“I’m not supposed to talk during the ceremony,” she reminded him.
She sensed his attention back on her. The energy crackling between them grew sharper. “But I want you to talk.”
Right. Was this some sort of test to see if she was a good Jazaari bride? “My aunts gave me strict orders to keep my head down and my mouth shut.”
“Whose opinions are more important to you?” She heard the arrogance in his voice. “Your aunts’ or your husband’s?”
Neither, she wanted to say. It was tempting, but she knew she had to play the game. “I will do as you wish.” She nearly choked on the words.
His chuckle was rough and masculine. “Keep saying that and we’ll get along just fine.”
Zoe clenched her teeth, preventing herself from giving a sharp reply. She swallowed her retort just in time as the first elder came onto the dais. As she’d expected, the older man ignored her and spoke only to the Sheikh.
She stared at her hands in her lap and slowly squeezed her fingers together. The bite of pain didn’t distract her from her troubled thoughts. She was never going to pull off the demure look. It was just a matter of time before she messed up. Her family knew it, too. The disapproving glares from her aunts were hot enough to burn a sizzling hole in her veil.
Zoe knew her appearance and manners didn’t meet family expectations. They never had. Her face was much too pale and she lacked refinement and feminine charm. It didn’t matter if the veil concealed her features, or if her bent head hid her big, bold eyes. They knew she wasn’t a proper young woman. She talked louder than a whisper, walked faster than she should, and no matter how often she was told she never knew her place.
She was too American. Too much trouble. Simply too much.
Her relatives thought she should be timid and subservient, and they had tried to transform her using every barbaric punishment they knew. Starvation. Sleep deprivation. Beatings. Nothing had worked. It had only made Zoe more rebellious and determined to get out of this hell. If only she had a better escape plan. If only her freedom didn’t rely on pretending to be the perfect woman.
As the last elder left the dais, Zoe felt the Sheikh’s intent gaze on her. She tensed but kept her focus on her hands. Did he find her lacking or did she pass inspection?
“What is your name?” the Sheikh asked her.
Zoe’s eyes widened. Seriously? This was not something a woman wanted to hear from her husband on her wedding day. Zoe held back the urge to give him a false name. A stripper name, she thought with a sly smile. If only she could. But it wouldn’t be worth the punishment.
“Zoe Martin,” she answered.
“And how old are you?”
Old enough. She bit the tip of her tongue before she blurted out that reply. “I’m twenty-one years old.”
How was it possible the Sheikh didn’t know anything about her? Wasn’t he curious about the woman he married? Didn’t he care?
“Do I detect a Texan accent?” he asked.
Zoe bit her bottom lip as a memory of her home in Texas bloomed. The last time she had felt as if she belonged to a family. Once she had been loved and protected; now she was chattel for her uncle.
“You have a very good ear,” she answered huskily. “I thought I had lost the twang.” Along with everything else.
“Texas is a long way from here.”
No kidding. But she knew what he was really asking. How the hell had she wound up in Jazaar? She’d wondered that many times herself. “My father was a doctor for a humanitarian medical organization and he met my mother when he visited Jazaar. Didn’t anyone tell you about me?”
“I was told everything I needed to know.”
That made her curious. What had been said about her? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. “Such as?” she asked as she watched the servants bringing plates of food to the dais.
He shrugged. “You are part of this tribe and you are of marriageable age.”
She waited a beat. “Anything else?”
“What else do I need to know?”
Her eyes widened. His indifference took her breath away, but she knew she should be grateful for it. It was better that he had not asked any questions or dug for information. He would have discovered what kind of woman he was marrying.
Zoe barely ate anything from the wedding feast. She usually had a healthy appetite—some felt too robust—but tonight the aromas and spices were overwhelming. Immediately after the meal a procession of guests approached the dais to congratulate the happy couple. She was glad that no one expected her to speak. She barely listened to what was said, too aware of the man sitting next to her.
“You will have your hands full with this one, Your Highness. She’s nothing but trouble.”
Zoe glanced up when she heard those words. She knew she should keep her head down, but she was surprised that someone would warn the Sheikh. Weren’t they trying to get rid of her by marrying her off?
Yet she had never got along with the wife of the wealthy storekeeper. The older woman had forbidden Zoe from entering the store. But Zoe was used to being excluded and had frequently managed to make her purchases through strategy and stealth.
“She’s an incredibly slow learner,” the older woman continued. “It doesn’t matter how hard her uncle slaps her, Zoe keeps talking back.”
“Is that so?” the Sheikh drawled. “Perhaps her uncle is the slow learner and should try a new approach?”
Zoe jerked in surprise and immediately ducked her head so no one could see her expression. Was he questioning Uncle Tareef’s methods? She thought men sided with one another.
“Nothing works with Zoe,” the storekeeper’s wife informed the Sheikh. “Once she burned the dinner. Of course she was punished. You’d think she’d learn her lesson, but the next day she poured an entire pot of hot pepper in the dinner. Her uncle had blisters inside his mouth for weeks.”
“It wasn’t my fault he kept trying to eat it,” Zoe said as she glared at the woman. “And at least it wasn’t burnt.”
Zoe cringed inwardly when she recognized her mistake and immediately bent her head as if nothing happened. There was a long, silent pause and Zoe felt the Sheikh’s gaze on her. She instinctively hunched her shoulders, as if that would make her smaller. Invisible.
“I hope your cooking has improved,” he said.
Zoe nodded cautiously. It was a lie, but he would never find out. She was grateful that he’d ignored her outburst, surprised that he didn’t comment on it.
He was probably saving it all up for later, she decided, as the tension vibrated inside her. She was going to face one monstrous lecture after the ceremony.
“When all else failed,” the older woman valiantly continued, “Zoe was forced to treat the sick until she learned how to behave. She has taken care of the poor women for years.”
Zoe knew that the task of treating the ill was reserved for servants in the tribe, but she didn’t care. It was what she wanted to do. The science of nursing and the art of folk remedies fascinated her.
“Zoe,” Nadir said, “you no longer have to treat the sick.”
Zoe frowned, not sure how to answer. “That’s not necessary. I’m not afraid of hard work and I’m very good at it.”
“Zoe!” the storekeeper’s