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“Hence your insistence on announcing my pregnancy before our official engagement?”
“The announcement will be a joint affair.”
“How lovely.” The entire world would think he was marrying her because she carried his child and potential future heir.
But then, was that any different than the knowledge they were marrying as the result of a political contract between two kings? Probably not. It was her own fault that she’d always considered the other as less important because of her feelings for Zahir.
Talk about burying her head in the sand. “I’d make a fine ostrich,” Angele muttered.
Zahir gave her a quizzical look, but she waved it off and said, “We could do something small fairly quickly.”
Lou-Belia was going to pitch the fit of a lifetime when she realized her only child’s wedding plans had to be rushed and scaled back.
“Small?” Zahir said the word as if doing so pained him. “For the Crown Sheikh of Zohra? I think not.”
“Everything doesn’t have to be done on a world leader scale.” Really, really, it didn’t.
Only the look on his face said it did. “Learn to accept the inevitability of it. We are political leaders, not celebrities to indulge in a secret ceremony on some private island. Our people will expect and deserve the opportunity to celebrate our joy with us.”
“Not to mention assorted world leaders and their hangers-on,” she grumbled as the reality of her change in circumstance began to make itself felt.
“It is inevitable.”
“So, what do you suggest? I would prefer not to waddle down the aisle nine months pregnant.”
“Be assured, it will not be that bad.”
“How bad are you proposing it be?”
“You would be best past this nausea.”
“Agreed.” Fainting on her walk down the aisle was not the impression she wanted to leave with dignitaries and world leaders, much less her future family.
“We are in luck. Usually trying for any event of this magnitude with any less than an entire year of planning would be impossible. Two years would be preferable, but my father is hosting a summit to discuss world oil reserves in two months time. Were we to coordinate the wedding celebrations to coincide with the summit, the important political guests would already be in Zohra.”
There was no room for sentimentality in that scenario, but she accepted that was her own fault. She couldn’t help wondering if they had followed the contract and a regular schedule of engagement and marriage, if it would not have been the same, though.
“Our wedding is a political event.” Which she’d known somewhere in the back of her mind, but had not really given thought to what that meant in the grand scheme of things.
She’d always looked at the Zohra-Jawhar connecting, never considering the further implications to her life.
Zahir was not one of his brothers. He was in fact a Crown Sheikh, uncontested heir to the throne of both an oil and mineral rich country.
“I’ve really messed up, haven’t I?”
He didn’t deny it, but quoted another favorite Arabic proverb. One that was pretty much the equivalent of, it is what it is.
“For all my fantasies and daydreams, I never really considered what being married to you meant,” she admitted.
“Had you attended finishing school rather than university, you would have had training in that regard.”
She forced herself to remember what he’d said on their night together, that an observation was not a criticism. “But you supported my decision to go to university.”
“I knew what marrying me would mean to you.” Again, the shrug was in his voice rather than his shoulders.
“Wouldn’t that make you even more determined I learn my future role?”
“I wanted you to have a chance at a normal life before we wed.”
“But …” Unsure what she wanted to say, she let her voice trail off.
“My mother and aunt have both promised to mentor you in your new role.”
“You’ve accomplished an awful lot in the two hours I slept.” Not that she was surprised by that.
She did know him well enough to know how efficient he was and how very adept at making things work, whether it be a property rights negotiation or a family dinner. It had always been a pleasure to watch him finesse those around him.
She could hardly complain he was doing it to her now.
But he shook his head. “I made the request years ago, when you decided to go to university in America.”
“It’s no coincidence that every trip to Zohra and Jawhar in the past several years has included significant time with the queens.” She’d been flattered, a little nervous and ultimately happy to spend time entertaining others with the respective women.
Though she would have traded that time for time with him in a heartbeat. That wasn’t something she needed to admit to right now, though.
“No coincidence,” he confirmed.
“I thought your mother was just getting to know me.”
“She was, but she was also teaching by example and trying to share knowledge of your future life with you.”
“Sneaky.”
“I prefer subtle. I did not want you overwhelmed by the realities of what your life would be, though I wonder now if we were too subtle.” His expression had gone contemplative. “You have too little understanding of what the role should and will mean for you.”
She couldn’t deny it, but it was still uncomfortable acknowledging that truth. “Maybe you didn’t want me getting cold feet and backing out of the contract.”
“Interestingly enough, I never once considered you would break the contract.” He shrugged and said a word she was pretty sure meant fool in French.
“You are not a fool.”
“I misjudged the character of two important women in my life.”
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_9ff2de0a-7d14-570c-9b40-bb5db8ad21c2)
“ARE you comparing me to Elsa?” Angele asked in a deceptively calm voice, while her temper stirred.
She’d made mistakes, but she was so coldhearted that she would cheat on Zahir and then blithely try her hand at blackmail.
“Only in my false perceptions of you both, not your respective characters.”
Still, Angele felt the need to say, “I did not betray you like she did.”
