“I’d never be willing in bed, and you said even in a forced marriage, the sex is consensual.”
“You’d consent.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You’d beg me to take you.”
“Never.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re wrong. And I will prove you wrong, and when I do, what shall you give me in return?”
Jemma rose from the table, and went to the doorway. “I want to go. I want to go now.”
“I don’t think that’s one of my options.”
* * *
Jemma didn’t know where to look. Her heart raced and her eyes burned and she felt so sick inside.
This wasn’t what she’d thought would happen. This wasn’t how she’d imagined this would go. Jail was bad. Seven years under house arrest boggled the mind. But marriage?
The idea of Sheikh Karim forcing her to marry him made everything inside her shrink, collapse.
She’d thought the last year had been horrific, being shunned as Daniel Copeland’s daughter, but to be married against her will?
Her eyes stung, growing hotter and grittier. She pressed her nails into her palms, determined not to cry, even as she wondered how far she’d get if she bolted from the house and ran.
Marrying Mikael Karim would break her. It would. She’d been so lonely this past year, so deeply hurt by Damien’s rejection and the constant shaming by the media, as well as endless public hatred. She couldn’t face a cold marriage. She needed to live, to move, to breathe, to feel, to love...
To love.
It was tragic but she needed love. Needed to love and be loved. Needed connection and contact and warmth.
“Please,” she choked, the tears she didn’t want filling her eyes, “please don’t marry me. Please just leave me here in Haslam. I don’t want to spend seven years here, but at least in seven years I could be free and go home and marry and have children with someone who wants me, and needs me, and loves me—” She broke off as Sheikh Azizzi entered the room behind her.
The village elder was accompanied by two robed men.
Jemma pressed her hands together in prayer, pleading with Mikael. “Let me stay here. Please. Please.”
“And what would you do here for seven years?” he retorted, ignoring the others.
“I’d learn the language, and learn to cook and I’d find ways to occupy myself.”
Mikael looked at her, his dark gaze holding for an endless moment and then he turned to Sheikh Azizzi and spoke to him. Sheikh Azizzi nodded once and the men walked out.
“It’s done,” Mikael said.
“What’s done?”
“I’ve claimed you. I’ve made you mine.”
She backed up so rapidly she bumped into the wall. “No.”
“But I have. I told Sheikh Azizzi I’ve claimed you as my wife, and it’s done.”