The Sheikh's Forbidden Virgin (13 page)

‘It must have been—’

‘I’m telling you now,’ Aarif cut her off, ‘because I want you to understand. When I told my father I would look after Zafir that day, I took it as an oath. A sacred duty, and I failed in the most horrific, spectacular way that I could.’

‘But it wasn’t your—’

Aarif held up a hand, and the sharp movement silenced her as if he’d put that hand over her mouth. ‘I failed, and I shall never forget that I failed. It is a burden I carry to this day, and I shall carry it until I die. But I have alleviated its weight and pain by striving to never fail so again. I devoted my life to my family and this island, and the business of diamonds so that men such as the ones who kidnapped us might not profit and sail freely as they did that day. I honour Zakari as my brother and my king, and now that my father is dead my duty is—always—to him.’ He paused, and Kalila knew this was what she did not want to hear. ‘No matter what sacrifices I must make, or what pain it causes me.’

Her throat was tight, too tight, so it hurt to swallow. ‘Are you talking about me?’ she asked finally, her voice no more than a strangled whisper.

‘Yes.’ Aarif spoke heavily. ‘Kalila, I will not lie. When you held me in your arms, I wanted you. I needed you.’ His mouth twisted, and Kalila blinked back a haze of tears. ‘I’ve never felt…so…
right
as I did then.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps in time I could have loved you. I have not known many women…I have not allowed myself to. But you…you were different.’

Kalila felt the cold trickle of tears on her cheeks. She held out one hand in supplication, but it was ignored. ‘Aarif—’

‘No. I tell you this now to spare you pain. I realise in these last few days you have thought yourself in love with me, although I can hardly believe you would love a man such as me—’ He stopped, swallowed, and then shook his head when Kalila made to speak. ‘And I have reacted with small kindnesses because I still wanted to be near you, to—’ he swallowed again, his voice low ‘—even just to see you smile, to see the light in your eyes. But such things were unfair to you, because they gave you hope. There is no hope, Kalila, for us. There
is
no us. There never can be.’

Kalila’s mouth was dry, her heart pounding even as it seemed to break. She forced herself to speak, her voice low and aching. ‘Because I am engaged to your brother?’

Aarif nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘And if I wasn’t…?’ Kalila asked.

Aarif’s brows pulled together in a dark frown. ‘There is no point even considering such a thing.’

Kalila knew she shouldn’t say it—say anything—but she felt desperate and reckless and so very sad. ‘What if I broke the engagement? What if I refused to marry him?’

Aarif’s breath came out in a surprised rush, yet he did not speak. The night had fallen completely now, and the sky was inky and scattered with stars. ‘If you did such a thing,’ Aarif said slowly, ‘then you would not be the woman I love.’

The woman I love
. Was he saying he did love her? How could such a wonderful thing cause her such emotional agony? Kalila closed her eyes briefly, and she felt Aarif’s fingers caress her face. She leaned into his hand, craving his touch, needing the comfort.

‘Come now,
ayni
.’ The Arabic endearment slipped off his tongue and made Kalila feel somehow all the more bereft. ‘The hour grows dark and we must return to the palace.’

And with that return, Kalila knew she would lose Aarif for ever. Yet how could she lose something she’d never really had in the first place?

Except now, with the lingering memory of his fingers caressing her face, his words
the woman I love
echoing through her heart, she felt as if she’d lost something very precious indeed.

Wordlessly she allowed him to help her up from the hard sand, and they walked in silence to the Jeep.

The lights of Serapolis glittered on the horizon, and in only a few minutes they had driven to the front of the palace. A servant leapt to open their doors, and Aarif handed him the keys. Silhouetted by the light spilling from the open palace doors, he turned to Kalila with a sorrowful smile.

‘Goodnight, Princess.’

Kalila’s throat was too clogged with tears to respond, and in desperate silence she watched him walk away.

T
HE
days slid by in a miserable, endless blur. Kalila was conscious of things changing as the wedding day drew nearer. People arrived, guests, more servants, Aarif’s brothers and sisters, although not Zakari. He, at least, still saw fit to stay away, and Kalila could only be glad.

