The Sheik's Unsuitable Bride

clothes. ‘And where did you park your camel?’

‘I hate to disappoint you, Diana, but I came by cab.’

‘Oh, great! The driver is probably calling in the story right now. I’ve only just got rid of three journalists who followed me home…’

And, grabbing his arm, she pulled him into the kitchen, shut the door and leaned back against it, hands pressed to her lips.

‘It was not my intention to sneak in unobserved, but I only had Aunt Alice’s address.’ Then, taking her hands from her mouth, kissing each of them, he said, ‘I suppose I could have walked along this street knocking on doors until I found you-’

‘You might as well have done!’

Then, with a gesture of helplessness, she let it go. What mattered was not how but why he’d come.

‘What are you doing here, Zahir?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve just about got my head around this and you’ve chosen to turn a nine-day wonder into a front page story…’

‘I have nothing to hide and neither have you.’ Then, ‘Freddy asked me to give you this.’ From somewhere in the folds of his robe he produced a small piece of rope. ‘He wanted you to see the reef knot we made.’

Diana took it. It was warm and without thinking, she lifted it to her cheek.

Then, looking up at him, ‘We?’

‘The two of us.’

‘But…You said you wouldn’t be going back to Nadira this week.’

‘Is that why you left?’

‘No…’ Then, because he deserved better than some feeble lie, ‘Maybe. But it was more than that. You listened to my story and you…’ She reached for the words. ‘You set me free, Zahir. Showed me how insignificant we are, but how great too. I’ve spent years expecting nothing. Believing that I was worth nothing-’

‘Believing that you were the frog?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t you know that once you’ve been kissed by a prince all bets are off?’

‘No. The true meaning of the fairy story is that we are all princesses. It’s just that some of us lose the ability to see that. But you treated me like one. Gave me the courage to believe. To gather my own stars.’

There was a long peal on the doorbell. It hadn’t taken long…

‘Speaking of fairy stories, why did you come back, Zahir? Haven’t you got something more important to do? Like arranging your marriage?’

Far from looking like a man caught out, he said, ‘That’s the beauty of a system like ours, Diana. Once I have made my decision, chosen my bride, I don’t have to do a thing. Even as we speak, my mother is negotiating with my bride’s family, drawing up the contract.’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying that. It’s…gruesome.’

‘No, no…I promise you, the women will have a very happy time disposing of my assets. Squabbling over the exact size of the house my bride is to have in London-’

‘A house?’

In London?

‘A woman must have a house of her own. Suitably furnished, of course. An income to maintain it. A car.’ He considered that. ‘Make that two.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’

Tiny lines creased around his eyes in the prelude to a smile. ‘Princesses are high maintenance.’ There was another long peal on the doorbell, followed by an insistent knock. ‘Do you want to get that?’

‘No, thanks.’

He continued to look at her. ‘Where was I?’

‘High maintenance,’ she managed. ‘Two cars.’

‘Oh, yes. Then, once all the practical stuff is out of the way, they get to the really good stuff. The jewels I will give her…’

She clutched her arms tightly around her waist, trying to hold herself together, and, as if to ease her pain, he laid his hand against her cheek, so that without meaning to she was looking up at him.

‘My mother thinks I should give her diamonds, but I disagree. I think nothing would become her throat more than the soft lustre of pearls…’

‘Please, Zahir! Don’t do this to me.’

‘What, ya malekat galbi? What, the owner of my heart, am I doing to you?’

‘You know.’ She moaned as, trapped, she had nowhere to run. No escape from his touch, from her body’s urgent response to the darkening of his eyes, his scent…

‘Tell me.’

‘I can’t be what you want me to be. Maybe an arranged marriage is different. Maybe with her house, income, jewels, your wife won’t care whether you are faithful or not. But I do. I can’t, I won’t be your mistress!’

Even to her own ears, her cry had sounded desperate and he took her hand from her waist, lifting it to lay it over his heart, with the words, ‘Ya rohi, ya hahati. My soul, my life…I believe you.’ And, as if to prove her a liar, her knees buckled and she fell into his waiting arms.

‘Please,’ she begged, her face pressed against his chest so that she could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart. But what she was begging for, release or thrall, she no longer knew or cared.

He gathered her in and held her for a moment, his arms around her, his cheek resting against her head. And for a moment she felt as if she was in the safest place in the world and she cared. Cared more than anything. That gave her the strength to pull away.

For a moment he resisted, then he kissed the top of her head, eased her into the battered armchair which, since his stroke, her father used when her mother was busy in the kitchen-so that they could be together, talk, as she did the ironing, baked. It seemed to symbolise everything that was good and true and pure about their long marriage.

Everything that she was not…

As she made to move, get up, Zahir stopped her, knelt at her feet. ‘Maybe just one diamond,’ he said. And, opening his palm, he revealed an antique ring, a large emerald cut diamond supported by emeralds. ‘A pledge, my promise, while your mother and mine enjoy themselves squabbling over where your house will be-in Mayfair or Belgravia-whether you should have diamonds or pearls, or both. Arranging our marriage.’ He slipped the ring on to her finger. Kissed the backs of her fingers, kissed her palm. ‘The beauty of a system like yours, twin of my soul, is that I do not have to wait until the contract is signed before I may see you. Talk with you. Be alone with you. Kiss you…’

His kiss was long, lingering, sweet…

The doorbell rang again. Someone hammered on the back door. Then the telephone started ringing.

Zahir drew back.

‘That would be alone with a media circus…’

‘Well, what on earth were you thinking? If you’d worn jeans, you might have got away with it.’

‘When a man asks a woman to be his wife, jeans will not do.’ Then, ‘Shall we make their day and go outside, pose for photographs? You can show them your ring, have your own Princess Diana moment.’

‘I don’t think so! Not until I’ve done my hair. Changed into something to match my prince.’ She drew back, shook her head. ‘How can I do this? I’m no princess.’

‘Believe me, you’re a natural, but if you are concerned about how we will live, your life, talk to Lucy. When she tells you her story, you’ll understand that anything is possible.’

‘Really?’

‘Remember the stars.’

‘And Freddy?’

‘Freddy is your son and when we are married he will be mine, Diana. Ours,’ he said, thumbing a tear from her cheek. ‘Frederick Trueman Metcalfe bin Zahir al-Khatib. The first of our children.’

‘I need to learn Arabic, Zahir. Will you teach me?’

They had stopped on their way from the airport to walk in the desert. A last moment alone before they were