised the reverse was true.

  His lips moved over hers, while his hands tra
ced her back, rubbing and touching. She was so soft. Such a contrast to his own hard planes.

  With effort and discipline, he broke the kiss. Her eyes were heavy with desire, and he knew his own showed a matching need. He caught her hand and slowly, his eyes locked to hers, lowered it to his throbbing arousal. She startled when he placed her over his hardness. “Does it feel to you like I find you boring?”

  “Oh.” She bit down on her lower lip, but she cursed her own inexperience.

  “Stop doubting yourself,” he demanded hoarsely, releasing his hold on her wrist and linking his hands behind her back. It kept her pinned to him. He scanned her face. “Tell me about your fiancé.”

  “My…” She swallowed convulsively. “Why?”

  “You are a beautiful woman with no self-confidence when it comes to your… appeal. I would like to know why.”

  Her expression didn’t hint at her inner turmoil. But in truth, any lack of confidence she might have around men had a lot more to do with Sultan Aki Katabi than the man she’d once thought she’d marry.

  “I won’t discuss Arnaud with you.”

  Something twisted inside Aki. “Your engagement ended only months before I approached your father.”

  Her caramel flecked eyes flew wide. “It sounds to me like you have all the facts already.”

  He smothered the hint of a smile. Her astuteness was always a revelation to him, particularly given his original assumption that she had barely two brain cells to rub together. “Facts, perhaps. But facts are so black and white. I would like to hear from you what happened.”

  Her skin had paled. “How much do you know?”

  “That you and he were together for many years. That you became engaged. And that while you were busy with your studies, he cheated on you. Often.”

  Her eyes flew to his, the hurt in them obvious. “How do you know all that?”

  “Investigators.” He shrugged as though it were no big deal.

  “But… how could investigators know how often he was with other women?”

  Aki studied her carefully. Her emotional distress was obvious. The distress that a broken heart alone could cause? A heart still broken? Still grieving? Still longing for the one she had lost?

  “He had a friend. I have forgotten his name. One of those American football types.”

  “Chad.” She exhaled slowly, nodding. “Chad told your investigator.”

  “Yes.”

  “Chad knew?” She pushed away from him and paced across the room. Her temper was rising spectacularly. “Chad knew?”

  “Evidently.” He watched as she paced, her hands on her hips, her face distressed.

  “You are upset,” he said after a few moments.

  “Of course I’m upset! He made a fool out of me. I let him make a fool out of me.” And she was doing it all over again. Just like Arnaud and Chad had laughed at her, she’d heard Aki and Ryan doing the same. She straightened her back. That was not her fault. It was men. These men.

  “On the contrary, he is making a fool of himself. Any idiot who runs around with women behind your back is an idiot.”

  She looked at him with angry scepticism. “Like you threatened to do?”

  His face darkened. “I have already told you that I spoke in haste.”

  “Yeah, well, apparently Arnaud did in haste. And did a lot.” Her eyes narrowed. “How many women were there?”

  Aki had the distinct impression that the conversation was becoming unwieldy. It was flailing, as a snake with no head, between them, and he could no longer control its direction with ease. “The friend did not say.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she insisted, crossing back to stand in front of him.

  Aki watched her carefully. “He said only that there were ‘dozens’. It is a loose term, which could mean anything.”

  She pushed at his chest, and tears of rage filled her eyes. “Don’t!” She yelled, her face contorted into a mask of rage. “What is it? Some kind of ‘bro-code’? That men have to lie and cover for each other? Why would you defend Arnaud?”

  He grabbed her wrists and held them against his chest. “I am not defending him.” His voice held a note of warning.

  “Yes, you are! I’m a big girl; I can handle the facts.”

  “Did you really have no idea?”

  Her temper, which she had thought was at its zenith, sparked hotter and higher. “I guess I’m just that dense.”

  He rubbed a thumb across her wrist. “I am just surprised that he was so adept at covering his tracks.”

  “I’m a gullible fool,” she muttered. “He was very credible, as a boyfriend.” She closed her eyes as remembered pain flooded her body. “It was his idea. To wait until we were married. To, you know.” And because he already seemed to know everything about her, she spoke the words that had run around her brain since she’d learned of his affair. “I would have slept with him. I loved him. We were engaged. But he didn’t want me.” A solitary tear slid down her cheek and Aki watched its progress with a grim frown. “He didn’t want me.”

