Royal Weddings. Annie West

while Sofia had packed, keeping the boys constructively amused.

      Celeste would tell her she contributed with her fashion designs and charity donations. But there was something innately satisfying about the simple act of caring for this little family.

      She breathed deep, knowing it was time to move. The boys were ready for bed and the longer she stayed the harder it would be to leave. What had begun as a simple invitation to wait for Tariq and meet his boys in the meantime had turned into something far more complex, at least for her eager heart.

      She opened her eyes to find Tariq standing over her. He didn’t smile and his look was intent, as if he saw right inside her, to longings and regrets she kept strictly private. She felt caught out, at a disadvantage sprawled on the floor, her unguarded emotions too close to the surface.

      Abruptly her heart leapt in her breast. Her pulse fluttered as he bent, his hands briefly brushing her as he scooped up Adil, now fast asleep, then left the room with the nanny following.

      The gleam in Tariq’s clear green gaze unravelled something within her. Something she didn’t want to feel. It made her feel too vulnerable. She was still grappling with that, her breath coming too fast, when he returned, lifting a sleepy Risay and taking him to the bedroom.

      Quickly she sat up, twisting up her hair into some semblance of order, frantically scanning the floor for her shoes.

      ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long.’ Tariq’s low voice came while she was on her hands and knees, peering under a settee.

      Abruptly she sat back, feeling flushed and dishevelled, especially when Tariq looked just as debonair as ever. A lot of big men couldn’t pull that off, appearing either too lean and lanky or so heavy-set you knew they’d run to fat with age. By contrast Tariq was perfectly proportioned and frighteningly attractive.

      Samira’s heartbeat skidded into a kick start. It was as well he hadn’t agreed to marry her—that was clear from his carefully neutral expression. She didn’t like the way her body behaved when he was around.

      Samira scrambled to her feet, brushing down her dress, noticing for the first time sticky patches where the boys had shared their food.

      ‘No doubt you had more important business to attend to.’ More important than declining her proposal. Her mouth tightened.

      Only sheer doggedness had made her wait despite the lengthy delay. She was determined to make him say the words to her face, despite the temptation to avoid further embarrassment and slink away. She tilted her chin. She was a princess of Jazeer. She would see this through.

      ‘You don’t understand.’

      ‘There’s no need to explain.’ He’d already made his position clear. ‘I understand perfectly.’

      ‘There’s a crisis in Al Sarath. I’ve been dealing with it long-distance.’

      Samira froze. ‘A crisis?’

      ‘One of the provinces has been hit by severe flash flooding in the mountain ravines. It’s wiped away whole villages.’

      Samira sucked in her breath, indignation fading as the import of his words hit. The mountain provinces were the poorest in his country. She remembered adobe houses perched in arid gullies so steep they became death traps on the rare occasions distant mountain rains brought unaccustomed water.

      ‘I’m so sorry.’ Guilt pierced at her petty indignation. No wonder he was late! ‘You must be wishing you were there.’

      He nodded, his expression sombre. ‘We fly out soon. I need to be on the ground.’

      ‘Then I won’t keep you.’ Relief filled her as she spied her shoes beneath a jumble of wooden blocks.

      ‘You don’t want to hear my decision?’

      His voice stopped her as she bent, reaching for her discarded heels. Slowly she straightened. There was no chance Tariq would change his mind. He’d been dead set against the idea, even outraged. And now... She looked up into a penetrating stare that gave nothing away. He didn’t look like a man about to grant her wish.

      He was so stern, as if she represented a problem he had to tackle.

      Again she wondered if Tariq would go behind her back to her brother, warning him she was going off the rails.

      The idea almost made her smile. Asim had worried about her for too long—not because she was wildly kicking over the traces, but because she buried herself in her work instead of ‘embracing life’. She knew he secretly feared she hadn’t fully recovered from what had happened four years before. Surely propositioning his best friend counted as embracing life?

      ‘Of course I want to hear. That’s why I’m here.’ But she refused to feel even a scintilla of hope. He’d given her no encouragement, not even a smile.

      She almost began to be thankful. It had been a lunatic idea. Imagine her and Tariq...

      He closed the space between them with one long stride, making her more aware than ever of their physical differences. Barefoot, she scarcely came up to his shoulder.

      One large, warm hand closed around hers, lifting it high. Tariq bent his head, the light catching the blue-black sheen of his thick hair. Samira felt the press of surprisingly soft lips on the back of her hand as he made a courtly gesture that sent a shocking thrill right through her body.

      Her breath was a sudden hiss, her lungs pumping like bellows as he lifted his eyes to hers. This time his expression wasn’t grim or guarded. It was full of anticipation.

      ‘You honour me greatly with your proposal, Princess Samira.’ He smiled and the world tilted around them. ‘I accept with pleasure. We’ll be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘AT LAST! AFTER five days of celebrating we finally get to the wedding. These royal events are a real test of stamina.’

      Samira looked at her sister-in-law, Jacqui, lounging on a couch, taking a glossy cherry from a silver bowl.

      ‘How can you eat?’ Samira’s stomach was performing a nervous twist and dip that would have done an Olympic diver proud.

      She had to call on all her years of training to sit still, rather than shift edgily and risk smearing the intricate henna patterns being painted on her hands and feet. Two ladies-in-waiting sat before her, creating the traditional designs.

       Bridal designs.

      For the first time, today, the wedding became real.

      The official functions so far had been comfortingly familiar, like untold numbers of royal celebrations she’d attended in the past. Why that should be comforting, Samira didn’t know. This marriage was her idea. It would be wonderful for all of them: her, Tariq and the boys.

      Yet suddenly today she felt ridiculously wobbly.

      Bridal nerves were normal, she assured herself. Even if she wasn’t a bride in the usual sense.

      Most brides looked forward to a night in their new husband’s arms.

      Her insides cramped and the skin at her nape prickled. Samira’s brain seized at the thought of complicating this carefully planned arrangement with sex. Already she felt she walked a knife edge. Her unbidden physical awareness of Tariq was a constant undercurrent. As if there was a disconnect between her mind, that knew intimacy would be a mistake, and her body, that trembled at his touch.

      ‘You think I should stop eating because of the upcoming banquet?’ Jacqui shook her tawny head ruefully. ‘I never used to have much of an appetite.’ Her other hand slipped to the baby bump barely visible beneath her aquamarine top. ‘But I’ve never been so hungry.’

      ‘Except last time you were pregnant.’

      ‘You’re