His Defiant Desert Queen(29)
“Fortunately, you are no longer a Copeland, but a Karim. You’ve left your family and are now a member of mine. You have a new name. A new start. And new responsibilities. I think it will be good for you.” He gestured to the table in the shade. “We can talk more, as we eat. Sit—” he broke off, even as her eyebrows arched.
His lips curved grimly. He gave her a slight bow. “Forgive me,” he drawled, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Let us sit. We should try to be comfortable.”
She didn’t like his tone, and she hated the situation. Nothing about this was right. She would have gladly picked jail or house arrest over being trapped with him. “I can’t eat. I’m too upset.”
“Then I shall eat, and you can watch, because I am hungry.”
“And you wonder why I’m not excited about this honeymoon.”
“Yes, I do wonder. By choosing you as my first wife, I’ve made you a queen. You are wealthy beyond measure. That should please you to no end.”
“I’ve had money. I don’t care about money. I care about kindness, and decency. Strength. Compassion. Integrity.”
“I have all that, too, so you’re in luck. Now, let’s eat.”
“You are not compassionate.”
“I am, for those requiring compassion. But you, my queen, do not need my compassion. You are doing an excellent job feeling sorry for yourself already.”
She exhaled in a quick rush. “You lack sensitivity, Sheikh Karim.”
“Possibly, as well as patience. Particularly when I am hungry.” His dark gaze met hers and held. “But you are only making this more difficult for yourself. Fighting me, fighting the marriage, fighting to accept that we are married and that this marriage is real. I take our vows very seriously.”
“What vows? I said none!”
“I claimed you, I’ve married you,” he said, “and so it is done. Now sit. Before I carry you to the table myself.”
Reluctantly, unwillingly, Jemma took a seat at the low table inside the shaded pavilion kept cool by overhead fans.
She hadn’t thought she could eat, but the first course of chilled soup settled her stomach and she was able to eat some of the grilled meat and vegetables in the second and third courses. She felt better with food, calmer and less jittery. But even then, she was in shock. She thought she’d be in shock for quite some time.
There wasn’t much conversation during the meal, which was fine with her. Instead Mikael studied her from across the table as if he were a scientist and she an animal he was observing.
He was the animal, though.
Maybe not an animal. But he was the one that was untamed and unpredictable. The very air around him seemed to snap and crackle with energy and tension, making the soft afternoon light dangerous, mysterious, while her heart raced and her pulse drummed, too thick and quick in her veins.
“Saidia is nothing like your country. Saidia is still essentially tribal in culture,” Mikael said, as the last of the dishes were cleared away and he rinsed his fingers in a bowl of hot scented water and dried them on a soft cloth before sending the bowl and towel away. “I expect it will take you time to adjust to our culture, but you must keep an open mind. Our customs will be foreign to you but there is a reason for everything, and value to everything we do.”