The Desert King’s Housekeeper Bride, page 7
‘I’ve never had champagne.’
‘Enjoy, then!’
He watched her take a tentative sip.
Watched as a flood of pink soon warmed her cheeks.
‘You said your mother left you the necklace.’
‘She did.’
‘And your father…’
The blush that spread across her face had nothing to do with the champagne… Her beautiful blue eyes suddenly downcast, the candlelight cast dark shadows on her cheeks, making her eyelashes impossibly long.
‘I don’t have a father.’
‘They broke up?’ he asked and she gave a small jerking nod.
‘Do you ever see him?’
‘No.’ Effie didn’t like where this conversation was leading. She wanted romance, she wanted what they had once had, yet Zakari was grilling her as if she were sitting some sort of test.
‘Have you ever seen him?’
Effie shook her head. ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘I want to get to know you…’ Though Zakari flashed a smile it didn’t quite meet his eyes and the tone of his voice reminded Effie unequivocally that she was being spoken to by the King. ‘So you never saw him? But surely he supported your mother…’
‘They broke up before I was born,’ Effie gulped.
‘Do you know his name?’
Her cheeks were on fire, tears flashing in her eyes as shame swept over her. ‘No!’ The word was a mixture of a sob and a shout, her frustration not just at Zakari’s line of questioning, but at her mother’s vagueness over the years. The one piece of information she had so desperately sought from her mother had constantly been denied her, and it hurt and shamed her even now. ‘She said that she had fallen in love, but had known from the start that it could never last. I think he must have been married or something…’ A solitary tear rolled down her plump cheek. ‘So, no—I don’t know who my father is.’
Zakari could see her discomfort and distress and chose not to pursue it.
For now.
Aegeus… He topped up her champagne, then took a long drink of iced water. His dark eyes were black with hatred as he thought of the man who had treated his stepmother so cruelly—a hatred that, for now, Effie must not see.
How had he not worked it out before?
There had been more than just forbidden emotions involved—here in front of him was the result of that forbidden union.
She was Aegeus’s spawn!
‘Is everything okay, Zakari?’ Effie checked, wiping her tear away with the back of her hand. She’d been longing for this night, but since they’d sat down all it had been was question after question. The tenderness of before was markedly absent and Zakari seemed different somehow; though he was talking to her, she could sense his distraction.
‘Of course…’ He forced a smile, saw the tension in her features and quickly moved to right it. ‘How could it not be?’
Regal. When he had seen her dressed, her hair glossy, her face made up, it had been the first word that had come to mind—and with good reason.
Royal blood flowed through her veins.
No wonder the old bastard had died of a heart attack, Zakari thought darkly. No doubt Aegeus had realised that his putrid secrets were about to come spewing out.
Revenge. Zakari’s smile was genuine now as again he topped up her glass. He had known it was close, but finally it was actually here.
With the jewel now his, he could rule both Calista and Aristo.
Once the jewel was his, Zakari reminded himself, his tongue on the roof of his mouth as he pondered his next move. The answer came to him in a trice.
‘Marry me.’ It was not a question—kings did not have to ask twice, so why was she smiling and shaking her head?
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I have never been more serious.’
‘Of course you’re not—’ Effie smiled ‘—but it has been nice to pretend for a while.’
‘Effie, I do not joke about such things—I am serious.’ He watched her eyes dart, saw her face pale as she realised that he was. ‘That is the reason for all the questions tonight—you will understand I need to know your history if I am to take you as my bride.’
‘We can’t…’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘I am a palace maid—the people would never accept me…’ Flustered now, she stood up, the game over, the fantasy ruined, now that he’d taken it too far.
‘I am King of Calista,’ Zakari warned. ‘I get what I want.’
Yet still she shook her head, half walking, half running from his table, and had there been a flicker of doubt as to her status, for Zakari it was extinguished then.
Royal blood did flow through her veins—there was an innate strength about her—and Zakari faced a fresh challenge now to convince her to be his wife.
And if there was one thing Zakari relished, it was a challenge.