Her heart was too full—too broken—to even consider her future, or the wedding that loomed closer every hour. And yet she could not stop the marriage from taking place, the future slowly and surely becoming the present.

The long, empty days in the palace were gone, replaced with a sudden, frenetic activity as everyone in Calista began to prepare and anticipate one of the biggest events of the decade. Her marriage.

There was a flurry of dinners, parties, lunches and teas. The parade of faces were no more than a nameless blur, although Kalila tried to commit them to memory, to greet and chat with Aarif’s siblings, although it felt like a parody, no more than play-acting.

Aarif stayed distant, never approaching or addressing her. It was, Kalila thought numbly, as if the past were nothing more than a dream…a wonderful yet terrible dream, for she knew it would torment her every hour of her life.

Two days before the wedding her father, King Bahir, arrived at the palace by helicopter. Along with half a dozen
palace servants and Aarif and Kalila met him at the helipad in the palace courtyard. She sneaked a glance at Aarif, but he was turned away from her, standing to attention as the helicopter made its descent.

Her father emerged from the helicopter, and the sight of his familiar face with its kind, dark eyes and ruddy cheeks, the sparse white hair blowing in the wind, made sudden tears sting her eyes and she started forward.

‘Papa!’ The endearment from childhood sprang naturally to her lips. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’

Bahir embraced her before holding her away from him, his eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance. ‘And I am glad to see you, daughter.’ But Kalila saw the displeasure flash in his eyes, his lips tightening, and she wondered what had made him angry. Had he heard of her desert escapade…or worse?

Aarif cleared his throat before sketching a bow. ‘King Bahir, we are honoured.’

‘Indeed.’ Bahir’s gaze was still narrow. ‘I may assume by your presence that King Zakari is still away on business?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Aarif’s voice was toneless, and his expression did not flicker for a moment.

‘I see.’ Bahir nodded, his eyes ever shrewd. ‘Then I will take tea in my room, if it can be arranged, Prince Aarif. It was an unsettling flight and I detest flying in helicopters.’

Aarif nodded briskly. ‘It shall be done.’

‘And the princess,’ Bahir continued, ‘shall take tea with me. I’m sure we have much to say to one another.’

Upstairs in her father’s suite of rooms, Kalila stood nervously by the door while a servant wheeled in a tea trolley. Her father sat at a table by the window, the late afternoon sun creating a golden halo around his head, one leg crossed elegantly over the other.

He waited for the servant to depart before he gestured for Kalila to pour them both tea. She moved forward, her hands
shaking just a little bit as she poured the tea out. Bahir watched her silently, and Kalila kept her gaze averted from his all too knowing one.

‘You are well?’ she finally asked, handing him his glass. Bahir accepted it and took a sip, his eyebrows arched over the rim.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I would rather hear if you are well.’

Kalila’s startled gaze flew to his. ‘Y-y-y-yes,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t stuttered like a guilty child. ‘I am.’

Bahir set his glass down carefully. ‘Because, Kalila,’ he continued gently, ‘you don’t look well.’

Kalila’s gaze moved inadvertently to the mirror hanging above the bureau and she was surprised by her reflection. She hadn’t looked at herself properly in days; she’d been moving through the hours like a ghost or sleepwalker, simply tracking time. Now she saw how wide and staring her eyes were, her face pinched and pale. She looked back at her father and saw him looking at her with far too much perception. Perception, she realised, and compassion.

Whatever her father might have heard about her escape to the desert—and Aarif’s finding her—he was not angry. He was worried.

‘Naturally I am a little tense,’ Kalila finally managed. She sat down across from her father and forced herself to take a sip of tea. ‘The wedding is only in two days and—’

‘You still have yet to meet your bridegroom,’ Bahir finished, and there was a hard, grim note to his voice that surprised her. Of all people, she would have expected her father to understand where Zakari’s duties lay. Bahir wouldn’t expect a king to waste time paying court to his fiancée, not when there was royal business to attend to, diamonds to find, kingdoms to unite.

