She, on the other hand, gained nothing by marrying Sheikh Fehr. She loved her life. It was a great life, especially as she had no intention of ever getting married, and marriage was fine for other people, people who wanted a domestic life dominated by children and family. But that wasn’t for her. She loved work, needed her work, and there was no way she’d give up her career—her calling—for a man, much less a man like Zayed Fehr.
What she had to do was talk to Queen Jesslyn. Once Jesslyn knew the truth, Zayed couldn’t coerce her into marriage.
Although Rou dreaded going to Jesslyn now, especially after their breakfast together. Jesslyn had been so raw, so grief-stricken that it seemed unfair to hit her with one more thing now.
Rou closed her eyes briefly, sick at adding to Jesslyn’s burden, but what else could she do? Let Zayed manipulate her into marriage?
Never.
Although … and she’d never admit this to anyone, a tiny part of her was curious. Curious wasn’t the right word. Flattered might be better. It wasn’t as if she had hordes of gorgeous, sexy men in their prime beating down her door.
As a matter of fact there were no men beating on her door, and she was attracted to Zayed, terribly attracted. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as she fantasized about making love with him. Now a marriage proposal.
Not that she’d ever consider it.
No, she’d just have to talk to Jesslyn, and the sooner the better.
Rou allowed Manar to fill the gigantic marble tub in the equally gigantic bathroom for her. Rou would have preferred a quick, brisk shower but it wasn’t an option, and once Manar left her to bathe in privacy, Rou slipped out of her pajamas and into the steaming tub fragrant with vanilla and spice.
Rou almost laughed as she settled deep into the water. This was all so Arabian Nights, and if she were a different woman, she might be tempted to savor such luxury. Might even be tempted by Zayed’s proposal.
But she was a different woman, and she’d been raised with money, and she’d grown up in a sprawling mansion in Beverly Hills with maids and cooks, personal assistants and chauffeurs. And money didn’t buy happiness. Money didn’t protect love. Money just made people arrogant and selfish, petty and nasty.
While she worked with people who were wealthy, she never craved their toys, their bank accounts or their lifestyles. As long as she could provide for herself, material things were not her goal. What she wanted, needed, was independence. Confidence. Self-respect. She craved a world of her own, one in which she could control the emotions around her, including her own. Something she couldn’t do if she remained here in Sarq.
Out of the bath, Rou rubbed herself briskly with the towel and considered her limited wardrobe options. She’d brought her suitcase from Vienna, a suitcase that had also carried her tour clothes in Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, clothes intended for cool days and cooler nights. Cashmeres and woolens. Turtlenecks and dark, heavy fabrics. Nothing appropriate for desert temperatures.
She ended up in her black suit only because she could pair the severe skirt with a black knit top that was short-sleeved. Dressed in low heels, long hair in its traditional knot at the back of her head, she set off to find the queen.
Jesslyn and the children hadn’t made it to the pool yet. Instead they were all in the children’s nursery, where Sharif’s girls from his first marriage were playing Monopoly, and two-year-old terror Prince Tahir was trying to knock all the pieces off the board. The girls would admonish him but it just made him giggle. For her part, Queen Jesslyn sat nearby, watching, and yet clearly not present.
Mehta, Jesslyn’s maid, had walked Rou to the nursery door, but now that Rou was there, she wished she hadn’t insisted on coming. This family was fighting like mad for normalcy. Their world had been turned upside down these past few weeks, and suddenly Rou despised herself for being at the nursery door, an outsider. An intruder.
“Mama,” Tahir said, spotting Rou first. “Mama, lady, look.”
Jesslyn jerked, turned to see where her toddler was pointing and discovered Rou in the doorway. “Oh, Rou. Hello. Come in. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She smiled at Rou as Tahir clambered onto her lap.
Rou saw the queen’s hand tremble as she reached up to stroke her son’s dark curls.
Rou’s heart seized. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have come.
“Girls,” Jesslyn said, injecting a note of cheer into her voice, “I’d like you to meet someone very special. This is Uncle Zayed’s fiancée, Dr. Rou Tornell. They’re to be married tomorrow. Isn’t that exciting?”
The girls, ranging in age from nine to eleven, stood and bowed respectfully, and yet their dark eyes were full of curiosity.
Jesslyn introduced the children, and afterward, Jinan, the eldest, asked if Rou was going to be married Western style, or in a traditional Sarq ceremony.
Rou’s brain froze. This is what she’d come to straighten out, and yet she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, all words trapped in her throat as she felt the weight of five pairs of eyes rest on her.
Say something, she told herself. Explain the situation. Just say, there’s been a misunderstanding. Just say, I’m not marrying your uncle, I’d never marry your uncle.
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t find her voice, not when the room ached with sadness.
It was Takia, the nine-year-old, who finally broke the silence. “You’re not waiting for Daddy to come home? You’re getting married without him?”
For a moment the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and then the stillness gave way to grief. The queen cried silently, but Saba and Jinan sobbed, and Tahir, confused, threw his arms around his mother and howled.
Only Takia stayed silent as she stared at Rou, her eyes enormous, her small mouth compressed.
Rou, who hated feelings, hated emotion, hated grief, felt as though her heart was being ripped into pieces. Children shouldn’t know pain. Children shouldn’t have to grow up quickly. And yet these children had been thrust into reality at a very young age, their loss all the more tragic in that the girls had already lost their mother several years before.
“I wish we could wait for your father,” Rou said huskily. “It won’t be a very nice wedding without him.”
“Maybe we should wait,” Takia whispered.
“Uncle Zayed and Aunt Rou want that, too,” Jesslyn answered, looking over Tahir’s head at the girls, “but the country is in turmoil without Daddy, and no one can make any decisions without a king, and Uncle Zayed is being very good and brave, and he’s doing what Daddy would want.”
“And that’s to marry Aunt Rou?” Saba guessed.
Jesslyn smiled through her tears. “And become king.”
Rou couldn’t stay. She threw a desperate, panicked smile at them and ran out, aware that she was going to lose her composure any second. She’d barely made it out the door before the tears began to fall. It was all too much, too intense, too horrible.
Their grief made Sharif’s death real and it hit Rou hard, so very hard. Sharif was gone. Dead. He wasn’t coming back.
Sharif, the man she’d adored for a decade or more, was gone.
And now, wiping away tears, she struggled to find her way back to her wing of the palace. She made a couple of turns, and then another and before she knew it, she realized she was lost. She didn’t even know how to get back to her wing.
She was close to flagging down a palace servant when she stumbled into Zayed.
“I’ve