The Sheikh & the Bride Who Said No (16 page)

Fouad
entered with several folders. “The king wishes to change your lunch meeting to this afternoon. It seems he is to dine with Princess Calah.”

Murat smiled at the thought of his father having lunch with the charming toddler. “That is excellent. Have the kitchen send up a second meal to my suite.

I will dine with my wife.”

“Very good, sir.”
Fouad
set the folders on the desk. “I have had a call from our media office. Princess Daphne turned down an interview request from an American women’s magazine. They were surprised, as the publication is known for honest reporting. They were interested in making a connection with her, sir, not doing an exposé.”

“Perhaps she is not aware that such interviews are welcome. I will mention it to her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fouad
completed his business and left. Forty minutes later Murat walked into his suite to find the table set for two.

“This is a surprise,” Daphne said as she walked into the living room, then crossed the tile floor to kiss him. “A very pleasant one.”

“My father and I were to have lunch, but he chose instead to dine with a very attractive young woman. So I took the opportunity to spend some time with you.”

Daphne led him to the table. “
Calah?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“He loves that little girl.”

Murat’s gaze dropped to Daphne’s flat stomach. Did his child grow there? So far she had not gotten her period, nor had she offered to take a pregnancy test. He had decided to let her make the decision. If she was with child, he would soon know.

They sat across from each other and spoke about their morning. As she served them each salad, he mentioned the interview with the American magazine.

“You are welcome to speak with them,” he said. “I will not forbid it.”

“My flower heart trembles at your generosity,” she said in a teasing voice.

He pretended to scowl. “I can see I have been too lenient with you.”

“Not to worry, Murat. If I had wanted to give the interview I would have. But I wasn’t interested.”

“Why not?”

Instead of answering, she mentioned that Billie and Cleo were planning a day trip to the City of
Thieves and that she wanted to join them.

“Of course Billie wants to fly us there herself, and the king has said that would not be allowed. She’s too far along in her pregnancy.”

He watched her as she spoke, noting a slight shadow in her eyes.

“Daphne, why did you refuse the interview?”

“It’s not important.”

Which meant that it was. “I will not rest until you tell me.”

She set down her fork. “If you must know, I didn’t know what to say. This was for a big bridal issue they’re doing in a few months. They’re collecting romantic stories from different couples and they wanted to talk about how we met and fell in love. I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell them the truth. That you locked me in the harem then married me against my will while I was unconscious. Rather than having to make up something, I declined the interview.”

She continued speaking, changing the subject to the upcoming trip to the City of
Thieves, but he could not hear her. The impact of what she had said—a bald statement of a truth he knew well—seemed to render him immobile.

For the first time he understood what she had been trying to tell him all along.

That he had held her captive, like a common criminal. Of course the quarters were luxurious and she had not been mistreated in the least, but he had locked her away. Then, knowing she wanted nothing to do with him, he had taken advantage of a medical condition to force her into marriage.

Had he given her the choice, she would have refused him. She would have left.

She was not with him because she wanted to be.

The truth sliced through him like a knife. He had always known that she complained about his treatment, but he had told himself it was all simply the meaningless chatter of a woman with too much time on her hands. He had not considered she had cause for her complaints. Had she been a stranger and appeared with her petition while he had been in the desert, he would have freed her from her marriage and locked away the man in question.

The phone rang in the suite. Daphne excused herself to answer it. Murat took advantage of her distraction to leave the table. He indicated he was going back to his office and she nodded. On his way out, he noticed a new clay sculpture on a table.

Two lovers, he thought. Bodies entwined, arms reaching. The sheer passion of the piece took his breath away. It gave him hope. But as he moved closer, he saw the lovers were faceless.

Did she not see him in the role, or did she wish for another man? He knew he pleased her in bed—her body told the tale all too well for him to think otherwise. But was that enough? Did claiming a woman’s body mean anything when a man could not lay claim to her mind or her heart?

Daphne sat alone in the suite and stared out at the perfect view. The light wind had cleared the air enough for her to see all the way to Lucia-
Serrat
. Two cats dozed next to her on the sofa, their small, warm bodies providing a comforting presence. But it wasn’t enough to heal the ache in her heart.

She wasn’t pregnant. Proof had arrived an hour before.

She’d suspected, of course. That was why she’d resisted taking a pregnancy test.

She hadn’t wanted to know. She hadn’t wanted to have to choose.

Funny how a month ago she would have been delighted with the chance to escape.

She would have already had it out with Murat and been busy packing her bags. But now everything was different.

Instead of relief, she felt a bone-crushing disappointment, which told her a truth she’d tried to deny for a long time—she didn’t want to go.

Murat wasn’t perfect—he would never understand that what he’d done to her was wrong. He would never see her as a partner, but that didn’t stop her from loving him. She wanted to be with him, regardless of his faults. She wanted their children to have his strength and stubbornness. She wanted to be a part of his world and his history. She loved
Bahania
nearly as much as she loved its heir and she didn’t want to go.

