The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(30)

Rashid kissed my forehead, then my nose. “You hear that? I’ll going to marry you, no matter what—might as well do it now, rather than later.”

And, before I could answer, before my fear could express itself, Rashid was kissing me once again, kissing the fear away.

The rest of the day was surreal. Before, every day with Rashid had been easy, fun, yet stressful with the undercurrent of uncertainty to it. Now that our feelings were clear, however, now that I had no doubt in my mind that I did care deeply for this man, all that was left was the happiness.

We shared a beautiful, lazy boat ride around the bay, with one of Rashid’s attendants at the helm and the two of us curled up in the stern. Every few minutes, Rashid would check that I was okay, not too anxious to be on the water. And I was—doing the things I feared felt easy with him by my side.

By the time night fell and we returned home, the whole house was buzzing with tomorrow’s event. Our wedding planner, Abiah, looked like her head was about to explode.

“You two! The day before your wedding! Take off! And don’t tell anyone?”

She directed her terse, barked-out statements at me, but it was Rashid who responded.

“We needed a break from all this craziness. Everything will be fine, Abiah.”

Giving me a kiss and her a pat on the shoulder, he started up the elaborate staircase.

“See you both tomorrow. Big day!”





Chapter Twenty-Two





Rashid




Wrong. That’s how I felt as soon as I woke up. The other half of the bed was empty. Lacie and I had to be careful, since we were now under scrutiny. Scrutiny to keep up a lie for a law that was wrong. As soon as my feet hit the floor, someone knocked on the door.

“Sheikh Rashid?”

“Yes?”

The door opened to show Abiah, who looked even tenser than last night, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Her hair was in a bun that seemed to be pulling her face right up to the crown of her head.

“We’re already late. You have to get ready, provide statements for the press, and greet your guests.” At my unimpressed silence, she stormed out. “I’ll wait outside.”

Despite her insistence, I took my time getting dressed. The lavish gold-and-blue bisht had been picked out by my father, and I wondered what he’d think now, if he knew the truth. That I was getting married to the most amazing woman possible, and that the ceremony was all a lie.

As I walked to the door to deal with Abiah, all I could hope was that this sense of wrongness, this sick twist in my stomach, would subside.

And yet, as the minutes dragged on, the feeling didn’t fade. As Abiah babbled about all there was to do, as we went through the motions, made the statements to the press about how happy I was to marrying my sweet, virgin bride, the sick twist swelled to a throbbing pain, until I could barely speak.

I wasn’t allowed to see Lacie, of course, although it was probably for the best. Seeing her would only make it worse, would only make the walls close in more, the air seem stuffier. One look at her and I’d know: this was completely, undeniably wrong.

Worse than wrong, this was a betrayal to us, to what we could be. I was sacrificing my relationship with her for my relationship to my family and my country. It was a lose-lose situation, and yet, I still felt like I was living out the worse of the two choices.

Abiah did, thankfully, allow me a few minutes to see my father. He was slumped on his bed, looking as if he might not make it to the ceremony at all.

“Father, are you all right?”

Even with his eyes closed, I could see the pain and exhaustion in them.

“Don’t worry about me; you have a wedding to go to. I’ll be all right.”

I sat beside him and took his hand. “Today, all the stress will be over. Today’s the day, Father.”

He coughed, a racking hack. More words of reassurance, more lies, rose and fell in my chest with each breath, but none would come out of my mouth.

“You don’t want to do it, do you?”

His scratchy voice surprised me, but when I glanced over, his face looked much as before—expressionless.

“No, Father, I don’t. But I must. For the family. And the country.”

Another series of coughs, although these sounded almost accusatory.

Once he was done, he shook his head, opened his eyes, and growled, “Don’t be a fool.” As I gaped at him, he continued. “No use ruining your life for some family legacy. That has been the Ahmed Qaranis’ legacy—living a true life, a good life—for the people, but also for themselves. Doing what is right.”

“But Father—”

“If you know that marrying this girl isn’t right, then don’t do it. Simple as that,” he said, looking sternly at me.

I released his hand as he closed his eyes once more, wanting to snap at him. It wasn’t as simple as that. Losing the crown meant losing everything my father had worked for—a good life for us, peace for Zayed-Kharan. It wasn’t simply a matter of following my heart.

Now, it was my father’s hand finding mine, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Your mother and I love you, no matter what you choose. Know that. Do what Aliya would’ve wanted for you. Do what you know is right.”

I ripped my hand free of his grasp.