The Sheikh’s Bargain Bride(21)

Her eyes rose above the people and forest-like complexity of pillars, fixing on the multitude of ornate lamps and candles under which the room seemed to shimmer with an unsteady light.

From under the slight protection of the filmy lace veil, Anna searched for Zahir and found him. His eyes, like those of everyone else, were focused on her, just like he said they’d be. The roomful of people seemed to fade under the shimmering light and there was only her and Zahir, only one way to go—an effect that was reinforced by the stone herringbone pattern on the floor that led her to him.

She became aware then, of the drag of the long, ornate train that fell behind her; the stiffness of the crystal-encrusted bodice that sparkled under the shifting lights and the glow and shimmer of the pale grey satin and lace veil.

Slowly the murmurs of the hundreds of people assembled in the mosque and the soaring music faded from her ears. She simply focussed on him, almost communicated across the open space with him. It was the only way she’d get through this. He was also dressed in exquisite robes, his eyes lighter than she’d seen them, a smile softly hovering on his lips. Almost, she thought, as if he were happy.

He took her hand when she reached him and they sat side by side on ornately gilded chairs.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered into her ear. But it was the squeeze of his hand from which she derived most comfort. She took a deep breath and allowed the world back in again.

He continued to hold her hand as he turned to the assembled people and nodded. One simple nod, Anna thought, was enough to start proceedings. Person after person came up to them with gifts and speeches, paying homage to their sheikh and celebrating with him his long-awaited marriage. Despite Zahir’s reassurances, she felt like a fraud. None of these people knew that the marriage was a sham and would be over once Zahir had had enough of her.

The mosque descended into respectful silence as the Imam delivered his speech. Anna could make out only a little of it but knew that it was about honor and that he was calling on Zahir to heed his words. Zahir dipped his head in dignified agreement. The Iman turned to Anna and, standing in place of the father she never knew, gave her hand to Zahir. Two elder Bedu signed the marriage contract and it was only when the crowd collectively cheered that Anna knew that she was married—for the second time.

It was a farce. It was all she could think as congratulatory shouts rang through the air. The whole thing was a farce. She was here for as long as it took Zahir to tire of her. And that was the truth.

She felt something drain from her then.

Zahir inclined his head and whispered in her ear.

“Keep strong, Anna. We are married now. We only have a reception and then you will be free.”

She closed her eyes briefly at the irony of his words.

He offered his hand to her. “Come.”

The time for hesitation had gone and she took his hand. He led her through the mosque, the crowds of people following them in a procession that led to the reception room. Here they once more sat on two chairs raised above the others, as if they were royalty which, she realized, she was now.

One ceremony merged into another. The toasts, the swapping of the rings from the right to left index fingers, the speeches, the dances, the tributes, she kept her smile on her face through it all and remembered Abduallah. He should have been here and he would have been if he hadn’t believed that the very culture that he loved so much would reject him if it knew the truth about him. She couldn’t help believe that he was wrong and that such a warm and vibrant culture with a reputation for hospitality and kindness would be inclusive and welcoming of everyone—especially one of their most vulnerable people, especially Abduallah.





It was late into the evening before Zahir bent to her and spoke loudly over the music.

“We can go now. It is expected.”

He rose and everyone stopped what they were doing and bowed.

Zahir had been watching her all day and knew there was something happening behind the polite, smiling façade. He could see it in her eyes. But he said nothing. There was time for that later.

Zahir held her hand and led her away, the music from the stringed instruments following them eerily through the flame-lit corridors to his suite of rooms.

She halted, momentarily, before she entered the room. He felt her hesitancy, her unease.

He watched her look around his room. She’d not been there before and he also looked around, trying to see it through her eyes. It was larger than her own and, while not as luxuriously detailed, it was just as sensuous with the richly-woven rugs on the stone floor, the silk curtains that shivered in the warm breeze and the soft scent of jasmine that filled the air.