Since he’d returned from the desert they hadn’t discussed their future. No doubt he assumed her silence meant agreement, but that wasn’t her way. She wanted to tell him what she’d decided, even if that meant listening to him say how he’d known what was best all along. She wanted to feel his arms around her as he pulled her close and kissed her. She wanted to take him to bed and get started on making their firstborn.

She stood and walked out of the suite with the intent of finding him in his office. But he wasn’t there. His assistant said that he had gone for a walk.

Daphne went to the main garden and saw him sitting on one of the stone benches.

His shoulders were slumped as he stared at the ground. An air of profound sadness surrounded him.

“Murat?”

He looked toward her and smiled. His expression brightened and the sadness disappeared as if it had never been. In response, her heart fluttered and she wondered how she had ever fooled herself into thinking she didn’t love this man with every fiber of her being.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said as she walked closer.

“You have found me.” He shifted to make room for her, then studied her as she sat next to him. He tucked her long hair behind her ear. “As always, your beauty astounds me.”

“I’m not all that.”

“Yes, you are.”

He sounded so serious, she thought, wondering what was going on.

“Unlike many who shine only for a short time,” he continued, “you will be beautiful for decades. Even as time steals the luster of your youth, you will gleam like a diamond in the desert.”

“That’s very poetic and very unlike you.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I have been sitting here thinking about us. Our marriage.”

Her pulse rate increased. “Me, too. I have to tell you something.” She paused, not sure how to say it all—that she loved him, that she wanted to stay and make their marriage work. But the words that came out were, “I’m not pregnant.”

He didn’t react. His gaze never wavered, his hand on her remained still.

“You are sure?” he asked quietly.

“Very.” She waited for him to say something else, and when he didn’t, she leaned closer. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you tell me you’re disappointed? That we’ll be trying again soon?”

He drew in a breath. “I would have. Before. Now I know that this is for the best.”

She jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “What?”

“It is for the best,” he repeated. “A child would complicate things between us.”

“How can they be complicated? We’re married.”

“In law, but not in spirit. I am sorry, Daphne. I did so much without thinking of you, and there is only one way to make that right. I will set you free.”

She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Confused and sure she must be hearing things, she pushed to her feet and walked across the path.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

He stood. “I was wrong to keep you here against your will, and I was wrong to marry you without your consent. I thought you did not mean your protests, but you did. We cannot have a marriage where you are little more than a prisoner in a gilded cage. I cannot take back what I have done in the past, but I can set it right.” He nodded at the ring on her left hand. “You need not wear that reminder any longer. I will speak to the king and arrange for our divorce. You are free to leave whenever you like.”

He turned and walked a few feet, then paused. With his back still to her he said, “Take what you like. Clothing, jewels. Any artwork. Consider it compensation for the wrong done to you. There will be a settlement, of course. I will be generous.”

Then he was gone.

She made her way back to the bench where she collapsed. Tears poured down her cheeks. She wanted to scream out her pain to the world, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

This wasn’t happening, she told herself. It couldn’t be that Murat had finally figured it all out, only to let her go.

“I love you,” she said to the quiet garden. “I want to stay and be with you.”

But he’d never offered that. Was it because he didn’t think she would be interested, or was it because he didn’t care enough about her? Had she been little more than a convenient bride, one easily forgotten?

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there grieving for what could have been. An hour. Perhaps two. Then she straightened and brushed away her tears. All along she’d allowed circumstances to choose her path for her. It was time for her to act. She would find Murat and talk to him. If after she explained her feelings for him and her thoughts about staying in the marriage he still wasn’t interested, then she would leave. But she wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Once again she went to his office, but he was not there.
Fouad
, his assistant, shook his head when she asked what time he would return.

“Prince Murat has left the country,” he said. “On an extended trip. He is not expected to return for several weeks.”

She couldn’t believe it. “He’s gone? Where?”

“I have his itinerary here, if you would like it.”

She took the offered sheet of paper and tried to read the various entries, but the print blurred.

“
Wh
-when was this planned?” she asked.

Fouad
looked sympathetic. “He has been working on it for a few days now, Your Highness. I’m terribly sorry to be the one to tell you about it.”

The paper fluttered from her fingers, but she didn’t try to pick it up.

He couldn’t have left. Not so quickly. She’d just spoken to him a few minutes ago.

“I don’t understand. When did he pack? He can’t have just left.”

“I’m sorry,”
Fouad
repeated.

Daphne forced herself to smile. “You’ve been very kind. Thank you.”

She left and made her way to the elevator, then to the suite she was supposed to share with Murat. Only, he was gone and she was no longer his wife.

She stepped inside to find the king waiting for her.

“My child,” he said as he walked toward her. “I have spoken with Murat.”

“He’s gone,” she said, still unable to believe the words. “He left. For several weeks. I had a list of where he was going, but I…” She glanced around for the paper, only to remember she’d dropped it in his office. “He said I could leave.

Did he tell you that?”

King Hassan nodded. “The divorce will be finalized as quickly as possible. You are free to return to your life in
America.”

“Right.” Her life. The practice she no longer had, the family who would never forgive her, the friends who couldn’t possibly understand what she’d been through.

