Zaid adjusted his cufflinks as he made his way to the private courtyard outside Harper's suite. He consulted his watch. It was a quarter to eight. On the other side of the property, a team of catering staff worked overtime, servers prepared drinks and a team of horticulturalists readied the gardens for the evening's festivities. Soft music hummed in the background, a dozen arpeggios bleeding together as the musicians tuned their instruments. But he cared little about the entertainment, the catering, the decorations. There was more riding on tonight than what would be written about the decor in the society page or in the tabloids. It was imperative that Harper be accepted by the people of Gulzar. The future of her child, of his kingdom, depended on it.
The soft glow of headlights caught his attention, the first of the guests beginning their ascent up the winding, coastal road to the Summer Palace.
And still no Harper.
He wouldn't let her jeopardize the fate of his country like this. If she wanted to let fear paralyze her, let it erode her future, he wouldn't stop her. That was her right. But he would be damned if he let that fear contaminate anything else.
He headed for the staircase, carefully measuring each intake of air. She would come down. If he had to dress her himself and mime her like a ventriloquist dummy, she would come down and play the part of the blushing bride to be. And then, when the guests had all gone and the decorations had been cleared away, she could continue being angry at him, at life, at everything in general.
He reached the middle of the staircase and stopped, staring up at Harper. Her straight black hair fell loose around her bare shoulders, her floor length black lace dress cut in a way that narrowed her waist, and concealed her condition. Her hands twisted nervously, strangling the sheer black wrap she held in her clutches. A jolt of attraction shot through him, eliciting an inconvenient response. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
"You're late," he said.
She glared at him. "Until you've spent two hours trying to squeeze into a designer dress, you haven't earned the right to complain."
Ascending to the top of the staircase, he plucked her wrap from her hands and draped it across her shoulders. "I'm not complaining. By all appearances, it was well worth the wait. Though I do admit, I came up here prepared to drag you down to the reception myself."
"If that's your idea of sweet talk, you may still have to."
He linked their arms together and guided her down the staircase, through a narrow courtyard that led to the gardens. He paused before they entered. "Wait."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold ring, fitted with a large yellow diamond cut into a princess shape. It was imperative their engagement be seen as legitimate. It wouldn't be enough to merely look the part. Regardless of the nature of their relationship, everything surrounding it had to be real. And this ring was the coup de grace.
He felt he should say something, but no words came to him. The idea of proposing to a woman, even under extenuating circumstances such as these, was foreign to him. Something he had never considered until that night in Boston. He wasn't sure what came next, what was considered proper protocol.
So instead he lifted her hand and slid the ring unceremoniously onto her finger.
Harper stood, staring at the ring. "What is this?"
"It will be hard to sell an engagement without a ring."
Harper blinked slowly, measuring her breathing to keep from going into full-on panic mode. Zaid was incomprehensibly wealthy, with extravagant tastes and the drive of a perfectionist. The fact that he had given her a ring worth seven digits in her native currency didn't surprise her. But this ring was not merely expensive. It was priceless, an heirloom, likely part of the royal collection of jewels. A realization that tugged on the corners of her mouth, pulling it into a frown.
"Is there a problem?" Zaid asked.
"I've seen this ring before." It had been a prominent feature in every Internet search she'd compiled on Zaid, on Gulzar.
"It belonged to my mother."
She snapped her attention to Zaid, the weight of his words dizzying. "You're not serious."
"There can be no room for doubt regarding our relationship," Zaid said. "No one who sees you wearing this ring will question your legitimacy."
Harper drew her hand in front of her, studying the ring. It was exquisite. The pictures on the Internet hadn't done it justice. It looked just as freakishly out of place on her finger as it had on her computer screen.
As outlandish as she must have looked next to Zaid, posing as the future queen of Gulzar.
She swallowed, determined to keep her composure. "It's very...big."
"I don't think I've ever heard that sentiment uttered with such distaste before."
"Not distaste, exactly."
"The look on your face would suggest otherwise."
Harper bit down on her lip. "I'm not used to all of this. Rings. Dresses. Parties. It's...confusing."
