The Sheikh’s Wife Arrangement: The Safar Sheikhs Series Book One Read online

  “That doesn’t mean blasting it across the country for everyone to choke on,” Fatim shouted.

  Calla put her hands on her hips, staring him down from across the room. She had a blouse in her hand, high-waisted pants stopping just a few inches below her bra. Arguing half-naked, like all couples of the world. “Tell me something, Fatim. Do you love me?”

  Fatim turned, feeling a sick wave of something course through him. He knew his answer—yes—which was why he needed to turn away from her. Stop having sex. Put up as many emotional boundaries between them as possible.

  “Do you?” Calla reiterated once he’d disappeared into the walk-in closet.

  He took a moment before answering, tugging a black kaftan off the hanger. When he emerged, he stared her down. “A good ruler doesn’t fall in love. And I plan on being the best ruler there is.”

  Calla huffed and stormed out of the bedroom, blouse in hand. He just watched her go, heart hammering.

  She wouldn’t like it, but there was no other option.

  This was his tribe. His palace.

  His rules.

  Love just didn’t fit into the scheme of things.

  17

  Calla felt like a helium balloon released into the atmosphere. Going up, up, up until one day she just popped. Exploding into a mess of mylar and wasted ascent.

  Heartbreak hurt worse from inside a marriage, she decided. Her heart had only been broken once before, but that paled in comparison to this.

  And after Fatim delivered the decisive blow, she finally knew the answer to her question about who was the stupid one.

  She was. The girl who dared to think that her business relationship could ever turn from temporary to happily-ever-after.

  She flitted around for a day, spacy and disoriented, before she knew what the next step had to be. She needed to drop the gala planning, drop all the extra duties that she’d taken on in the name of supporting Fatim, and let him be the ruler he wanted to be. Besides, she had a Fashion Week to prepare for. She’d lost sight of that while falling head over heels for this man.

  Calla delivered the news that night at dinner after the kids had started playing in the corner. Without looking at him, she said, “I plan on stepping back from the gala planning. The wives will handle it from here. I don’t see any reason for us to continue our luncheons, either.”

  Fatim didn’t fight it, which felt like another round of heartbreak. He was fine with it. He couldn’t care less. All of this partnership and fighting together for the common good—it was all an illusion. One she’d been too eager to dupe herself into.

  The final step of her plan came in her retreat from the marital bed. She moved back to her own bedroom. Palace gossips be damned.

  Fatim’s first question finally came the next morning. He showed up at her bedroom after their first night apart. He didn’t look well rested.

  “Are you planning on staying here from now on?” he asked.

  She sniffed, nodding. “I don’t see why I should share a room with you.”

  His jaw worked back and forth as he leaned in the doorway. “Because you’re my wife.”

  “No. I’m an overpaid nanny, posing as a wife. Please, let’s call it what it is.”

  Fatim’s lips turned downward but Calla couldn’t afford to care anymore. She needed to do what was best for her. Fulfill her job functions and wait it out. It was the only way she’d come out alive—and whole—on the other end of this marriage.

  “We need to keep up appearances,” he said in a low voice.

  “You can tell them that I snore,” Calla went on, surprised by the finality in her voice and the way these hard words were just flowing out of her now. “My CPAP machine disturbs you. It’s better for the tribe if you sleep alone.”

  He sighed tersely. “Calla.”

  “This is the arrangement that will work best for me.” She forced the waver from her voice. So he could feel every inch of how serious she was. “Ask me again, and you’ll hear that ‘no’ you’ve been looking for.”

  Fatim didn’t try again. He quietly retreated from the doorway, eyes darker than she’d ever seen before.

  Calla dedicated all her free time to her designs for Fashion Week. The tribal women who weren’t roped into the gala planning were roped into Calla’s designs. It was all hands on deck as she worked tirelessly to bring her creations to life. They joked that Rasha had turned into the Royal Director of Bead Sorting, with how much time she spent directing others on how to separate beads according to Calla’s preferences.

  Two weeks passed like this. Getting the kids ready for school, sewing, helping the kids with homework, and more sewing. She only saw Fatim briefly for dinner most nights, and she spoke to him as little as possible.

  It was the only way she could cut herself off from him while still needing to share the same house as him.

  But her determination and single-minded focus paid off. With just weeks left before Fashion Week was set to begin, Calla was able to put the finishing touches on her grand finale design. A half-sheer, half-shimmer, form-fitting, off the shoulder dress that had been inspired by her own wedding dress.

  And once she sewed the last seam of the dress, she sat back in the amber lighting of the royal tent. Alone, stressed, and tired. Staring at the dress only to realize that it was one hundred percent a creation that Fatim would love.

  That she would have loved to wear for him.

  She brought the hem to her lips and cried softy into the sheer fabric.

  Maybe it didn’t matter how cold she was or how much time she gave it.

  Maybe Fatim would always own a piece of her heart.

  He would always be her king.

  Fatim was ready for the gala seemingly light years before the rest of his family. Calla insisted on preparing Nara herself, and since Rashid didn’t want to be anywhere that Calla wasn’t, that meant that Fatim was locked out of the mini-family meeting taking place inside Calla’s room.