He quoted another proverb, this one about seeing two sides of the same mountain leading to different impressions of the same thing. So, he read her attempt to walk away as a betrayal. She knew it had made him angry, because he’d admitted it. Understanding the source of that anger, only made it harder to know about.
Horrifically naive, maybe, but she hadn’t meant to let him down.
She turned her head away, looking at the painting over her small fireplace. It was a cheerful impression of jazz musicians on the streets of New Orleans, done after the rebuild of the city. It always infused her with hope. Right now, all she felt was malaise.
Knowing how very deeply she had disappointed
Zahir hurt. “I was protecting myself from a marriage without love, but I thought I was giving you your freedom, too.”
“I accept that.”
“But you don’t accept it was a gift intended to benefit you.” She had not been motivated entirely by beneficence, but she had wanted him to have a better chance at happiness, too.
She hadn’t realized she’d been capable of hurting Zahir, but obviously, she’d been wrong. While his heart might not have been touched, she had dealt a serious blow to his pride and to his sense of honor.
Not to mention his trust in her integrity.
She sighed when he did not answer. “So, we somehow organize a momentous wedding while the world watches in two months time.”
“Just so.”
Apparently he was as willing to move their discussion forward as she was. There was simply no point in rehashing old arguments. Somehow, she would prove to him that she had his best interests at heart. And maybe, in the same space, she would learn to accept that he felt the same.
He’d certainly done his best to protect her and allow her what he thought she needed for happiness. Perhaps, in his mind, the years'-long wait had been as much for her benefit as his.
Moreover, he’d said repeatedly that he believed in fidelity in marriage. Making their engagement official would have required him breaking things off with Elsa. And while it hurt that he had not wanted to do so, Angele thought that Zahir had deserved his slice of happiness not related to his duty or role as future king.
Unfortunately for him, things had ended badly and unquestionably painfully.
If Angele could not be that moment out of time for him, she would show him she could be more. That she, Angele bin Cemal al Jawhar, could be a source of joy in his everyday life.
She would start now, by helping to plan the wedding with grace and as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “I think we need to call in the experts.”
“A wedding planner? The PR department? Our palace event coordinator?” he asked while making notes on his phone.
“All of the above, I’m sure. But I was thinking the queens and my mother. Nobody throws a party like
Lou-Belia.”
Zahir paused and looked up, his gray gaze fixed on her. “I thought you did not wish to speak with your parents this evening.”
“There’s no point in putting it off.” And some very good reasons not to, the chief among that Angele was not a naturally selfish person. “Mom will be hurt if I don’t call her tonight, but we’ll want to coordinate a conference call with her and the queens for tomorrow.”
The buzzer sounded again.
“Impeccable timing,” she said, putting on her game face and getting up to answer the summons, sure it was her parents showing up to share in the happy news.
Zahir’s bodyguard beat her to it and Zahir asked, “Why do you always assume it is your mother when the buzzer sounds?”
“You honestly think King Malik has not already called my father?” she asked in response.
“Most assuredly, but are your parents not on the list of approved visitors for the doorman?”
“Of course, but it’s policy for the doorman to buzz me to let me know I have visitors even if he doesn’t need my approval to let them on the elevators.”
“I see. It is very different than living in a royal palace.”
“Yes, it is, but you’ve stayed in hotels.” “No one gets to me until they’ve been through at least two layers of security. There are no buzzers in my life.”
Not sure he had been joking, Angele laughed anyway. They might have been raised as close as family, but their lives were entirely unrelated in so many ways.
A few moments later the door opened to reveal her obstetrician, not her parents.
Angele gasped as the older woman with salt-and-pepper hair cut in a short stylish look came into the living room. “You make house calls?”
Dr. Shirley gave Zahir a measured look before turning back to Angele. “In your case, I do, apparently.”
“What did you do?” Angele demanded of Zahir.
“I did not conscript her, I assure you.”
Dr. Shirley gave him another strange look. “No, he merely had someone in the White House give me a call and make the request.”
“The White House?” Angele asked in a voice that nearly failed her.
“Yep, it even came up on my caller ID that way. Pretty crazy.” Dr. Shirley sounded somewhere between annoyed and awed. “I’ve never been contacted by my local congressman, much less a White House lackey.”
“What did he say?” Angele asked with unconcealed fascination. She’d never spoken to anyone from the White House, either, though she knew Zahir had attended State dinners there.
“That in the interest of Foreign Relations, I should consider making a personal call on you this evening.”
“That’s wild.”
The other woman laughed. “I thought so, too. Apparently the father of your baby is quite worried about your ongoing nausea.”
Worried enough to make a Federal case out of it, literally.
Angele stored away the warmth that made her feel and said, “I thought we would look into the nausea medication tomorrow.”
“Why wait?” Dr. Shirley said, tongue so obviously firmly in cheek. “I’ve got a prepared hypodermic in my bag.”
“You’re getting a kick out of this,” Angele accused. “Yes, I think I am.”
Angele shook her head and then asked, “It won’t hurt the baby? You’re sure?”