"Save it for later. There isn't time for confusion right now." He reached forward and cupped her face, tilting her chin up to look at him. "You're a smart, well-educated woman. Just be yourself. You've been to parties before, haven't you?"
"Of course I have," Harper said. "Though I was usually the one serving the champagne, not imbibing it."
He linked their arms together and escorted her through the stone archway. He leaned in close. "Smile, rohi. This is an engagement party, not a funeral."
She wasn't so sure. Despite the lush atmosphere, a pinch of insecurity remained. Ever since she'd woken up in Gulzar, she'd been lavished with the kind of luxury she'd never even known existed in the real world. The kind of luxury she couldn't enjoy. Wasn't sure she even knew how.
They entered the courtyard and the band began playing a song Harper didn't recognize, an anthem of some sort. The guests all turned to watch as they entered, smiling wide as they offered up applause.
Harper stretched her smile and hoped it looked genuine enough that they wouldn't see through her, see that she had no place in Gulzar. No place beside Zaid.
Zaid exuded confidence as easily as he did sex appeal. His power was undeniable, having nothing to do with his title or rank. He looked the part. He knew how to receive their praise, their appreciation. Not Harper. She wished she were in her old sweats, curled up on her old hand-me-down couch, watching some soapy nighttime drama instead of living it. Being the center of attention, having all eyes on her, left her feeling naked and vulnerable, terrified that everyone would see her as a fraud.
The music shifted into a waltz, and Zaid led her onto the dance floor in the middle of the gardens, pulling her close as they swayed to the music. "You're scowling again," he whispered, his breath on her bare skin warm and alluring.
"We look ridiculous together. You know that, right? No one will ever buy us as a couple."
Zaid peered down at her. "No? And why is that?"
"I'm not your type. Anyone with an Internet connection and half a brain will know that I'm an aberration."
"My type?" Zaid asked.
"Tall. Skinny. Blonde." All things she wasn't.
"I have an affinity for beautiful, well-educated women," Zaid said. "And in that respect, you are hardly an aberration."
A smile, genuine this time, melted across her face before she could stop it.
Crap.
She wasn't used to compliments, didn't trust them as a rule, particularly not ones regarding her appearance. She was OK-looking, she guessed. A little on the plump side, with enough cellulite on her hips and thighs to keep her warm through even the most brutal New England winter. But beautiful?
That was a first.
She turned her face from him, focusing instead on the handful of Alim-approved photographers dotting the fringe of the dance floor. The warmth that had enveloped her so completely only a moment ago seemed to metastasize a little more into dread with every snap.
"Everyone's looking at us," she said.
"Everyone is looking at you."
She looked down, wishing she could turn invisible. "I don't like them looking at me. It makes me feel weird."
Zaid lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his, his gaze deep and intimate. She felt naked with him, more naked now than if she'd been stripped bare. "Forget about them. Pretend they aren't here. It's just you and me." He pulled her closer still. "You are truly beautiful when you're not scowling."
"I doubt that's a popular opinion."
"It's not an opinion at all. It's a statement of fact."
And this time when he said it, Harper didn't pull away. Instead, she settled into the words, feeling a little like a child playing dress-up as she tried them on for size.
Was she beautiful? She'd never considered the possibility before now. She'd always been the smart one, the reliable one. But never beautiful. Occasionally, she'd been hit on by some drunken frat boy at the night club where she’d worked, but that had been all about sex – the shape of her body and size of her breasts. Even the men she'd dated in college – a number she could count on one hand – had been more enamored with her mastery of running subcuticular sutures over her physical appearance.
Zaid's hand at her waist moved to her hip, and she involuntarily relaxed into him. She felt different with him. Beautiful. As if she was the only woman in the room. As if it were just the two of them, like he'd said, dancing in their own world. It would be so easy to lose herself in the moment...in him...
He tensed, his hand at her waist falling away, tearing apart the moment. She blinked, reacquainting herself with her surroundings, then followed his line of sight across the dance floor to a woman standing near the edge of the gardens. She was tall. Skinny. Blonde. Harper could have sworn she'd seen her somewhere before.
Zaid pulled away. "Excuse me."
"Zaid?"
