Romancing The Crown: Leila and Gage. Kathleen Creighton
to clear away the remains of the meal. And still she sat…quivering with the burden of unshed tears.
It was the strangest meeting Cade had ever been a part of. Definitely not what he’d expected. Though he’d have had a hard time putting into words just what it was he had expected.
One thing, definitely—he’d expected to have at least one more chance to talk with Leila. Alone. But clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. Instead they each occupied separate leather chairs facing Sheik Ahmed’s long mahogany desk, with several feet of space between them. It might as well have been several miles. Like a cross between a biblical Moses and a junior high school principal facing down a couple of co-conspirators in mischief, Sheik Ahmed presided behind his desk. His wife, Alima, Leila’s mother, sat in a comfortable chair near one of the casement windows that overlooked the sea. She wore a serene smile and held in her hands a small, leather-bound book.
As for Leila, she hadn’t spoken a word to Cade, or even looked at him. She sat straight-backed in her chair with her head held high, the arch of her throat as pale as the marble columns that graced the palace gardens. There was only a quivery softness about her mouth to betray any emotion or vulnerability at all, but to Cade, that was enough. Disliking the queasy, seasick feeling he got when he saw…when he remembered…that incredibly ripe, incredibly fragile mouth, he’d stopped looking at her at all.
With a face as stern as an old-fashioned Texas hang-’emhigh judge, Sheik Ahmed was speaking, “…and that you have entered into this decision of your own free will, and with pure mind and sincere heart?”
“Yes—” Cade cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, I have.”
The sheik went on talking, something solemn about a man’s heart being the province of God and therefore not to be questioned by man, but Cade wasn’t listening. His mind was full of the incredible fact that he, Cade Gallagher, an American businessman living in the twenty-first century, had just agreed to an arranged marriage. Arranged—like in medieval times! How had such a thing happened to him?
Right now, more than anything, what he felt was dazed, bewildered, at a loss to explain how a man such as he, a master at navigating through the most circuitous and complex of business negotiations, could have gotten himself so completely boxed in. Because the truth was, he just didn’t see any other way out of this. Not unless he was prepared to take it all back, right here and now, in front of Leila and both her parents. Say he hadn’t meant the proposal of marriage to begin with, that it had been a mistake and he wasn’t prepared to go through with it after all. Say it to her face.
There was no way. He could not do that. No way in hell.
Because if there was anything he’d learned as a kid growing up in Texas, it was to stand up and take the consequences for his actions like a man.
Consequences…. Elena had said something like that, hadn’t she? They’d had only a few minutes together, while Hassan was speaking to the foreman at one of the refineries they’d visited this afternoon about some sort of minor problem or complaint. Even now, remembering the disappointment in her eyes made Cade squirm. “Cade, I warned you….”
“You did,” he’d acknowledged, and added, grimly joking, “Don’t worry, I take full responsibility for my own stupidity.”
But Elena hadn’t smiled, and with a sad little shake of her head had murmured, “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Cade.” Her eyes had gone to where her husband stood with his back to them, deep in conversation with the refinery foreman. “I’d hoped…someday…you’d find someone you could love the way I love Hassan.” Her voice had broken then, and Cade had snorted to cover the shaft of pain that unexpectedly pierced his heart.
Why he’d felt such a sense of loss, he didn’t know. He’d never expected to experience that kind of love, anyway. The kind of love that lasts a lifetime. From his own personal experience he thought it doubtful love like that even existed.
As for his own feelings about Leila, since they were so confusing to him, most of the time he tried not to dwell on them at all. If he had to define them, he’d have said they pretty much consisted of a mix of anger and remorse. Yeah, she’d behaved like a moonstruck girl, but he was old enough, experienced enough, and he should have known better. He was responsible and it was up to him to make it right. But there was something else in the stew of his emotions that wasn’t as easily defined, possibly because it was a whole lot less unfamiliar. The closest he would allow himself to come to defining it was protectiveness. With his own carelessness he’d hurt this child-woman immeasurably, and he never wanted to do so again.
Understandable enough. But even that didn’t account for the strange ache of tenderness that filled his throat sometimes when he looked at her—like now, as she murmured affirmative responses to her father’s questions.
Do you agree to this marriage, Leila, and enter into it of your own free will?
Yes, Father….
But still, not once did she look at Cade. And he felt a strange, unfamiliar emptiness inside.
Alima rose then, and came to her daughter’s side. She placed the leather-bound book on the shiny desktop. Sheik Ahmed picked it up and handed it to Cade, explaining that it was an English translation of the Quran, which he might wish to study in his own time. Cade nodded, accepted the book and murmured his thanks. The sheik then repeated, in Arabic, the words of the eshedu, which Cade would be required to recite later that evening, before the marriage ceremony itself. Cade nodded again. Then Alima touched Leila on the shoulder. Without a word, she rose and followed her mother from the room.
“Now, then,” purred the sheik when the women had gone, leaning back and lacing beringed fingers across his ample middle, “let us discuss the Mahr… It is our custom that a husband bestow upon his wife a gift. This may be money or jewels, of course—” the sheik waved a hand in a casually dismissive way “—or something of even greater, if less concrete value. That is up to you. You will no doubt wish to give the matter some thought….”
Once again, Cade could only nod. His heart was beating hard, gathering speed like a runner hurtling downhill.
This is real, he thought. It’s actually happening. I’m marrying a princess of Tamir. And a virgin princess, at that.
Leila gazed at her reflection in the mirror, eyes dark and solemn in her waxy pale face. She saw her mother’s hands, graceful and white as lily petals as they plucked and tweaked at the veils that covered her long black hair, veils that soon would be arranged to cover her face as well, until the final moments of the nikah ceremony later that morning when her husband would lift them to gaze at last upon the face of his wife.
At least, she thought, there would not be many people present to witness that moment. Only her parents and her sisters, Nadia and Sammi, of course, and Salma, and perhaps a few of the other servants who had known her since she was a baby. She was glad she would not have to face Elena, and especially Hassan. Salma had told her that they had left last evening for their honeymoon trip, right after returning from their tour of the oil refineries with Cade. Most of the guests who had attended Hassan and Elena’s wedding had left yesterday, as well, and probably would not even know yet of Leila’s humiliation.
Sadly, she thought of the wedding she had always imagined for herself, the most wonderful, beautiful occasion…even more glorious than Hassan’s. Instead, it must be only a brief and private, almost secretive affair, with only her closest family attending. Papa would preside over the ceremony, of course. She would not even have a Walima, since she and Cade would have to leave for his home in Texas immediately after the nikah ceremony, and so how could there be a joyous celebration of its consummation?
Her stomach lurched and she swallowed hard. I wish I had some makeup, she thought. Lipstick, at least. What will Cade think, when he sees me looking so pale?
Does he think I am pretty at all?
Will he want to kiss me again, the way he did