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

  Calla breezed into the formal dining room, which buzzed with conversation and laughter. Fifteen women. One by one, attention settled on her. Conversation died down. She arrived at the head of the table and executed a textbook-perfect curtsy, which was customary in Amatbah for greeting distinguished members of the tribe. Calla tried to keep her voice level as she called out over the din.

  “Good afternoon, everyone! Thank you for coming to this luncheon today.”

  Chairs scraped; throats were cleared. Plastic smiles came her way.

  “It’s lovely to see all of you again,” Calla said, clasping her hands tightly, partly to keep herself from wilting under the attention. “And some of you, for the first time. I’ve called this luncheon because I’d like to hear your thoughts. As the highest-ranking tribal leaders’ wives, you all have a wealth of information, and I’m eager to learn.”

  Calla went on to explain, in between appetizers being served and ice-cold water being poured, that she was nothing but a proper shiekh’s wife, and she intended to represent their tribal king to the best of her ability. Once her prepared monologue was out of the way, she smiled out at the table. “Now, any thoughts?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence while forks scraped china plates and gazes darted around the table. Finally, Sharisi, who she’d first met just days before, cleared her throat.

  “I think I speak on behalf of all the tribal wives when I say that we are curious and hopeful for you to step out of the shadow of your husband.”

  Her frank words elicited a murmur of approval. Heads nodded, and excitement thrilled through the room.

  “We women want a more active role in this tribe,” another wife, Uli, spoke up, her huge eyes rimmed with kohl. Calla remembered her from the wedding and how she was so enchanted by Calla’s wedding dress. “But that can only happen if you set the precedent.”

  “None of this semi-traditional garbage,” said another.

  “That totally misses the mark,” agreed someone else.

  “Your personal designs are the ones that we need to see more of,” Sharisi added. “Because those dresses are what will lead the way.”

  With the barrage of pointed constructive criticism about her attempts to fit the mold, Calla’s kneejerk reaction was to get upset. But really, the women were hitting the nail on the head. And all of this input could really lead to a lot more.

  While the ladies happily ate stewed beef over leafy greens and jasmine rice, Calla let her mind swirl with possibilities as the wives continued to air their grievances. Not with Calla, but with the tribe overall. It was high time for some changes, but their traditional husbands wouldn’t allow it until the king made his moves. Calla being the Westerner that she was—and clearly a progressive, inspired, creative one at that—was the opening they’d all been waiting for. King Fatim’s first wife had been European, but she’d been mostly absent. The wives never got a chance to even connect with her.

  All of the insights and sometimes borderline gossiping helped Calla in ways the wives maybe couldn’t even imagine. Not only was she creating relationships with these women, she was establishing herself as an authority in the tribe. Thank God Fatim had suggested this.

  By the time the luncheon wrapped up and Calla was headed to Fatim’s office, she was floating on air. She knocked on his office door, awaited that glorious, gruff, “Come in!” and sashayed toward his desk.

  An arched brow awaited her. “I take it the luncheon went well.”

  “Extremely.” She plopped into the chair facing his desk, her skirt billowing out around her. “The wives and I have finally connected. And I understand what the issue was.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was trying too hard to be somebody else,” she said with a wistful smile. “The perfect sheikh’s wife I thought you and they all wanted. But it turns out, they want to see the real me. The one who designs my own non-traditional wedding dress, the one with Western ideas, the one who doesn’t entirely fit into the traditional mold of a king’s wife.”

  Fatim nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face. “This sounds very promising.”

  “And very modern. If the women are ready for change, and the king is ready for modern steps forward, it sounds like the tribe is about to be entering a new era.”

  Fatim expelled a burst of air past his lips. “Perhaps. If I can ever decide on my assistant.”

  Brimming with accomplishment and positivity, Calla leaned forward. “Let me help you solve this. Right now.”

  While Fatim hemmed and hawed about his ideal future assistant, Calla tried to narrow down what he needed and what he didn’t. Someone within the tribe was ideal, and close to Fatim even better, but his youngest brother was out since Nasser had decided to take up the challenge of cultivating donors for the royal charities. Calla thought for a moment, and then had the idea that popped like a spark.

  “What about Taran?”

  Fatim lifted a brow. Taran was the son of a high-ranking tribal leader, and he’d recently started something of an internship with Fatim as part of his university studies. The young man was studying politics—and what better formal experience than the right-hand-man of the king himself?

  “You don’t have to divulge huge secrets on day one or anything,” Calla went on, “But he’s halfway to being your assistant as it is. You should give him a try.”

  Fatim smiled wide, all teeth and dimples, the type that made her chest ache. Working at his side had become something of an unexpected treat. A blessing, really. And it was in moments like these that she was so grateful she’d decided to take the leap and marry this man.

  Fatim came to his feet, bridging the distance between them in just three steps. He cupped her face in his hands, and then pressed his lips to her in a deep, time-stopping kiss.

  “You are quite the genius,” Fatim whispered when they broke apart.

