“I see.” It required effort not to give in to the smile. “That might explain it, but I’m wondering if talking now will maybe interfere with our pleasure tonight? Perhaps we should wait and talk later.”
“Most men probably never want to talk, Your Highness, but we must.”
“Fine. You talk, and I will listen, provided there is no more of this Your Highness when we are in private. You’re my wife, about to come to my bed. I understand you must call me Your Highness in public, but we are alone at the moment, and my name is Mikael.”
She blinked and wet her lips, her face awash in rosy color, her eyes a brilliant green in her lovely face, flashing fire.
“Now, what is it you had to say?” he added, reaching out to touch her pink cheek.
She just looked at him with wide green eyes and he savored the moment. “What is it?” he persisted. “Tell me.”
She drew a quick breath. “I want you to make me a promise.”
She was negotiating with him. Interesting. “Yes?”
“I want you, as the king and leader of the Saidia people, to promise me that you will honor Saidia tradition, and the custom of your tribe.”
He could see from the tilt of her chin that she expected him to fight her. She expected a problem. She was preparing to battle.
“I always try to honor Saidia tradition,” he said.
“Then promise to honor this tradition.”
“Perhaps you need to tell me what it is, first.”
She looked into his eyes and then away. She seemed to struggle to find the right words, and then she shrugged, and blurted, “If you cannot make me happy in the first eight days and nights of our honeymoon, I want you to promise to send me home, to my family. My people.”
She’d shocked him. For a moment he could think of nothing to say.
“During the tour you explained why the honeymoon is so important,” she continued. “It made sense to me, and it made me respect your culture more. I am grateful you come from a culture that believes a woman should be happy, because I, too, believe a woman should be happy. I believe all women should be happy, just as I believe all women should have a say in their marriage, and future.” She drew another quick breath. “I need to have a say in my future. I need my voice heard. You must give me my voice back.”
“But you have your voice. I hear you quite plainly.”
“Then give me a gift I will cherish, the gift of your word. Promise me I will be free to return home if you cannot make me happy.”
“You doubt me?”
“I won’t if you promise me I can trust you.”
“I’ve told you my word is law.”
“Then say to me, ‘Jemma, if you aren’t happy in eight days, I will put you on a plane, and send you back to London.’” Her green eyes held his. “That is all you have to do, and I will believe you, but I need a promise from you, or it is impossible to give you my body, or my heart, if I’m afraid, or full of fear and doubt.”
He said nothing.
“Mikael,” she added more softly, persuasively, “I need to know that I can trust you. I need to believe you will take care of me. Your promise is the gift of dignity and honor. Your promise means I feel safe and respected, and that gives us the basis for a future. Otherwise, we have nothing. And how can you build a future on nothing?”
She was like a queen, he thought, watching her. Beautiful and regal. Proud, slender, strong. With her dark hair and stunning green eyes, she could easily be one of the great Egyptian queens. Cleopatra. Nefertiti. Ankhesenamun.
If they had met under different circumstances, he would have made her his lover or mistress. He would have enjoyed spoiling her with gifts. He liked to spoil his woman, liked to please her. But he didn’t love. He didn’t want to love. Love complicated relationships. Love wasn’t rational.
He was determined to be rational. He was determined to be a good king.
She reached toward him, her hand outstretched. “Mikael, I need to know you have not just your best interest at heart, but mine, too.”
He stiffened. “As king I have all my people’s best interests at heart.”
“As my husband, you must have mine, too.”
“I do.”
Her hand lightly settled on his chest. “Then promise me, and I can meet you tonight with calm, and confidence, and hope.”
He glanced down at her hand where it rested so lightly on his chest, just above his heart.
He captured her hand in his, holding her small fist to his chest. His thumb swept her wrist. He could feel the wild staccato of her pulse. She was afraid. He didn’t like her fear. “You’ve no need to be afraid.”