Bahir was silent, his gaze shadowed and distant. Kalila knew her father well, and she understood now that he would speak in
his own time. She was content to sit in silence and watch the sun’s last golden rays sink to the endless stretch of sand, painting the desert in a rainbow of vibrant yellows and oranges.

‘When your mother and I arranged your marriage, Kalila,’ Bahir finally said, his gaze still focused on a distant memory, ‘we did so with your best interests at heart.’

‘Of course, Father—’

He held up one hand, and Kalila fell silent. ‘We chose Prince—King—Zakari not only because he was from a good family and heir to an important principality, but because he was young and handsome and from what we could see, a man of honour.’ He turned to face her, and there was a sorrow—and regret—in his eyes that took Kalila aback. ‘Kalila, we wanted the best for you, for your happiness. Of course there were other considerations. I will not pretend otherwise. There always are such things when you are a king or a queen, or a princess.’ He smiled sadly. ‘But your mother and I wanted your happiness. I still do.’

He fell silent, and Kalila swallowed past the painful lump of emotion in her throat. ‘I know,’ she whispered.

‘I say this now,’ Bahir continued in a brisker voice, ‘because I am concerned. I did not expect King Zakari to leave you so unattended. I hoped that perhaps you might, if not fall in love with him, then at least have some affection for him before the wedding.’

Kalila tried to smile, and almost managed it. ‘That’s not quite possible,’ she said and Bahir frowned.

‘Of course, royal duties are important, sacred. King Zakari must put his country first.’ He paused, and Kalila heard—felt—the unspoken
yet
.

And yet. And yet, if Zakari had greeted her in Zaraq instead of Aarif. And yet, if he’d been here when they’d arrived. If he’d even spoken to her…

Would it have kept her from falling in love with Aarif? A few days ago, a week at most, she’d thought she
could
fall in
love with Aarif. The possibility, the wonderful maybe, the hope of the uncut diamond.

Yet now that possibility had become the present, real, alive, and diamond-bright.

She loved him. It was so obvious, so overwhelming, she was amazed she hadn’t realised it before. Now, gazing unseeingly at her father, she felt it resonate through her body, vibrate in her bones.

So this is what love feels like,
she thought.
This is what it feels like to know why you were made, who you are.

It felt right. It felt whole.

‘Kalila?’ Bahir prompted her gently. ‘It is too late for regrets now, I know that well. I only speak of this now because I want you to be happy and I hope—pray—that happiness can still be found with Zakari.’

Kalila blinked; it took a moment for her father’s words to penetrate. They sank into her slowly, coldly, taking away that wonderful, resonating warmth of her earlier realisation.

For a moment her love for Aarif had made her strong, happy, whole. Then truth dawned, stark and unrelenting. It didn’t matter what she felt for Aarif, because she would still marry Zakari. She must, even if he didn’t want to marry her.

Even if…

A new, sudden, impossible thought bloomed in her, buoyed her spirits. What if Zakari didn’t want to marry her? He had professed so little interest in her so far; what if he would be grateful for a reprieve?

What if she was free?

Her father was staring at her, Kalila realised, his eyes narrowed speculatively. She forced herself to smile. ‘Thank you, Father, for your words. I too hope to find happiness.’ She left it at that, although she almost felt as if her father could hear her thoughts, read her heart.

Happiness that could be found only with Aarif.

She didn’t see Aarif for the rest of that day, swept away as
she was by preparations for the wedding. Her wedding dress, originally belonging to her mother, had to be tried on before a gaggle of appreciative women, and the resident seamstress came to make last-minute and, Kalila thought, unnecessary alterations.

She was surrounded by people now, chattering, laughing women, and after two weeks of virtual isolation she felt stifled, crowded, needing air and space. And Aarif. Every time she walked down a corridor or by a window, her gaze sought him out. She longed to see him, those dark, knowing eyes, that flickering smile, the scar that swept his cheek and reminded her of the sacrifices he’d made every day of his life, to rectify a mistake that wasn’t even really his.