‘These days with you…’ he caught her shoulder as she made to leave ‘…have been the happiest I have known. Our lovemaking, you cannot deny it was special—you bring me peace…’
‘Special!’ Effie gaped at him. Today she had come alive, her whole body, her life, her soul even, felt different. As wondrous as it had been, though, as much as she might think she loved him, she had never expected that love to be reciprocated. It had never once entered her head that their time together had been as magical for Zakari as it had been for her, that he might feel the same. ‘It was more than special. It was everything! More than anything I had dreamed possible…’
‘Tell me…’ Zakari implored. ‘Tell me how I made you feel.’
‘Beautiful,’ Effie breathed, lost in his gaze, dizzy with the turn of events.
‘Loved perhaps?’ he said softly.
He saw her blink rapidly, saw her throat tighten as she took in his words, saw the beautiful jewel between her breasts—and knew it was now his.
‘You love me?’ Effie frowned.
‘And you love Calista,’ Zakari continued softly, silkily evading answering. ‘You love the people of Calista. Effie, with you beside me, with you as my wife, I know I will be a better king.’ He wasn’t lying—though Zakari’s version of honest differed from most! ‘With you as my wife I will be a better ruler for the people—for all of the people.’
‘Me?’
‘You.’
‘But, do you love me?’
Why should it matter? Bemused, Zakari stared down at her. He was offering marriage, for this palace maid to be the King’s wife—every want, every need would be catered for. What was this love she demanded? This love that his brothers spoke of, the same love that saw Prince Sebastian renounce his right to the throne.
‘Do you love me, Zakari?’ she said again, and Zakari knew what his answer must be, knew for the sake of his people this lie was merited.
‘I love you.’ His voice was hoarse, the words unfamiliar. It was such a strange, strange thing to utter, but feeling her soften beneath his fingers, witnessing the magical effect of his words fade the trouble in her eyes, Zakari wielded his new power—an abracadabra that had opened her heart. When next he spoke his words were softer, pulling her towards him, and this time there was no resistance.
‘I love you, Effie.’
He kissed her trembling mouth, his hand snaking around the back of her head, and then blazing a trail with his fingers, stroking her throat as skilfully he kissed her.
And Effie could barely breathe. The magnitude of what he was offering, that she would be the King’s bride, didn’t spin her world, but that he felt it too, that the love she felt for Zakari was being returned tenfold.
‘Marry me.’
That Zakari loved her made the impossible easy. Effie gasped her acceptance as, dinner forgotten, he slipped her out of her dress, out of her shoes, out of her underwear, till she stood before him naked, wearing just her mother’s necklace, giving him a stunning view of what he treasured the most… The Stefani diamond.
She saw the flash of approval in his eyes as they roved her breasts, and mistook it as lust for her.
‘Soon…’ His mouth worked her throat, her neck, her breasts, his fingers holding a different prize now and how right it felt to possess it. ‘We will marry soon, before you have time to change your mind.’
‘Why would I change my mind?’ Effie gasped. His mouth was sucking her nipple now; her fingers were in his hair as he adored her all over again.
Sheikh King Zakari Al’Farisi loved her. It was more than she’d ever dared to dream.
‘Why would I change my mind, when we love each other?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU do not have to marry her, Your Highness.’ Hassan, his chief advisor, delivered the news with a smile. Since the helicopter had landed at the palace Effie, under Zakari’s brisk instruction, had been swept away to the royal quarters by bewildered staff. His aides and legal team had been huddled for hours in urgent talks as Aarif held the same urgent talk with his eldest brother, Zakari.
Aarif and his wife, Kalila, divided their time between Hadiya and Calista and were here now to prepare for a charity polo match that would be held in three weeks. A wedding, the King’s wedding, no less, had not been on their agenda.
‘Do not rush into this, Zakari,’ Aarif pleaded. ‘I understand about the jewel, about your desire to rule both Calista and Aristo, but to marry her…’ Aarif shook his head. ‘A few months ago, I would not even question your decision; marriage to me was about union, about duty, about a fitting bride—’
‘She will be fitting,’ Zakari interrupted, ‘once she has been suitably taught and groomed.’