  “I know.” She winked and then sashayed out of his office. This whole royal marriage thing was fun. And she couldn’t wait to see where else it took them. “See you later, king.”

  14

  The next week and a half was a blur of activity. In addition to changing her designing schedule to focus almost entirely on progressive, modern outfits for both men and women, keeping up with the children’s busy schedule, and overseeing various daily tasks in the palace, it turned out that Fatim’s delegation style was still a bit micromanaging. And he still frequently brought to the table the matters that he supposedly had delegated.

  The man had been used to a certain style for his entire rule—it would take time to adjust, she supposed. But he often insisted on reviewing things himself, even when the task was clearly designed for his new assistant, Taran.

  Still, she liked that Fatim felt comfortable enough to turn to her. That she was a confidante—a trusted advisor, in a sense. She relished this aspect of their relationship. Even though the assistance took time away from her designing, she was hesitant to say anything to Fatim. Clearly, if he knew he was demanding too much of her time, he would immediately retreat. But Calla didn’t want that. Not even a little bit.

  Calla knocked gently on his office door for their daily lunch meeting at noon. They’d recently started doing this—having a lush Mediterranean-style spread delivered to his office so they could pick at food while brainstorming for the future. Hummus and carrots—Calla’s favorite—was always on the menu too, along with freshly squeezed cucumber juice—another one of Calla’s preferences—and flatbread.

  Fatim smiled up at her as she came in. She’d never tire of seeing that handsome face waiting for her on the other side of the door. In fact, in recent days, she’d already started dreading The End Of This. That inevitable point when all these newly established routines and sweet moments would vanish, because he no longer needed to be married.

  The very thought of it was too upsetting to entertain for long. She tried to prevent her mind from going there, but the fact that it did betrayed the fact that she was very much enjoying her marriage to
Fatim.

  But was he falling as deeply into it as she was?

  “Just in time,” he said as she settled into her spot in front of the large round table where lunch was laid out. “For the good news.”

  “What’s that?” She hungrily eyed the different plates and poured herself a glass of cucumber juice to start.

  “There’s a new gala on the agenda.” Fatim’s white teeth flashed as he settled in next to her. His cologne wafted her way and her heart sputtered as it always did when she caught a whiff of it. She was attracted to every inch of this man. Even his micromanaging tendencies and the fact that he never, ever remembered to put the toilet seat down.

  “Ooh! What sort of gala?” She spread hummus, spinach and cherry tomatoes across her flatbread and then rolled it up. Fatim always called this the Calla Specialty.

  “One to celebrate the forward direction of the tribe. The merging of the modern and the traditional.” He poured himself a cup of tea. “And believe it or not, this was not my idea. But all of the tribal leaders agreed it should be done.”

  “It sounds amazing.” She took another bite of the flatbread, chewed, and then asked, “So when will it be?”

  “That’s the part we haven’t quite decided on. Consensus is that it should be by the fall. And the other thing we haven’t figured out is who will plan the thing.”

  Calla ran through her mental calendar. Amatbah’s Fashion Week was slated for the fall, and she was technically slated to run her designs, though she hadn’t yet committed to how many.

  “I would like to oversee it myself, since this is a very big event. A very big event,” he said. “But I just don’t think I can stretch myself any thinner.”

  Calla finished her flatbread wrap and touched his hand. “Fatim. You know I will.”

  He expelled a burst of air past his lips. “I can’t ask you to take this on.”

  “You’re not asking me. I’m offering.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, swirling a spoon in his tea. “But do you think you’re capable of overseeing something this large, with everything else going on?”

  “Of course.” She swatted away his concern. “We planned a wedding in a week. This is over a month away. I got this.”

  “But you had me helping with the wedding,” Fatim countered.

  “True, but this is important to you, and I’m your right-hand woman,” she said, sending him a grin. Truthfully, the additional responsibilities made panic wind through her, but helping Fatim was of the highest importance. It was her duty as his wife, as his advisor, as his lover.

  She was making progress on being a people pleaser, but she would always want to please Fatim, no matter how much progress she made.

  “I’m helping give you your time back,” Calla said when his doubtful look didn’t pass. “I can handle this. I’ll even delegate responsibilities if I need to.”

  A small grin snaked its way over Fatim’s face, and he finally reached for the spoon in the small bowl of rice. “All right, Queen Calla. If you say so.”

  Calla whipped up another Calla Specialty, feeling even more accomplished. Earning her spot in the palace was one thing, but earning Fatim’s respect, his adoration, and even his love was a priority of the highest order.

  She didn’t want this arrangement to end.

  Not ever.

  When dinner rolled around, Calla was conspicuously absent. The kids asked after her, and Fatim wasn’t sure what to tell them. When she still didn’t show up after the kids’ plates were half-cleared, Fatim decided to investigate. This wasn’t like her, and truthfully, he wanted to see her. Six hours apart since their lunch meeting was just a bit too much for his liking. Sometimes it seemed like he could have her at his side constantly and it might still not be enough.

