The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс

a smile. ‘In any case, marrying you is not a sacrifice.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘We are friends, are we not? And we have enjoyed each other’s bodies. Neither of us wants anything more.’ He smiled, reached out to touch her face. ‘It’s a match made in heaven.’

      ‘That’s an about-face if I’ve ever seen one,’ she huffed.

      ‘I admit, your proposal shocked me. I reacted emotionally rather than sensibly.’

      ‘I didn’t think you had emotions.’

      ‘You know I do, Elena.’ His gaze seemed to burn into hers. ‘I will be honest. This—’ he gestured between them ‘—scares me.’

      Elena felt as if a giant fist had taken hold of her heart. ‘It scares me too, Khalil.’

      ‘So that is why we will agree to this convenient marriage,’ he answered with a small smile. ‘Because neither of us wants to be hurt again.’

      ‘Right,’ Elena agreed, but to her own ears her voice sounded hollow. They didn’t want to be hurt again—but she wondered if she or Khalil would be able to keep themselves from it.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      ELENA GAZED OUT of the window of the royal jet at the perfect azure sky and marvelled at how quickly things had changed. Just forty-eight hours earlier she’d been sobbing into her pillow, stuck in the middle of the desert with no possibilities and no hope.

      Now she was flying back to Thallia with Khalil by her side, planning a wedding in just a few days’ time, and everything was possible.

      Well, almost everything. She snuck a sideways glance at Khalil who sat opposite her, his face looking as if it had been chiselled from marble. A deep frown had settled between his brows and his mouth was its usual hard line. He’d barely spoken to her since he’d reconsidered her marriage proposal, a proposal which Elena had wondered more than once whether she should have accepted.

      Yet in the moment before she’d agreed, when he’d been waiting for her answer, she’d seen a look of uncertainty on his face, almost as if he were bracing himself for a blow. As if he expected her to reject him.

      That moment of vulnerability had been gone in an instant, but it still lingered in Elena’s mind. In her heart. Because it made Khalil a man with softness and secrets, a man she was starting to understand and know better and better.

      Which, Elena acknowledged, violated the terms of this very convenient marriage. It was what she had first suggested, after all. If some contrary, feminine part of her wanted something different, something more...well, too bad.

      She had other, more important things to think about. Like the fact that she was going to face her Council in just a few hours, and with a different fiancé in tow. She glanced again at Khalil, grateful that he’d agreed to accompany her to Thallia and marry in a private ceremony in the palace. It had made sense, rather than something furtive and hurried in the desert; both of them wanted this marriage to be accepted by the public as quickly as possible.

      After she’d presented him to her Council, they’d return to Siyad and Khalil would demand Aziz call the referendum. Khalil had told her Aziz had retreated with his bride to a remote royal palace for his honeymoon. The announcement from the palace had simply said the Sheikh had wed, not the name of his bride. Siyad buzzed with speculation, but no one knew what was really going on. Khalil had said Aziz was just buying time. Things would come to a head when they returned from Thallia and Elena hoped that both of their countries—and thrones—would be secure.

      Even then she didn’t know what life with Khalil would look like, or even where or how they would live. She and Aziz had discussed all these details, outlined everything in a twenty-page document that had been drawn up by lawyers from both of their countries.

      But everything with Khalil was unknown. Looking at his grim expression, she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss it now.

      Instead she tried to plan what she would say to her Council. To Markos. No doubt he’d be contemptuous of her sudden change of groom. Perhaps he would claim she was being deceived by Khalil, as she had been by Paulo.

      She thought of all the things Markos could say, all the contempt he could pour on her, and in Khalil’s presence, and inwardly she cringed.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Khalil asked, turning to fix her with a narrowed gaze, and Elena realised her reaction had been visible too.

      ‘Nothing...’ she began, only to acknowledge she would have to tell Khalil about her mistakes. Better to hear it from her than Markos.

      And actually, she realised, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to be honest, to share her burden with someone. To trust him with the truth.

      ‘Elena?’ Khalil prompted, and she took a deep breath.

      ‘Khalil...I need to tell you some things.’

      His gaze swept over her. ‘All right.’

      Elena took another deep breath. She wanted to tell Khalil, but it was still hard. ‘I was young when I became queen,’ she began. ‘As you know. My parents had just died and I suppose I was feeling...vulnerable. Lonely.’

      ‘Of course you were, Elena.’ His face softened in sympathy. ‘You’d had an isolated childhood and then you lost the two people who were closest to you.’

      ‘Even if they weren’t all that close.’

      ‘Still, they were your parents. You loved them, and they loved you.’

      ‘Yes.’ She nodded, feeling a sudden, surprising peace about what Khalil had so simply and surely stated. Her parents had loved her. No matter how little they might have shown it during their lives, they’d loved her in their own way.

      ‘So what happened when you became queen?’ he asked after a moment, his voice gentle, and Elena gave him a rather shaky smile.

      ‘My mother’s brother, Paulo, came to stay with me after the funeral. I hadn’t known him very well—he spent most of his time in Paris or Monte Carlo. I don’t think my father liked him all that much. He’d stayed away, in any case.’

      ‘And after the funeral?’

      ‘He was very kind to me.’ She sighed, a weary acceptance and regret coursing through her. ‘He was funny and charming and in some ways he felt like the father I’d never had. The one I’d always wanted. Approachable. Genuine. Or so I thought.’

      ‘He wasn’t, I presume.’ Khalil’s frown deepened. ‘This is the man who betrayed you.’

      ‘Yes, he did, yet I trusted him. I listened to him, and I came to him for advice. The Council didn’t want me to rule—Andreas Markos had tried to appoint himself as Regent.’

      ‘But you’re of age.’

      ‘He made the case that I didn’t have enough political experience. And he was right, you know. I didn’t. I’d gone to a few royal functions, a few balls and events and things. But I didn’t have the first clue about laws or policies. About anything real or important.’

      ‘You learned, though. I’ve read some of the bills you helped draft online, Elena. You’re not a pretty princess sitting on her throne, you’re an active head of government.’

      ‘Not at first.’

      ‘The Council should have given you time to adjust to your new role.’

      ‘Well, they didn’t, not really.’

      Khalil shook his head. ‘So what happened with Paulo?’

      ‘He advised me on some real-estate deals: government subsidies for tourist developments on our coastal region. I thought he was helping me, but he was just lining his own pockets.’