Aarif, however, seemed determined to keep his distance, for she didn’t even catch a glimpse of him. The morning before the wedding, she was led to the palace’s ancient women’s quarters with its private baths for a ceremonial washing. Kalila let herself be carried along by the women’s buoyant spirits and happy chattering, even though she felt as if she were separated from it all, isolated in her own bubble of apprehension and hope.

She needed to see Aarif. She needed to talk to him, explain.

She needed to tell him she loved him.

Her heart bumped against her ribs and her mouth turned bone-dry at the thought of offering such a private revelation. She remembered his words, so callous and contemptuous, that night in the desert:
you’re thinking you’ve fallen in love with me.

But I have,
she thought now, desperately, yet still clinging to that one shred of hope.
I have.

The women’s baths were something out of an
Arabian Nights
tale: a sunken tub the size of a small swimming pool, fragrant with rose petals and seething with foam. Kalila allowed herself to be undressed and led to the tub, allowed her hair to be washed three times with a heavy clay that felt like mud on her scalp before it was rinsed with rosewater.

The wedding was to be Western in style, so the women
forewent the ceremonial hennaing of Kalila’s hands and feet, slipping her instead into a white linen robe before leading her back to her room.

The heavy, cloying scents of perfumes and soap, the high-pitched giggles and provocative murmurs, the entire strangeness of it all made Kalila suddenly feel dizzy, and as they were leaving the baths she took a step back.

‘Juhanah…have them go on without me. I need a moment.’

Juhanah’s face softened into sympathy and she nodded. ‘A moment, then,
ya daanaya
. But then you must come. This is your wedding preparation—’ her voice lowered for only Kalila’s ears ‘—even if you don’t wish it.’

With her bustling sense of authority, Juhanah rounded up the other women and led them back to Kalila’s rooms. Kalila sagged against the cool stone wall and closed her eyes, grateful for the silence and solitude.

I can’t do this.

She opened her eyes; had she spoken aloud? She was uncomfortably aware of her still-damp skin, her pounding heart. Tomorrow she would marry Zakari; tomorrow night she would give herself to him.

The thought made bile rise in her throat and she tasted its metallic tang on her tongue.

I can’t do this.

Her only hope was to talk to Aarif, yet with each hour slipping towards sunset she realised how unlikely such an opportunity would be. And then it would be too late.

Too late for her, for Aarif, for Zakari. For happiness, for hope. For love.

She swallowed and pushed herself away from the wall, her feet moving in slow, leaden steps back towards her room, and her destiny.

As she came around the latticed corner of the baths her heart seemed to leap into her throat before stopping completely for there, right in front of her, was Aarif.

Aarif stared at Kalila in both shock and hunger. His eyes roved over her figure clad only in a light robe; he could see the shadowed valley between her breasts, the flat plane of her navel—

He jerked his gaze upwards and strove for a word. A thought.

Yet what could he say? How could he excuse his presence in the women’s private bathing quarters, except to admit that he had been lurking, spying like David on Bathsheba?

He’d been wandering the palace for hours, his thoughts in torment, his soul in anguish. He couldn’t work; he couldn’t even think. His mind—and heart—were controlled by Kalila, by images of her with him as they’d been that night in the desert—and then terrible, painful images of her with Zakari, as his bride, his queen.

She’s mine
.

But she wasn’t, Aarif had told himself again and again. She was most certainly not his; she was forbidden, as forbidden and dangerous as Bathsheba, and he was as drawn to her as David had been.

If he were Zakari, Aarif thought with a sudden, savage bitterness, he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight. If he were Zakari, he would cherish her for ever.

But he wasn’t.

‘Aarif…’ Her voice sounded thready, and she stopped, simply staring at him as he was at her, their eyes devouring one another, as intimate and heady as a caress even though neither of them moved or touched.

Aarif opened his mouth, but not a word came out. All he could think of doing was snatching her into his arms, crushing her to him, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, her skin—

‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said, his voice rasping. Her eyes widened, and he realised just how many things he had to be sorry for. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I thought the women had left.’