He’d tried to be light, comforting, but the mention of Sharif brought a lump to her throat. “I wish he would walk through these doors.”
She saw sorrow shade his eyes. “I do, too.”
And then with her arm on his, they were moving through the grand dining room’s enormous arched doors and into a large room with a soaring ceiling painted gold. The room itself gleamed with stunning precious metals, and Rou’s heart pounded as they walked between long tables draped in heavy silk embroidered with glittering gold and silver thread. Extravagant, white floral arrangements covered the tables, as did hundreds, if not thousands, of glowing white candles.
The heady, sweet scent of the white lilies was overpowering, and in the soft gleam of candles, she felt dizzy, even dazed, as though she were a bride already.
Her heart pounded even harder as they approached the dais where they were to sit. It was raised above the room, just the way it might have been in a medieval castle. The lord and lady lifted above all.
Nervous, her fingers curled into Zayed’s forearm, and she clung even more tightly to him. He was warm, and strong, steady and sure of himself. Thank God one of them was.
If this party weren’t for them, if this evening’s celebrations weren’t for their betrothal, if this were for a friend or one of her clients, she’d be thinking it was glorious. She’d be thinking what a gorgeous party, what a perfect night. Only it was for her, for them, for their wedding, and the idea was so scary that despite Zayed’s strong, steady arm, and despite his measured pace, she felt as though she were on a ship that was sinking. Any moment she would go under. Any moment now, she would drown.
She didn’t drown during the three-hour dinner, at least, she hadn’t yet, although her hand had shaken so badly when Zayed went to put on her engagement ring that she nearly knocked the ring from his hand.
Zayed had merely smiled as he grasped the ring more firmly and decisively slid it onto her finger. Rou’s panic rose as the heavy ring settled onto her slim finger. She glanced down at it, thinking it felt more like a handcuff than a ring, but it was exquisite, an extremely large, rare blue diamond surrounded by chocolate and white diamonds. “It’s not pink,” she said with a shaky laugh.
His lips curved ruefully. “Your first ring was a pink diamond, but on hearing how much you hated pink, I thought a blue stone might suit you better.”
Her heart sank at hearing that he’d gone to all the trouble to purchase a second ring, particularly when he had so many other matters to deal with. “I would have been happy with the pink one,” she said softly, touching the blue oval diamond.
“Good. Because the pink one is still yours.” He gestured to one of the attendants standing along the wall and the attendant returned with a jewel-encrusted mother-of-pearl box.
The sheikh took the box with the gold lock and small, gold, balled feet and opened it, revealing the pink diamond ring inside. “Consider it an early wedding gift. You may choose to wear it as a cocktail ring, or you may sell it. It’s yours.”
The ring inside was stunning, but it came nowhere near the splendid design of the mother-of-pearl and ruby jewelry box that caught the candlelight and reflected it like fire. “This is gorgeous,” she whispered, reverently turning the box this way and that. “Is it an antique?”
“It dates to 1534 and was designed by Pierre Mangot. It was a gift for the French king, Francis I.”
She tried to press it back into Zayed’s hands. “It’s too costly a gift—”
“Nonsense. In Sarq, the groom always showers the bride with extravagant gifts, and even if we were not here in Sarq, I would still be compelled to give you beautiful things. You are a beautiful woman. You deserve nothing less.”
Zayed’s words stayed with her the rest of the night, and she heard them repeat as he walked her back to her wing at one-thirty in the morning.
Zayed was quiet as they walked, and her nerves were wound so tight that she could barely breathe.
Tomorrow they’d marry.
Tomorrow she’d probably go with him to his room.
It was what she wanted, but her desires also filled her with fear. She wasn’t experienced enough … hadn’t dated enough … hadn’t been with enough men to approach sex with anything like calm or composure.
Suddenly Rou just wanted to be in her room and alone. She wanted to hide. Wanted to return to her self, her real self, the plain woman with the sober wardrobe and severe hairstyle.
She wanted the safe Rou, the predictable one, not this dress-up princess that wore elegant heels and delicate gowns and silver-and-diamond earrings on her earlobes.
But maybe Sharif would still return in time. Maybe he’d walk through the doors tomorrow morning saving them all from a dreadful mistake.
It would be a mistake, too.
Darting a glance at Zayed from the corner of her eye confirmed her worst fears. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He was beyond physical perfection. How could she trust a man like him? He had everything a man could want, everything a man could need. How could he, how would he, ever be content with her?
How could a man like that ever love a woman like her?
He might be intrigued, might see her as a challenge, or a conquest, but it’d never be love. He himself said he didn’t know how to love….
She was practically trembling in her shoes by the time they turned down the corridor that led to her wing, and as she spotted the now-familiar stonework that led to her sunken living room, she felt pure relief. Soon she’d be in her own pajamas, in bed, and at least for one night, away from Zayed and this terrible, oppressive sense of doom.
But once in her living room Zayed was in no hurry to leave. He wandered around the dimly lit room touching this and that before opening the French doors onto the moonlit garden, allowing them to hear the light, tinkling splash of the courtyard fountain.
Rou watched him stand in the doorway, drinking in the cool night air. The moonlight dappled his face light and dark. “Do you have any questions about tomorrow?” he asked, his deep voice unusually rough.
“No.”
He turned around to face her. “You understand the expectations? The morning ceremony and then the afternoon together …?”
She moved farther from him, retreating to the low white couches where she kicked off her shoes and sat down on one, her legs curling beneath her. “I believe so.”
“We must consummate the marriage for it to be valid.”
Her heart raced and her stomach knotted, screaming in protest. “We couldn’t just tell everyone we did the deed?” she choked.
He leaned against the open door frame, his mouth compressing, his expression strangely brooding for such a celebratory night. “Can’t lie. Karma and all.”
“How would such a little lie bring the wrath of the gods?”
He drew a fist across his mouth. “Little lies do,” he said, his voice so deep and hoarse Rou felt it scratch across her heart.
Afraid, but not sure why, she wrapped a protective arm around her legs. “You sound as if you speak from experience, my prince,” she said shakily, wondering at the tension coiling in the room.
Zayed closed his eyes briefly before looking at her, and yet even once he did look at her, he didn’t really seem to see her. No, he seemed to be somewhere else, seeing something—or someone—else. “Little lies are the worst. Those are the ones that appear so innocent, so foolish as to be silly, but the little lies are the ones that will break you. They’re the ones that will cut you, stealing your soul.”
He rubbed his fist across his mouth, eyes so dark with memories