  He paced outside the door of her bedroom for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was only fifteen minutes, as the frequent glances at his wristwatch attested.

  From down the hall, the muted undertones of the gala could be heard. The melodic, almost whiny notes of a sitar. Laughter broken by bursts of conversation. Fatim checked his watch again. Nara screeched from inside. God, he wished he could be in there. If anything, to watch Calla as she got ready.

  Fatim hadn’t yet said out loud how much he missed Calla, but it pulsed and swelled inside him, begging to be let out. He feared admitting it, because admitting it meant he’d broken his own number-one rule. But damn, that woman had lent a distinct grace to his daily sphere. And now he felt the lack of her sweetness, her special touch, in spades.

  Maybe breaking his own rule wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  In his weaker moments—like at midnight in bed alone, wishing for all the world she were at his side—he fantasized about what he’d tell her. What words he’d use to bring her closer to him. To invite that warmth, that gentleness, back into his hardened and rigid life.

  Because that’s what it was about for him. In Calla’s absence, he was better able to see exactly how integral her touch was to his happiness.

  He wasn’t better off without her or her love. He actually needed her. To be the best man he could be.

  Her love contributed to the best version of Fatim the king. He’d been mulling it over for the past two weeks. Trying to figure out how two plus two could still equal five according to his old ways of thinking.

  If staying out of love was best for the tribe, but Calla’s love made him whole, then how could both versions of Fatim continue to exist?

  He spent his idle moments recalling what he loved about her. The way she brightened up the room the second she breezed in. The soft smiles she’d send his way, just for him, that reminded him that things were fine and together they would find the way. The scent of her, amber and mahogany, that could send him to his knees in these weeks since she�
�d stepped away from him. Since she’d found that voice he’d urged her to find.

  He still had her scarf. The one she’d left behind while watching the kids when they got sick. And hell if that scarf didn’t have a permanent residence underneath the pillow she used to use.

  Like luring her back to him, via totem.

  He was looking forward to the gala for one reason only: the chance to be near her again, to touch her, in the interest of playing the part. The part they’d played all too well in private, when nobody expected them to, when nobody at all was even watching.

  Calla’s door opened, and his breath disappeared. The most beautiful sight in the world greeted him: his Calla and his two children. He didn’t know what to pay attention to first. Nara jumped toward him, the shimmery gold of her kaftan accentuating the gold tinsel laced through her dark hair. Calla had applied makeup, but tastefully, and his throat tightened.

  “Look at my little girl,” he said, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Nara and she giggled into his ear.

  “Mommy—I mean Calla—does makeup sooo good, doesn’t she?” Nara made this mistake sometimes, and Fatim couldn’t blame her. Calla was basically a mommy to her. Both kids understood that she was their nanny and daddy’s wife, but that didn’t mean the special word didn’t slip out from time to time.

  “Papa, look at this! Look at this!” Rashid tugged on his sleeve next, inviting him to check out his small formal kaftan. His brown alligator shoes pointed out from beneath his slacks. Fatim pulled him into a hug as well.

  “You both look amazing,” he said, coming to his feet. He swept his gaze up to Calla, and his voice dried up completely. If they looked amazing, then she looked otherworldly. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a low, elegant bun, small tendrils hanging down the sides of her face. Her honey-brown eyes were rimmed with kohl, accentuating her Middle Eastern side.

  And her dress. Oh, her dress. It was part sheer, part shimmer, and one hundred percent Calla. It hugged those hips that he loved to squeeze, traced the elegant curve of her ribcage on up to her neck. Despite the blatant modernity of it, she’d somehow managed to incorporate something that still felt like Amatbah there.

  This woman was incredible. And gorgeous. And looking at him like she was about to pass out.

  “Calla,” he whispered.

  “Hi,” she said, forcing a grin. But it fell quickly. The way all her smiles did since he’d been so cold to her, so blatantly honest in his bedroom that day.

  “You look…” Words failed him. He dragged his gaze up and down her body, trying but failing to find anything that even came close.

  Calla rolled her bright red lips inward. He reached out for her cheek, running a thumb along her jawline.

  “Stunning,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. The kids scampered down the hall, showing off their clothing to passing palace employees. Their laughter and conversation receded to a dull murmur as Fatim’s world shrank to encompass only Calla.

  “Well, thank you,” she said, nervousness flitting in her gaze. “This is going to be my grand finale dress for Fashion Week.”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and she tried to step past him, but he grabbed at her wrist. Her gaze shot up to meet his, and there were question marks there.

  “Don’t go,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “We need to talk.”

  Emotions roiled inside of him. Something about seeing Calla in her element, in her highest state of grace and elegance, had cracked him wide open. And in this moment he knew—this was the woman for him. The love that he’d been denying himself. The only way that anything made sense or could truly work around here.

  “We should go to the gala,” Calla said, but her voice lacked urgency. She wanted to stay right here with him, he could tell.

  “The gala will wait for the king and queen,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Calla, please forgive me.”

