Chosen as the Sheikh's Wife

'My mother remarried. I have a brother, three sisters. Many nephews and nieces. They will all visit. Everyone will want to meet you.' Then, 'I should tell you that my wife and son were killed by a car bomb in Beirut. Hasna wanted to visit an aunt who lives there. I was too busy to go with them. They were not targets, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

And it was her turn to reach out, wordlessly lay her hand over his.

'No one will talk about it, and I did not want you to think there is a mystery,' he said, but there was an underlying hesitation in his demeanour, suggesting that he had something on his mind. Something that he was finding difficult to broach. 'It is only to save my feelings that they keep silent.'

'You should talk about them,' she said. 'Remember the things that brought you joy.'

He shook his head, but there was something bothering him. He certainly hadn't asked to see her to discuss the correct depth of curtsey when she met the Emir.

'What is it, Sheikh Fayad? What is it that you wanted to tell me?'

He lifted a brow. 'You are perceptive as well as astute, Princess.'

'It comes packaged as standard with the X chromosomes,' she replied. 'What's up? Are you trying to find some way to tell me that I'm going to have to wear a veil when I meet your grandfather?'

'Would you do that?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I do understand that different societies have different expectations, and while I wouldn't be prepared to wear one on a regular basis, I wouldn't want to do anything to offend him.'

He shook his head, but he was smiling. 'There's no need for a veil. They are worn by women only on desert journeys, as protection against sun and sand, and the abaya, the cloak that covers head and clothes, is worn as protection against dust and heat.'

'How do they live? What are their lives like?' she asked.

'Those who are educated and wish to work are employed in medicine, business, teaching. Nothing is haram. Forbidden.'

'What about those who are not educated? Isn't schooling compulsory?'

'Not for girls. And there are few jobs for the uneducated. They are forced to stay at home, work in the home, on the land.'

'Captive labour?'

'That is, perhaps, a little harsh. They do what women have been doing for centuries. It is, however, my intention to change that when I become Emir. We need all our people to be educated so that they can play their part in building our country.'

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, his fine dark eyes searching her face as if weighing his words. She'd felt the silk of his skin against her temple as he'd held her. Wanted to reach out now and run her fingers over his cheeks, above his lip, feel his mouth against hers…

'I wish it were something as trivial as whether or not you should wear a veil,' he said, turning abruptly away.

'Now I'm really worried.'

'No…' He shook his head. 'Trust me, Violet. Whatever happens you need have no fears for yourself. I am the one who has been…' He lifted his hand in a gesture that in anyone else she might have described as helpless. There was nothing helpless about Sheikh Fayad. '…thoughtless. Reckless with your reputation.'

'My reputation?'

She would have laughed. This was the twenty-first century, and girls didn't have "reputations" any more. At least not in her world. But obviously for him this was no laughing matter, and so she kept her mouth in order.

'In my society to be alone with a woman, to hold her as I held you-'

'You were comforting me,' she said, doing her best to reassure him that he had done nothing to offend her, although she suspected that somehow it went beyond that. 'I was falling apart and you held me together.'

'I did a great deal more than that, Princess.' And he turned to face her. 'Much more.'

The kiss…

'Only because you thought I was going to have hysterics at leaving my home. It was nothing,' she said quickly, but could not meet his eyes.

It had not felt like "nothing". It had felt like a bridge between the past and the future. And how easily she had stepped towards the unknown, leaving everything, everyone she knew, behind her. Because with his lips on hers she had not cared if she ever came back.

'And who would know?' she said.

'Staff from my embassy, those who were at your house, who packed your clothes, stayed to organise the clean-up. And because they know it is inevitable that my grandfather will have heard exactly what happened today and drawn his own conclusions.' Then, 'And I know.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

Fayad's words were spoken with a finality that raised Violet's heartbeat.

'What conclusions? What are you saying?'

'My world is not like yours, Princess. Here marriages are arranged. It is a contract that unites families, matches two people who might never have met except perhaps as children. Whose qualities are known only by word of mouth. Through friends, family.'

'What about those career women? You can't work without meeting people.'

'There are not so many. Many families still cling to old traditions. Your own family, for instance, the Sayyid,' he said, with an impatient gesture, 'they fight change with every breath.'

It was something he clearly felt very strongly about.

'Sometimes you have to bite the bullet, break eggs, to get things done,' she said.

'The problem with that, Princess, is that sometimes more than the eggs will break.'

'I'm sorry. I'm a little out of my league here.' Then, because she couldn't keep her mouth shut, 'Can you

really trust the word of people who for politics, money, might have a vested interest in arranging a wedding?'

'Believe me, when a wedding is being arranged everyone has an opinion and everyone expresses it. Everything that you ever did will be dragged out and examined at length by grandmothers, sisters, cousins, brothers, aunts.' He smiled again. 'Especially aunts…' Then, 'It is too important to risk failure. Marriage is the glue of a civilised society and everyone has a stake in its success.' He watched her struggle with that, then, before she could ask the next question, he said, 'Yes, Violet. A girl can reject any potential groom.'

'But they do meet before the wedding? These couples?'

'Maybe. Not always. And not once the wedding preparations begin.' He smiled at her disbelief. 'A bride is a treasure to be closely guarded within the family while the dower is gathered and delivered. In that period she will only see those closest to her. Even when the contracts have been signed and the bride and groom are to all intents and purposes married.'

'What happens then?'

'Between the formal signing and the celebrations? First the engagement jewels are sent. Not just a ring, but a matching set of bracelets, necklace, earrings, in stones chosen by the groom's mother to perfectly complement his bride. At the same time the groom prepares a house for her, furnishing it with the best he can afford. And the dowry is gathered-gold, jewellery, bolts of every kind of cloth, carpets, money, all designed to demonstrate his ability to provide for her-ready to be delivered to the bride's home to be

displayed at the maksar, the formal gathering of women to celebrate the marriage. Although the bride herself will not take part in that.'

'Oh…'

Violet, who had been thinking it all sounded rather cold, began to see it from a different point of view. Began to imagine the trembling excitement of a secluded virgin bride as the day grew nearer. As her groom's dowry gifts arrived, proving to the world, to her family, to her, just how much he valued her, wanted her above all other women.

'There is more than one way to rouse the passions,' she said.

'Her weight in gold?'

Her eyes widened at the idea of just how much that would be worth, but then she shook her head. 'No. It's not the gold. It's what it represents,' she said. And Sheikh Fayad responded with a look of admiration for her understanding. A look that sent her own heart spinning up into her mouth, that suggested passion would not be in short supply for the woman who won his heart.