  “Through no fault of your own,” he promised darkly.

  “How can you say that? You don’t want me either.” She clamped her lips together, her eyes flashing with surprise at her revelation.

  “Why do you think I do not want you?”

  She couldn’t tell him. It was too mortifying. If he knew that she’d overheard his conversation with Ryan, there would be no façade left. Only the cold, hard facts of their marriage. They would no longer be able to pretend at civility. She moved her shoulders in what felt like a shrug.

  He reached up and began to pull pins from her hair, placing them on the desk behind them. “You could not, in a hundred years, be more mistaken. I do want you.”

  She shook her head, trying to blink away the tears that were in her eyes. Anger, hurt, grief and fury all swirled inside of her, and a desire to lash out and hurt him back sparked in her chest. “I can’t have sex with someone who sees me as a charity case.” She reached up and grabbed his wrist, arresting it in the process of freeing her hair. “Please, stop.” Her words were so loaded with sadness that he did as she asked. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity that she couldn’t meet.

  “I can’t have sex with someone who hates my father. I’m sorry that you needed to marry someone from my family, to remove any possible civil disunity in Talina. I’m sorry that I was the bride you were forced to select.” She dropped his hand and it fell to his side. “I’m sorry that I was pretty darn heart broken when you approached me. I wanted to escape - all that pity over Arnaud, everywhere I went. You know? I wanted to get away, and then you appeared, and hey… I thought… I can marry you, and give my dad a tremendously great gift at the same time. And I thought it solved your problems, too. I just didn’t understand. I guess I didn’t think it through properly.”

  The air throbbed with angry silence for a moment. “What did you not think through?” He asked finally.

  “How our marriage would ever work.” Her expression was glum. “How you would resent me, for having done nothing more than being born to a man you think might want to take your throne from you. And mostly, for accepting your proposal.”

  “I do not resent you.” He denied it with such conviction, that she almost believed him.

  “You do.” She stepped backwards. It was the only explanation to the vitriol she’d heard in his words on their wedding night. “You do, and there’s no sense in pretending otherwise. I am not stupid.”

  He frowned, and took an impatient step towards her. “You keep saying that, and yet you are being incredibly obtuse at present.”

  “No. I’m seeing everything very clearly.” She paused at the entrance to his study, unknowingly beautiful in her evident state of distress.

  “Wait, Eleanor. Don’t go like this.”

  She looked across at him as though she were weighing things up. “It’s okay.” She said finally. “I’m okay. I’m glad that we’ve cleared the air. At least we both know whe
re we stand now.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ryan scanned his eyes down the column; mentally calculating which divisions weren’t performing as they should be. Aki was a demanding employer. But even without his friend’s need for excellence, Ryan had always been motivated by perfectionism. He was singularly driven, and his desire to tie things up in neat little bows was probably largely what drew him to the finance sector. There was risk and there were inevitably losses, but ultimately, numbers had a magical synergy to them.

  The door opened inwards without a knock, meaning it could be only one person.

  “Aki,” he greeted without looking up, his concentration unbreakable when set at a task. A pleasant aroma drifted towards him and called his attention.

  The Sultan of Talina stood, at the edge of his desk, a plate with pie in one hand. It was such a ludicrous sight that Ryan couldn’t help laughing. “You changing career? Going into the restaurant business?”

  Aki’s expression was grim. “My wife … baked. This.”

  Ryan dropped his gaze from Aki to the perfect looking pie in his hands. “She did, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not happy about it?”

  Aki placed the pie on the table with a furrowed brow. “I’m not happy about other things. The pie is,” he paused, searching for the right word. “Not important.”

  “The cherry on top?” He reached for a fork and tapped the top of the pastry. “Excellent crust,” he remarked, digging in deeper. “What’s going on with you two?”

  Aki’s expression was shuttered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Must be serious.”

  He expelled an angry breath. “She is infuriating. The most insufferable, frustrating woman I have ever known.”

  “I thought she was boring and dull and dumb?”

  Aki stood stock still in the middle of Ryan’s dishevelled office. “No. She is none of those things. I was wrong.”