A thick layer of dread coated Harper's stomach as Zaid disappeared into the crowd.
Stupid. That's what she was. Stupid and foolish and about a hundred other things she couldn't verbalize at the moment, none of them good.
He had used her, had told her what she wanted to hear to get what he wanted. And she had believed him, even knowing the kind of man he was.
He'd made her feel...well, it didn't matter anymore. It had all been an act, a show put on to convince the press of their feelings for one another.
Only he'd played his part a little too convincingly.
Swallowing back as much pride as she could muster, Harper followed in Zaid's footsteps, moving in the direction of where she'd last seen him.
Alim stopped her as she reached the portico. "Sayeda?"
"Where is Zaid?"
He motioned her back toward the gardens. "You should return to your guests."
"I know he's inside. I saw him walk this way."
Alim's face was remained blank, his tone firm. "Sheikh Zaid does not want to be disturbed."
"You are disturbed," Harper said. "And you're going to be in traction if you don't get out of my way."
Alim stared at her for a beat, the expression on his face more amused than threatened. Which only served to fuel her ire. She knew that Zaid had disclosed to him the truth behind their marriage facade, that she was nothing more than a pawn to be positioned at Zaid's will. That she had no real power at all.
She pushed past him, her footsteps on the stone floor amplified as she strode into the palace. She reached the main hallway and froze when she saw Zaid embroiled in deep conversation with the blonde from before.
Blood rushed to her head, clouding her vision. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
"Harper," Zaid said, his tone measured. "Go back to the party."
"Looks like there's quite the party going on right here."
The blonde woman looked from Zaid to Harper and back again before extending a long, slender hand. "Nailah Berari," she said. "And you are...?"
Zaid stepped between them. "She was just leaving."
"Like hell I was." Harper turned to Zaid. "So all that stuff you said out there – that was, what, just you putting on a show for the press?"
Or for her. So he could control her. Manipulate her. Move her around like a chess piece. The thought made her feel sick, dizzy.
"This is hardly the time or place for this conversation."
"Right. Wouldn't want to make a scene in front of your girlfriend. Not when we've only just said hello."
Zaid stepped forward, taking hold of Harper's elbow. "And now you're saying goodbye." He flicked a look to Alim. "Make sure Nailah finds her way out."
Then Zaid pulled Harper forward, escorting her down a different hallway than the one she had come in on from the garden. It took her a moment, but she recognized it as the one leading to the residential apartments.
"Are you insane?" Zaid said. "Do you have any idea how many people heard your outburst? Important people, Harper. People who could just as easily reject the child you're carrying as accept them as their future king."
"I'm not the one who ditched his own engagement party to go feel up one of the attendees."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
She shook her head, throwing her palms out between them. "Save it. Whatever lame excuse you're going to try to gaslight me with, I don't want to hear it. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"I hardly had to talk you into anything. From my perspective, you are a willing participant."
"Only because you threatened the well-being of my child!"
"I've done nothing but be honest with you."
Harper scoffed. "Like you would know the first thing about honesty."
"What have I said to you that wasn't the truth?"
An indescribable fragility settled over Harper, as though her bones were made of glass. The things he'd said to her on the dance floor – that she was beautiful, intelligent, worthy – haunted her. For the briefest of moments, she'd actually convinced herself that he meant them.
But Zaid could take his pick of women. Beautiful, sophisticated, cultured women. So it didn't make sense that he would think of her that way. That he would think of her at all. Their engagement was a facade, nothing more than an unfortunate side effect of his royal birthright. An obligation he would fulfill for the greater good of his kingdom.
Her heart would do well not to forget that again.
Swallowing all that was left of her pride, she turned from Zaid, moving in the direction of the party. "Our guests are waiting."
His grip on her elbow remained. "You won't be gracing them with your presence tonight," he said. "Not like this. Go to your apartment and stay there until I send for you. I will let everyone know you send your regrets, but the evening has been too much excitement for you."
Harper stared at him, mouth open, her ability to form words momentarily lost. "You really are a narcissistic bastard, aren't you?"
"And you are a tightly-wound pain in the ass. But neither of those things change the fact that your presence is no longer needed tonight."