  “Children,” he said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Finish eating. I’ll be back quickly.” Fatim advised the nearest palace employee to keep an eye on the kids while he stepped out for a moment, and he headed straight for the royal tents.

  Of all places, he figured she’d be there: her design outpost, her creative sanctuary, the sprawling series of tents that gave birth to her newest line of designs.

  He pushed aside the heavy flap and immediately spotted her, hunched over the sewing kit while her friend and assistant, Rasha, organized something on a nearby shelf.

  “There you are,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he sauntered in. Rasha whipped around, a shocked look sliding over her face, followed by a big smile. “Hello, Rasha.”

  “Hi, King Fatim,” she said in a whispery voice.

  “Hey. Yeah, just finishing up a new idea I had.” Her tongue poked between her lips as she held up what she’d been working on. It looked like a tube top, but who knew what it might turn into. “Is dinner almost ready?”

  “Almost finished, actually.”

  Calla’s mouth parted, and he hurried to add, “Don’t worry. The kids are eating. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t hungry or needing anything. Don’t feel rushed to join.”

  She tutted, setting the fabric down. “I didn’t mean to miss dinner.”

  “It’s fine, honey,” he said. His insides seized immediately. The honey had just popped out. “Finish what you’re doing. I’ll be in the dining room waiting.”

  She sent him a private smile, and he waved to Rasha before leaving the tent. While he made sure to measure his steps, to keep the cool smile plastered on his face as he made his way back to the dining room, his insides were roiling. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her honey. The first—and only, until now—time had been purely for show, when he’d walked in on Calla talking to her mother on video chat. He thought the sweet touch would help him, in case her mother objected to the rapid wedding.

  But now? This was just because he felt close to her. And that was concerning.

  His only game plan until now had been to keep her as far away from him as possible, in an emotional sense. But over time, she’d slowly wheedled her way into his business circle, and now all the lines were blurred. They had amazing sex, and not because it was required. She looked at him fondly, and not because he demanded it. He called her honey, and not because anybody was watching them to see if they were truly in love.

  So where did it end? What came after this?

  You need to keep her on the business level, or else all hell will break loose. He used the words as a threat against himself. As if it might help stave off the burgeoning feelings unfurling in his core.

  When Calla came into the dining room, he was on his second glass of whiskey and totally lost in his thoughts. She popped her head into the kitchen to inform the cook she’d arrived before curling up on the love seat beside him, in the alcove where the big windows overlooked the gardens.

  “I’m late,” she said, squeezing his thigh. “Very late.”

  “You had a lot of work to get done.” The alcohol loosened him enough that he slung his arm over the back of the loveseat, inviting her closer. But it didn’t erase the conclusion he’d come to just an hour before. Of needing to reiterate their emotional distance. To keep things strictly business.

  “I did,” she agreed, letting her head fall back. Her hair brushed his hand, and he absent-mindedly fingered some of the loose, silky strands.

  “You know, maybe we should give you some of your time back,” Fatim said. “We can find some more help for the kids.”

  Her eyebrows formed a hard line. “But that’s my job. That’s the job you hired me for.”

  “But if you need more time—”

  “I wouldn’t feel right taking the time and money to design if I didn’t earn it,” she said, a tone to her voice that didn’t allow for any questions. He admired her standing up for herself. In fact, it kicked the warmth licking through his veins up to a boil. He leaned closer, draping his arm over her shoulders.

  “Well, if you won’t compromise on your job duties,” he said softly, teasingly, “Then maybe you should stop taking on so many ext
ra things for me.”

  She swatted at his shoulder but nuzzled up to him anyway. “I won’t stop helping. I want to help you because I love you.”

  Silence slammed down between them once those words popped out of her mouth. Fatim knew he’d frozen but couldn’t act quickly enough to recover. To make things continue flowing.

  Her words were a boulder in the smooth train track they’d been following.

  Calla rolled her lips inward, nervous gaze skating over his face before it landed on the small table in front of them. A moment later, the cook arrived with her plate. He set the tray down in front of her, and the two of them watched the steaming food for what felt like forever.

  He didn’t know how to play this one. He didn’t know where to go from here.

  Because he didn’t do love. Not with her, not with his previous wife, not with anyone other than his brothers and his children.

  If he wanted to stay an effective ruler, love had to stay out of his life.

  “I’ll let you eat your meal,” Fatim finally said, his voice sticking in his throat. It was the best he could do. He certainly wouldn’t be returning those words to her.

  Calla just nodded and stuck her fork into the pile of basmati rice.

  Fatim downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table with a thunk before he took his leave. With each step out of the dining room, the weight of her confession bore down on him.

  This had started out the perfect arrangement, and now it was the worst.

  She’d fallen for him, and he would never allow himself to return it.

  15

  Two days spent in the interminable abyss of unrequited love, and Calla was ready to throw in the towel.

  It wasn’t like she needed Fatim to say it back to her. She loved him whether or not he loved her back. But the fact that he wouldn’t address it, would barely even look at her, just drove home the point that she had been terribly mistaken about what she thought was growing between them.