  She jerked her gaze down. “For what? For being honest?”

  He brought her hands to his chest. The sweet amber scent accosted him, and he could have melted into her arms. “I was being honest, but I was also being blind.”

  She pouted a little but didn’t say anything else.

  He searched her face, trying to find the best way to elaborate on his feelings. He sputtered until he found the quickest route: “I love you.”

  She blinked rapidly, meeting his gaze, question marks swirling. “What?”

  “I love you, Calla. And I’m sorry for being a terrible jerk.” The breath whooshed out of him, and suddenly everything felt easier. Like these words were equal part confession and atonement, righting the wrongs he’d accumulated over the past several weeks. “I need you. I miss you. And I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t feel that way.”

  Tears filled her eyes immediately, and a look so tender and honest creased her face that Fatim thought even he might cry.

  “Are you serious?” she whispered.

  “I wouldn’t be telling you this right now if I weren’t,” he said, laughing a little, feeling his own throat tighten. This was absurd. But this was his Calla. She brought emotions and beauty and sweetness to his world. And his world had needed a hefty dose of that since he had closed himself off years ago. “You know me. I’d much rather never say the L word at all.”

  She frowned. “But Fatim. I don’t want you to say it just because you know I want to hear it.”

  He shushed her. “That’s not the case at all. I’m saying this because I feel it.” He paused, willing his voice to come out even. “You’re the first woman I’ve allowed myself to love, Calla. And it’s different for me. A little scary. But if I try with anyone, it should be you.”

  Her chin wobbled and suddenly her arms were around him. She hugged his waist so hard he wheezed.

  “Calla, honey,” he said.

  “Oh, Fatim,” she wailed, and when she looked up, he realized she was crying. “Hearing those words from you is worth ruining my makeup!”

  The kids were back now, hopping circles around the two of them. Nara urged them to go to the gala, they were late, what were they standing here hugging for?

  “Give us a moment, children,” Fatim said softly. The kids skittered off again, and he and Calla started rocking back and forth slowly.

  “I thought I was going to die without you,” she murmured into his chest. “But I did get a lot of sewing done.”

  “That’s not going to change. You’re not here to be my servant. You’re here to be you. My beautiful Calla.” He kissed the top of her head, and then her forehead. She pulled back, and they shared a kiss so deep and meaningful that his chest got tight. “Now be honest. Do you still love me?”

  She nodded, eyes watery and wide as she hooked her arms around his neck. “I’ll always love you, Fatim. I’m your queen. For now and forevermore.”

  Fatim swallowed a knot in his throat. He hadn’t expected the rush of relief to hear those words. He captured her lips in a kiss, one that confirmed their passion and their future.

  “I love you, Calla Safar,” he whispered into her ear. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure I tell you that.”

  He brought the backs of her hands to her lips, and then he led her down the hallway to catch up with Nara and Rashid.

  His little family was perfect. And now his tribe would have the ruler they deserved.

  One who was whole.

  One who was in love.

  EPILOGUE

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Calla glanced up at Fatim. She was on her knees before him, a position she’d known well in her early days as the royal seamstress, and later on as the royal wife. She smirked when he started snapping his fingers.

  He was nervous. And it was terribly cute.

  “Hold still,” she mumbled around a pin sticking out of her mouth. Just one final alteration. That was it. And then his piece for Fashion Week would be complete.

  He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. His gaze skated betwe
en the hem of his pants and the doorway leading from his dressing room the backstage area. His first Fashion Week last year starred him as her male model. It had been such a big hit that there was no question he needed to remain Amatbah’s royal model. It brought the women in in droves. Looking out on all their gaga faces as he strode down the catwalk inspired a special type of pride and satisfaction that she didn’t expect to replicate in this life.

  “Honey. You’re going to be fine,” she said, stifling a laugh. This was the one thing in the world that set him on edge. For all the crises he handled on a daily basis, she’d thought walking down a runway would be a piece of cake.

  “Yes, but you’re not the one staring down all those cameras and lights,” he said. “All I can think, every single step, is don’t trip.”

  She snickered, pinning back the final piece. She sat back on her heels, looking at that year’s iteration on the masculine kaftan. Burnt orange with a shade of sienna that could only be described as sexy.

  Or maybe that was just because her husband was wearing it.

  “Darling, there’s five minutes until you go on!” Calla’s mother’s shrill voice broke through her sweet thoughts. Her mother visited her homeland far more frequently now that Calla was the queen of it. And her mother didn’t miss Fashion Week, not for anything in the world. Especially now that Calla had the headlining spot. Not because of her connections—like marrying the king—but because her designs were truly the most popular.

  “Fatim, you look wonderful,” her mother added, sending the king a tight grin. “It’s time for you to get in line now.”

  Calla fought a smile as she glanced up at Fatim. Her mother had taken to the royal-mother-in-law position extremely well. Luckily, Fatim liked the occasional henpecking and intrusion. Since his own parents had been gone for so long, Calla could tell that he appreciated the warmth of having an involved mother.

  Fatim helped her to her feet, and they shared a quick, sweet kiss.