She stared at him for a beat, incredulous. Then shook her head, turning from him, heading for the stairs. "Forget it. Do what you want."
She reached the first landing and watched from the window as Zaid made his way back through the gardens.
Only he wasn't headed for the party. He was headed for the courtyard.
And there, waiting for him, was Nailah.
#
The dress was the first thing to go when Harper made her way back to her apartment. The shapewear needed for it to fit properly was next on the list. Then she'd scrubbed off her makeup, thrown her hair into a messy bun, and rifled through her things, which had all been expertly put away in her absence, finally settling on a T-shirt and pair of loose-fitting sweats before curling up on the couch with one of her medical journals.
So he had a girlfriend. It made sense now...the caution he had taken with the press...his insistence that Harper return to her apartment.
Maybe Nailah lived here, too. In Basmadan. The palace was certainly large enough to house more than one family under its roof. Perhaps he intended to keep his mistress on one side of the estate and Harper on the other.
She grit her teeth, stuffing down her feelings before they could get the best of her. Because it wasn't her place to have feelings on the matter. Zaid had said nothing to make her think he would be celibate. Far from it, in fact. He'd taken every opportunity available to him to make his desires known. Desires she had summarily dismissed. It was only natural that he would satiate them elsewhere.
The pressure in her chest expanded, that sick feeling swelling up again. Doubt and uncertainty conspiring against her. But she'd already made up her mind. Theirs would not be a carnal relationship. She had made a mistake with Matthias, let herself get too lonely and allowed her base urges to take over. She wouldn't make that same mistake again. Not even with the man who, for all intents and purposes, might soon be her husband.
But that was her choice. He was free to make choices of his own.
So long as he kept those choices far away from her, away from her child.
The door to her suite opened, and Harper looked up from the medical journal she had been reading. Suddenly she couldn't remember a thing written in it, not even the name of the article that had, some moments ago, seemed so interesting.
Zaid stepped into view, his presence intruding on her personal space, challenging her calm, quickening her pulse. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie hung limply around his neck. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse at that gorgeous chest.
Harper went back to her medical journal. "Go away."
"I owe you an explanation."
"What you owe me is an apology," she said. "First you order me to attend that stupid party. Then you leave me there, alone, standing in the middle of the dance floor like a freaking idiot. And then when I call you on it, you send me to my room like I'm a teenager being grounded for breaking curfew."
"I wouldn't have sent you away if you hadn't engaged with Nailah."
"If you didn't want me talking to your girlfriend, why did you invite her?"
"Nailah is not my girlfriend," Zaid said. "She is a reporter. She bribed one of the catering staff to sneak her in."
"Oh." A flood of something light and jubilant rushed through Harper's system, and she was horrified to learn she was relieved. Relieved to be wrong about Zaid's history with Nailah. Relieved at the notion that perhaps she had been wrong, that she wouldn't have to look the other way as he entertained other women. "But you looked so...friendly."
"Looks can be deceiving, rohi."
The lightness dissolved, replaced by unease. "What did she want?"
"What all reporters want. A story. Which you practically fed to her with that outburst."
Harper leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. She’d screwed up. Big time. She’d gotten so swept up in the façade and all the tingly feelings that came with it, that rational thought had flown straight out the window. “I’m sorry.”
“Alim will take care of it.” Zaid took a seat in front of her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He dragged a hand down his face, revealing tiredness in his features. "This isn't entirely your fault. I should have waited until you were better prepared, given you a few weeks for you to get used to your new surroundings."
"Wow," Harper said. "If I didn't know better, I might think you had just admitted to being wrong."
"And this surprises you?"
"Well...yes, actually." She gave a half-hearted shrug. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who enjoys being wrong."
"Just because I can admit to my shortcomings doesn't mean I revel in them," Zaid said. "Point in case, this thing between you and I. It needs to be resolved."
Harper's stomach dropped, his inflection and tone communicating far more than the words he used. His voice, low and smooth, drowned her senses in an elixir of lust. She swallowed. "I...I don't have a clue what you're talking about."
"Like hell you don't," he said. "I may not have gone to medical school, as you have, but I am not so ignorant that I don't recognize my own arousal. Or yours."