‘You do not understand the point I am making,’ Aarif refuted. ‘You see how much happier I am?’ He only continued when Zakari, after a brief hesitation, gave a terse nod. ‘It was all about duty for me too—no pleasure. Now, with Kalila I am happy, I am playing my first polo match in a few weeks, I am doing things, for me…’
‘I am the King,’ Zakari retorted because, as close as Aarif could come to understanding, as a prince, he never fully could. ‘My first duty is to my people.’
Aarif screwed his eyes closed and rested his head in his hands for a moment. Zakari could see the savage scar on his face, the remnants of the rope burns on his wrists, and understood Aarif’s point; to see his brother, who had been so miserable, so riddled with guilt, finally at peace brought immense joy to Zakari—except the same rules didn’t apply to him. His first duty wasn’t to himself, it was to his people. ‘You have a right to be happy, Zakari,’ Aarif insisted.
‘I will be,’ Zakari said, ‘when the jewel is safely returned, when I rule the Kingdom of Adamas—then, I will be happy.’
‘I’m not talking about duty…’ Aarif argued, and though he knew it was hopeless to try and persuade his brother when his mind was made up, still he tried. ‘Kalila and I wanted you to be the first to know—she is expecting a baby…’
A smile broke on Zakari’s face. ‘You are going to be a father?’ Seeing Aarif, who had struggled so much, so alive and happy, Zakari embraced him. ‘This is wonderful news.’
‘I want this for you too!’ Aarif pleaded. ‘I don’t want you to live in a marriage of convenience or duty, Zakari. I want you to feel the happiness love brings. Life is too short for it all to be about duty and power. Listen to what the advisors say—there are surely other options.’
There were.
‘The jewel belongs to the palace. Aegeus, technically, had no right to give it to her,’ Hassan explained as Aarif and the aides smiled at the good news. ‘We will, of course, offer a generous payment for her distress at losing what she thought was her mother’s necklace. However, as we will clearly explain, it never actually belonged to her mother—which means in turn it does not belong to Effie Nicolaides.’
It was the first time he had heard her surname. The palace maid they were discussing was becoming more and more of a person as with every passing word Hassan dismissed her as less.
‘If she argues, or protests too loudly, we can demand the sale of her home to go some way to covering the cost of the jewels her mother has sold over the years.’
‘It might not be so straightforward…’ Zakari responded calmly, though his stomach was churning, imagining Effie’s reaction to the news, imagining these suits that sat before him intimidating her into submission.
‘Then it is our job to make it straightforward.’ Hassan smiled. ‘You do not have to concern yourself again with her, Your Highness.’
‘I slept with her.’
‘No problem…’ Hassan didn’t flinch at the news—half his job seemed to involve sending flowers and trinkets to the King’s ex-lovers. Occasionally he had to handle a threat to sue when a particularly bitter ex went to the newspapers in Aristo with her story—the Calistan journalists wouldn’t dare print it. Not that the scandalous gossip that sometimes flared dinted Zakari’s popularity; if anything it inflamed it. ‘I will talk with her myself,’ Hassan crooned. ‘Perhaps we could arrange a nice necklace as a suitable replacement. A personal gift from you would, I’m sure, help soothe raw wounds! And naturally we will have her moved from the palace. You will not have to face her again.’
They had it all worked out, Zakari realised, except for one small detail!
‘I slept with her without protection.’ Zakari remained supremely calm as the meteorite hit the room. Hassan’s eyes practically bulged as he digested the news—it was unheard of, just unheard of for a man of Zakari’s status to even think of sleeping with a woman without taking the necessary precautions! The legal advisors whispered furiously amongst themselves, and Aarif closed his eyes and ran a worried hand over his forehead as Zakari spoke assuredly on. ‘It would complicate matters enormously if we were to find out in a few weeks’ time that she was pregnant.’ Zakari’s haughty voice broke the frantic chatter. ‘Arrange the papers immediately. We will be married before sunset.’