“He is very sorry for what he has done,” the king said. “He sees now that he should never have held you against your will.”

She drew in a breath. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have meddled, either.”

“I agree.” Murat’s father suddenly looked much older than his years. “I thought the two of you were right for each other. That you only needed time together to realize how right you were. I was an old fool and I hurt you both. I am deeply sorry.”

She swallowed, then shook her head. “You weren’t wrong. Not completely. I know that Murat isn’t interested in me or our marriage, but I…” Her throat tightened.

“I love him. I would have stayed.” She touched her stomach. “When I told him I wasn’t pregnant, he told me to leave.”

The king held out his arms, and Daphne rushed into them. She gave in to the tears.

“I could call him back,” King Hassan said. “He still has to listen to me.”

Temptation called, but she pushed it away.

“Please don’t,” she said as she straightened and wiped her face. “There has been too much manipulation already. I wouldn’t want Murat to be forced into our relationship. I would only want him there because it was what he desired.”

“What will you do now?”

“Go back to the States.”

The king bent down and kissed her cheek. “Stay as long as you would like.

Despite what has happened, you are welcome here.”

“I doubt Murat would be thrilled to come home and find me here.”

“You never know.”

She was pretty sure. He’d let her go without a fight—as he always had.

It took her most of the next day to gather the courage to pack her things and prepare to leave. She only took a few items of the new clothing she’d received since marrying Murat—the things she’d worn in the desert and the nightgowns she’d worn in their bed. She left all the jewelry, including the diamond band that had been her wedding ring.

“Can we do anything?” Billie asked as she hugged Daphne goodbye. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fly you home?”

“I think I’ll be more comfortable on the king’s plane, but thanks.”

Cleo moved in for her hug. “I’m sorry Murat is being such a jerk about all this.

Men are so stupid.” Tears filled her blue eyes. “What I don’t get is I would have sworn he was really crazy about you.”

Daphne had thought so, too, but she’d been wrong. About so much.

“Keep in touch,” Cleo said.

Daphne nodded even though she knew it would never happen. They might send a card back and forth, but in the end they had nothing in common.

“You’ve both been terrific,” she said. “Please tell Emma goodbye for me. And tell Zara and Sabrina I’m sorry I never had the chance to meet them.”

The three women hugged again, then Daphne walked out of the suite with them and carefully closed the door behind her.

She rode alone to the airport. Cleo and Billie had offered to come with her, but she wanted to be by herself. She was done with tears and hopes and shattered dreams. She didn’t want to feel anything, ever again.

But the burning ache inside of her felt as if it could go on forever. How was she supposed to get over loving Murat? Only now that she had lost him forever did she realize that he had been her heart’s desire from the very beginning.

Murat stepped out of the limo and hurried inside the palace. Urgency quickened his steps as he raced up the stairs to the suite he shared with Daphne. He jerked open the door and stepped inside.

“Daphne?”

The large space echoed with silence.

“Daphne? Are you here?”

He walked into their bedroom. She wasn’t there. Nor was the book she kept on her nightstand. He moved to the bathroom next and saw her makeup tray was empty. She was gone.

Defeat crashed through him. He had gone away to forget her only to realize that she was with him always. Even knowing that he owed her the choice, he wanted the chance to convince her to stay. But she hadn’t even waited two days.

He walked down the hall and into his office. Two things caught his attention at once—a diamond band placed exactly in the center of his desk and the sculpture of the lovers he’d seen before.

He moved forward and picked up the ring. Funny how it still felt warm, as if she had only just removed it. He squeezed it in his hand, then dropped it into his jacket pocket. Then he turned his attention to the clay.

The intense embrace mesmerized him. He followed the graceful line of arms and torso up to the—

His heart froze. No longer were the lovers faceless. She had pressed in features. Just a hint of a nose, a slash for a mouth, but he recognized both of the faces.

Swearing, he picked up the phone and demanded a connection to the airport.

The luxurious jet raced down the runway. Daphne leaned back in the leather seat and closed her eyes. While she doubted she would sleep, she didn’t want to watch as
Bahania
disappeared behind her.

Faster and faster until that moment just before the wheels lifted off. Then the jet suddenly slowed and sharply turned.

“Everything’s fine, Your Highness,” the pilot said over the intercom. “A signal light came on to tell us the cargo door isn’t closed tight. We need to return to the hangar. It will only take a couple of minutes to fix.”

She nodded her agreement, then realized the man couldn’t see her. “Thanks for letting me know,” she said as she pushed the intercom button on the console beside her seat.

She flipped through the stack of magazines left for her and picked out one on interior design. When she returned to
Chicago, she either had to join another practice or go out on her own. That had been her plan when she’d left.

Maybe a change in cities would be nice. She’d never lived in the South or the West. She could go to
Florida
, or perhaps
Texas
.

She glanced out the window and saw several uniformed crewmen rushing around the plane. Then the main door opened. Daphne looked up in time to see a tall, handsome, imperious man striding on board.

Her heart took a nosedive for her toes. Rational thought left her as hope—foolish hope—bubbled in her stomach.