Woman in a Sheikh's World(29)

'Are you asking me to marry you or are you offering me a job?'

'I haven't asked you to marry me yet. I'm leading up to that.'

'Oh.' She was trembling against him. 'So you're offering me a job.  You're asking me to give up everything and in return you give up  nothing.'

'Life is all about perspective, habibti. Some would say I was offering you everything.'

The dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. 'You have a high opinion of yourself, Your Highness.'

'I'm sure a life spent with you will cure me of that.' Hoping that he'd  judged the moment perfectly, he slid his hand into his pocket and pulled  out the ring. 'Last time I did this badly-'

'If we're talking about a marriage proposal, you didn't do it at all.'  Her tone was light but the look in her eyes was panic and he took her  face in his hands and kissed her gently.

'Breathe.'

'I'm breathing.'

'I want you to marry me, not because I want to ruin your life, but because I want to make it happy. I want to make you happy.'                       
       
           



       

'Now that is arrogance, Your Highness-' But her eyes were fixed on the ring. 'Was it Kalila's?'

The fact that she would ask him that question intensified his guilt. 'I  am willing to concede that sensitivity towards your feelings has not  been my strong point, but even I would not be so thoughtless as to give a  gift I bought for one woman to another. It belonged to my  great-grandmother.' Unsure of her response to that, he paused, watching  as her face changed. 'She had a long and happy marriage, so perhaps  you'll consider that auspicious.'

Carefully, she took it from him, turning it so that the stone winked in the sunshine. 'It's exquisite.'

'But will you wear it?'

She hesitated for what felt like a lifetime but which was, in reality, only seconds. 'This is huge.'

'The diamond or the commitment?'

'Both?' But his words drew the smile he'd been hoping for and he took  ruthless advantage of that and slid the ring onto her finger.

'It doesn't feel huge. It feels right. It fits, habibti. It's an omen.'

'I don't believe in omens and neither do you.'

'But I believe in us. And I want you to believe in us, too. Will you  marry me?' He tilted her face and she stared up at him, more vulnerable  than he'd ever seen her.

'Yes.' She stumbled over the word. 'But if you hurt me, I'll kill you.'

He laughed. 'That sounds fair to me.' And if she still hadn't said that she loved him, he told himself he had to be patient.

They spent two more days in the desert. Two days during which they only  left the bed to swim, ride and eat. Days during which Avery was  conscious of the weight of the ring on her finger. She was aware of it  all the time, aware of him all the time. And the feelings inside her  were a stomach-churning mixture of excitement and trepidation.

But already the Palace machine was rolling into action. Arrangements  were being made for her to become his bride and although it made her  feel uneasy and out of control, she understood. Because of who he was,  it had to be that way.

'Don't they mind that it's not Kalila?'

'Turns out that there was more to Kalila than either of us knew. I'm  informed that she married her bodyguard within hours of us leaving.'

'What?'

'I would have preferred she waited. It would have been easier for her to  let me take responsibility, but I suppose she was afraid that her  father might find a way to stop her.'

'Or perhaps she needed to take responsibility for her own decisions.'  Avery understood that, but it didn't stop her being concerned for  Kalila. 'What will her father do now?'

'He can't do much. Rafiq is arranging for them to come back to Zubran,  at least for the time being. But I don't want to talk about Kalila right  now. I promise she won't suffer for her decision.' He lowered his mouth  to hers. 'I want to think about us, and if we are discussing a wedding,  I want it to be ours. Talking of which, do you intend to invite your  mother?' The question was asked casually but there was no such thing as  casual when it came to discussing her relationship with her mother.

'No. I've told you-we're not really in touch much now.'

'Perhaps a wedding would be a good time to reconcile.'

He had no idea. 'Believe me, my mother would be the very last person  anyone would choose to invite to a wedding. Not if they want it to be a  happy event.'

'And your father? I was thinking that this might be a perfect time to make contact.'

'No.' Suddenly cold, she pulled away from him. 'I'll give you a list of  people I'd like to invite. Friends and people from work.'

'In other words you don't want to talk about your father.'

'That's right.' Closing down the conversation, she slid from the bed and  pulled on a silk wrap, knotting it firmly at the waist. 'Not all  families are like yours, Mal. I wish you'd try and understand that.'  Without giving him an opportunity to respond, she walked through to the  bathroom and locked the door.

And this time he didn't follow her.

Was this the start of it? she wondered, leaning her head back against  the door and closing her eyes. Was this how it happened? The first  crack. And then another crack, until the cracks became a rift, and the  rift became a canyon and suddenly there was nothing between them but  space that couldn't be bridged.

'It is not going to happen the way you're thinking.' His dry tone came  from the other doorway and she felt a rush of exasperation with herself  for forgetting about the second door, but also relief because she hated  feeling the way she was feeling.                       
       
           



       

'Please tell me that your apartment in the Palace doesn't have two doors in the bathroom.'

He crossed the room to her, lean, powerful and confident. 'It doesn't,  but unless you stop trying to knock down what we are building with every  thought you have, then I'm going to remove all the walls and we will be  living open-plan. I know which part of our conversation had you running  from my bed and I won't mention it again. If you don't want to trace  your father then that is your decision, but if you ever change your mind  then let me know. I will use my contacts to find the truth.'

She already knew the truth but any guilt she felt at not revealing that  was drowned out by more urgent feelings as he pulled her into his arms  and brought his mouth down on hers.

And afterwards, hours afterwards as they lay in the darkness in sheets  tangled from their loving, she told herself that it didn't matter, that  it didn't make a difference, but the feeling that she was somehow  deceiving him stayed with her and it was still with her when they  finally landed in Zubran City.

The Old Palace, the Sultan's official residence, was a fascinating  labyrinth of private courtyards, soaring ceilings and opulence built on  the shores of the Persian Gulf. Avery had planned parties in the most  luxurious and exclusive venues in the world, but nowhere had left her  quite as breathless as this place. The Palace was beautiful, but her  real love was the gardens, particularly the water gardens that provided a  cooling sanctuary from the blistering desert heat.

It became her favourite place to escape from the madness and chaos of  the wedding plans, none of which seemed to require her input. As someone  used to running things, it felt strange not to have a role in what was  surely the biggest event of her life.

While Mal was occupied with state business, Avery flew back to London to  see clients and deal with aspects of her own business that Jenny  couldn't handle. Far from being concerned about Avery's marriage to Mal,  her friend was delighted. Together they agreed to a few changes to the  running of the business, giving Jenny more day to day control. Avery  returned to Zubran knowing her business was in safe hands and feeling  slightly redundant. It was a strange feeling. She loved her work and was  proud of her achievements, but she knew that for her it wasn't just a  means to independence, but a shield against intimacy. She'd been afraid  to share herself, afraid to trust, and her mother would have said that  was a sensible approach. Until a few weeks ago, Avery would have agreed.

That was before she realised how good it felt to love and be loved. And she was loved, she was sure of that.

Mal loved her.

How could she doubt it? He loved her so much that he couldn't wait to  marry her. There was no hesitation on his part. He was so sure of  himself and of her and that made her feel wanted in a way she'd never  been wanted. Her mother's only contribution as a parent had been to  teach her that it was better to live her life alone. She'd never  mentioned the richness of a life shared and Avery was starting to  appreciate the flavour of that.

Ten days after they'd arrived back at the Palace she'd taken coffee and  her work down to her favourite spot and was sitting in the shade reading  through a document Jenny had sent through to her when Mal found her.