The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... by Clare Connelly

Author:Clare Connelly [Connelly, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-06-11T04:00:00+00:00

He loved his country.

He especially loved the desert. The cities were fine. Civilised. Neat. In some areas, architecturally stunning. But the expansive desert was where his heart belonged.

“Good evening,” Rebecca’s voice broke through his pondering like a hot knife on butter.

He turned slowly and felt his resolve weakening with one simple look. She was wearing the turquoise dress she’d worn that first night they’d been together, out in the Ba’tuk.

“Good evening,” he nodded his head, careful not to betray his awareness. “Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

He was all civility, she noted, taking the seat he’d pointed towards. What had brought about this dramatic change? For the hundredth time since he’d left for Fattid, she thought of him with another woman. It would explain why he was suddenly so unmoved by her.

“Rebecca?” He prompted. “A drink?”

She was looking at him as though he were speaking Greek.

“Drink?” He repeated slowly, holding his own in the air with a little shake.

“Sorry. I was miles away. Yes, please. Sparkling water with a wedge of lime.” Her voice was calm. Just as she had hoped.

He placed a glass of water on the table in front of her then slid into the seat opposite. He watched her dusty pink lips form a perfect circle around the straw as she sipped down the cool liquid.

“I trust your trip went smoothly?” She queried, replacing the glass.

He leaned back in his chair, perplexed. This afternoon she’d looked ready to rip his head off, and now, here was the other Rebecca. The one he could never fully understand. The one who kept secrets from him with masterly ease.

“It was hectic,” he answered honestly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “But necessary.” That was a lie. He could have done most of the work from the palace. One advantage to being King was that people were always prepared to travel to you, rather than vice versa.

“Do you prefer spending time in Fattid, or here at the Palace?” She asked. Her question was completely appropriate, but something about the way she’d asked it frustrated the hell out of him. She was enduring this dinner, and going through the motions, but Rebecca wasn’t really there with him. He felt like he was being interviewed by a journalist. If he had decided to stick to their original relationship parameters, then she seemed to have likewise taken a step back from him. Their intimacy was gone.

Beneath the table, he squeezed his palms together until his knuckles were white. “Unequivocally, here. Fattid is beautiful too, but this is home for me.”

“You must have missed Assan when you were studying?” She asked without missing a beat.

“I was able to come back often.” He said simply, topping up her water.

“It’s not the same thing, though, is it?”

“No, it is not.” He watched her twirling her long blonde hair around her forefinger. “Did you go away to study?”

“No, I wasn’t--,” She had been about to say ‘allowed’ but quickly substituted, “able to.

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