Staff abruptly dismissed, Zakari sat with his brother.
‘What were you thinking?’ Aarif’s voice was hoarse with shock. He, as much as Zakari, knew that sex without protection, for a man of their ilk, was just unthinkable.
‘Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at the time.’ Zakari gave a dry smile as he stood up. ‘I have made my bed, now I have to lie in it with her…’
The only thing was as Zakari stalked out to the sound of his brother offering his sympathy, as he swept past his worried staff now huddled in the corridor, as the palace shot into frenzied action to prepare for the ceremony, the only person who wasn’t fazed, the only person who wasn’t daunted by the prospect, was Zakari himself.
Lying in bed with Effie would, he knew, be a pleasure.
Instead of entering the staff quarters, Effie had been whisked away to a private suite where she had sat nervously for a couple of hours, until Zakari had swept into the room and told her the plans.
They were to be married that day.
There would be a private ceremony at the palace, Zakari had rapidly explained, followed by a formal ceremony in thirty days’ time, where the people would officially welcome her.
For now it was about making things legal, he had added, before abruptly removing himself from her quarters, leaving Effie mouthing like a goldfish. Endless questions swirling in Effie’s mind were all put on hold as staff suddenly appeared, bathing her, arriving with robes and dresses, fiddling with her hair and applying her make-up, all the while talking in hushed tones.
There was no sense of comradeship—no smiles or congratulations that one of them was about to break ranks and marry the King, because Effie wasn’t even one of them.
The royal dressers and handmaidens reigned supreme over a mere palace maid and Effie could see doubt in their eyes, the incredulity breaking into their voices at times—two of the younger maids even hastily smothered a giggle when they dressed her.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, once they had finished, all Effie wanted to do was weep—it all looked wrong.
They had straightened her hair, her make-up was too severe and the white candlewick robe, though beautiful, was too jewelled and too fussy for her heavy figure.
She was a blushing bride, for all the wrong reasons. She was led through the palace and into Zakari’s vast study; dark rugs scattered the floor and an imposing desk was the centrepiece where several men sat, staring solemnly as she entered. The French windows were open, and the heady scent of the ornate gardens filling the room added the only soothing touch to her pounding senses, especially when her gaze fell on her groom.
He looked stunning.
Sheikh King Zakari Al’Farisi took her breath away as she shyly walked over to him. Dressed in the olive military uniform, medals from his exemplary service gleaming, his legs encased in long boots, a silver sword at his side, his head covered in the traditional black and white keffiyeh, he was as imposing as he was beautiful.
And he loved her, Effie reminded herself, clutching her mother’s jewel and wishing she could be here to offer support now, because she was truly terrified. How she longed for him to take her in his arms, to whisper words of reassurance, but all he did was nod a brief greeting as she stood humbly by his side.
‘There are some formalities we have to take care of…’ Zakari gestured that she sit, then did the same, followed by the many men in the room. An array of documents were spread on the heavy table in front of them. ‘As King, you will understand that even a whirlwind marriage like ours comes with an inevitable amount of paperwork that must first be taken care of?’
‘Of course.’
He hadn’t commented on her looks, had barely given her a glance as she had entered and his austere, formal voice was doing nothing to quell her nerves.
‘Normally talks would have been conducted with your father,’ Zakari explained. ‘Obviously that is not possible, so I have done my best on his behalf to see that you will always be well looked after. We have to sign these papers before a judge.’
‘Looked after?’ Effie frowned. She would be his wife—what more could she want?
‘There is the question of mahr…’ Effie’s frown melted away. She knew a little about mahr—a dowry that was paid to the wife. Zakari really was looking after her; she wouldn’t have even thought to ask… ‘This is your personal allowance and this will be your wardrobe allowance. Of course if you need more that will not be a problem, these are just details that must be addressed…’ Zakari showed her the figures that made her eyes water. ‘Then there is muta’ akhir…’ He saw her frown reappear. ‘If we were to divorce—this is the post-divorce dowry, what you would receive from me…’