Harper sat frozen, struck dumb by his candor. She had rejected every pang of desire for him, refused to acknowledge such desires could even exist within her. It was a pleasure commensurate with a weakness to which she could never again give in. She had fooled herself into thinking there was no desire, no weakness. That she could control it, eradicate it before it could take root.
But the only person she had been fooling was herself. Because Zaid had seen right through her, had shared every impure thought, every fantasy. Did he know how she had lain awake at night, touching her body with hands she pretended were his?
And now she knew he reciprocated those desires. That he wanted to take her as badly as she wanted to be taken. By him. Only him.
"I..." She unfurled herself off the couch and stood, desperate to remove herself from his proximity. "We shouldn't. We can't. I...can't."
Zaid brought himself to full height, edging closer to her. "I need you to trust me," he said. "And for that to happen, we must address the tension between us."
"OK, well, now it's been addressed, so you can go."
She waved him away with a small flutter of her fingertips, but it did little to stall his advance.
"It is hardly that simple," he said. "By tomorrow morning, our engagement will be on the front page of every newspaper. That kind of attention cannot escape scrutiny, especially when the bride-to-be won't let her future husband touch her, not even to hold her hand."
Harper narrowed her eyes on him, strengthened her defensive stance. "Let them talk," she said. "I don't care what they say."
"Do you not?"
"No. Not in the least."
There was nothing they could say about her that she hadn't already thought, no names they could call her that she hadn't already called herself. They were just people, vocal with their loud opinions, none of which had any basis in reality. It didn't matter what they thought about her, what stories they made up to sell their magazines or garner web hits. None of it could cut as deeply as the thoughts she told herself on a regular basis.
"Inspiring though that may be, you are not the only one with an image to uphold," Zaid said. "I will not be known as a man whose wife shies away from him. Not for any reason, but especially not out of fear."
It reminded him too much of his mother's humiliation, her discontent and hurt at the hands of his father. Her husband. The man who had vowed to love and honor her until the end of their days. A promise his father had never intended to keep.
She had suffered in silence, out of fear but also out of respect for her his title, unwilling to do anything that would cause him to suffer the disgrace he'd so freely bestowed upon her. Because she had also made vows, ones she refused to break, no matter what.
"I'm hardly afraid of you," Harper said. "Repulsed by your arrogance, maybe. But not afraid."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
The dread in her eyes betrayed her, told him secrets her unspoken words refused to betray. "If that's the case, then prove it. Touch me."
Harper let out a strangled sound. "You can't be serious."
"This isn't going to work unless you trust me."
"I need a reason to trust you," she said. "You can't just boss me around and expect me to behave accordingly because you said so. I don't do the whole trust thing, OK? It's not in my repertoire."
There was a woundedness in her voice that sliced him. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close, wipe away the hurt. But he knew better than to try. Knew she wouldn't let him.
Instead, he reached for her, encircling her wrist in a loose grip. She tensed, but only for a moment.
"Let me show you," he said, and Harper nodded, granting him permission. He lifted her arm and pressed his palm to hers. The skin-on-skin contact was as intoxicating as it was unbearable, the intensity building with every shaky breath, every tremble of her hand against his. "How does this feel?"
She closed her eyes, moistened her lips. "Good," she said. "It feels...good."
He lowered her hand to his chest, placing it over his heart, then ran his own along her bare arm, taking in the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. He brushed her hair away from her neck, letting his knuckles graze bare skin a moment too long before cupping her face. "Open your eyes. Look at me."
She did as commanded, her dark eyes glittering with lust and vulnerability. He could have her now, any way he wanted. He could ask from her, take from her, and she would not deny him, even at the cost of her own self-respect. A price he could not let her pay.
He would not be her next mistake.
He ran his thumb in soft circles, tracing the line of her jaw, her mouth. "I've made it no secret that I'm attracted to you," he said. "But I am capable of controlling my impulses. So I will make you a promise: I will not ask you to do anything you don't want to do." He peeled her hand away from his chest and kissed her lightly on the palm. "I am nothing like those other men in your life. One day you must give me a chance to show you that."