“Things have changed. You are my wife, and my family now, and I seek to honor you, and your family—”
“But what happens when I leave here in four days? What happens when you send me back? You promised you would, if I wasn’t happy—”
“Are you unhappy?”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Was she unhappy?
It was strange to be asked that question now, so bluntly, because no, she wasn’t unhappy. She was actually happier than she’d been in months, maybe even years.
“That’s not the point,” she said, sliding off the bed to pace the room.
“It’s not?”
“No.” She paced back toward him, confused, frustrated, no longer sure of anything.
“Then what is the point? Because I thought I had eight days to prove to you that I could make you happy, and I am making you happy, so what is the problem?”
She threw out her hands. “This!” she cried, gesturing at the purple walls with gold stencil. “This,” she added, plucking at the silk nightgown. “This,” she said, pointing to the bed, where he lay so supremely confident and comfortable, looking every bit a king. “None of this is real. None of this is my real life. It’s just a dream. It’s surreal. It’s not going to last!”
“Says who?” he asked tersely, revealing the first hint of impatience.
“Me!”
“And you are an expert on reality? You, with the model for a boyfriend and the plan to enter Saidia on a stolen passport?”
“It wasn’t stolen, it was my sister’s, and you’re hateful to throw Damien in my face. You know I loved him, and you know he hurt me. And you’re just jealous because you can bombard me with expensive gifts but you know deep down, you’ll never be able to buy my love.”
Jemma walked out, pushing through the doors to the central courtyard, and then on to the other side, through a door to the Chamber of Innocence. She grabbed an ivory robe from the bathroom, wrapped it around her, and then walked out, leaving the Bridal Palace in search of her own wing. Her rooms, the ones she’d been brought to on arriving at the Kasbah.
She was done with this stupid honeymoon game. Done being kept locked up like a kidnapped bride. She wanted out. She wanted to go home.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mikael’s deep voice rang out behind her. “We’re not done, laeela.”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe not for you!”
“Or you,” he retorted, scooping her up into his arms and dropping her over his shoulder. “You owe me eight days and nights, and we’re only halfway through. I get four more, and I will take all four.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore!”
“Too bad.” He was carrying her back the way she’d just come, walking swiftly, his arm anchored across the back of her legs, holding her in place. “This isn’t a game. You don’t get to run away when you’re tired or your feelings are hurt. This is real, you and me. This is reality.”