“So not all Saidia citizens have an arranged marriage?”
“About half of our young people in the urban areas choose a love marriage. If you move away from the big cities, nearly everyone prefers arranged marriages.”
“Why the difference?”
He shrugged. “In the desert, people strongly identify with their tribe and tribal customs. You don’t have the influence of technology. Towns are remote. Travel is difficult and change is viewed with suspicion. When you come to Haslam or the other desert communities south of the Takti Mountains, it’s like traveling back in time. Haslam isn’t the city capitol. The desert isn’t urban. And I, as the king, must be sensitive to the new and old faces of my country. I can’t alienate the youth in the city, but I must also respect the youth in the desert.”
“They don’t both want the same thing?”
“They don’t want the same thing, nor do they understand each other. It’s been a struggle for us, in terms of keeping Saidia connected. When our students are ten, we try to encourage the children to do an exchange; children from the desert leaving home to spend a week in the city with a host family, and the children in the city to go to the desert for a week. It used to be mandated but that became problematic. We still want children to participate, but our city children are bored by the desert and the lack of entertainment, and the children from the desert are overwhelmed by the city noise, pollution, and frenetic activity.”
“So what do you do?”
“Try to respect both aspects of the Saidia culture, and be careful not to alienate either.”
“It’s a balancing act,” she said.
“Absolutely.” He studied her a long moment, his gaze slowly sweeping from her face down to her shoulders and then breasts. “I don’t want to see you in those clothes anymore. I have provided you with a wardrobe, a more suitable wardrobe for the climate, the Kasbah, and our honeymoon.”
Jemma had just begun to relax, forgetting her own situation having been pleasantly distracted by the discussion, but suddenly reality came crashing back. She tensed, flushed, angered as well as frustrated. “Is that a request or a command, Your Highness?”
“Both.”
“It can’t be both. It’s either one or the other.”
He gave his dark head a shake. “There you go again, making it difficult. You don’t need to resist so much.”
“Oh, I do. I most certainly do. I’m not a doll, or a mindless puppet. I’m an adult, a woman, and very independent. I’ve been on my own, and paying my own bills, since I was eighteen. I value my independence, too.”
“I appreciate spirit, but there is a difference between spark, stubbornness and plain stupidity.” He lifted his hand to stop her before she could speak. “And no, I’m not saying you are stupid. But right now you’re stubborn. If the stubbornness continues too much longer, then yes, you’ve moved into stupidity.”
Her cheeks burned. Her temper blazed. “I could say the same for you. You are equally stubborn in your refusal to see me for who I am.”
“I see exactly who you are.”
“A criminal Copeland!”
“No.” He leaned forward, his dark gaze boring into her. “My wife.”
Something in his words and fierce, intense gaze stripped her of speech and the ability to think.
For a moment she simply sat there, dazed, and breathless.
“You are going to experience culture shock,” he said firmly, “but I fully expect you to adjust. We will be here until you adjust. So instead of arguing with me about everything, I think it is time you tried to be more open minded about this, us, and marriage to a Saidia king.”
“I’m trying.”
“No, I don’t think you are, not yet. But I have all day. We have all day. We have all night. We have weeks, actually.”
Her lips pressed firm. She glanced away, studying the exotic pink and blue mosaic tile work on the inside of the pavilion. The tiles were beautiful, the colors gorgeous, and unabashedly romantic. The remote Kasbah would have been extremely romantic if she were here, with someone else. Someone like Damien.
She still loved him.
Or maybe, she still loved who she thought he had been. Loving, strong, protective.
Turned out he wasn’t so loving. Or protective. His strength was an illusion...all beautiful body and muscle but no core. No spine. No backbone, at least not when it was needed.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Mikael asked, a hint of roughness in his deep voice.
She shook her head hard. “No.”
“You’re looking very sad at the moment. Thoroughly crushed. Don’t tell me that twelve hours of marriage to me has broken you already.”