The Desert Lord’s Bride

Eleven

Farah stared at the man she’d seen only once before.

His face, a desert warrior’s, one who’d weathered the brutality of nature and the tests of power and position, had been carved in her memory, demanding to be acknowledged as her father’s.

He was telling her he wasn’t her father after all.

His eyes were heavy with regret as he elaborated. “Evidence of your paternity was required to introduce you into the royal family, to complete the pact with Judar. We obtained a hair sample from your residence. DNA results were conclusive.”

Conclusive. Just as everything she’d been too upset or hurt to fully register, let alone acknowledge, became.

In spite of her shock and resistance, with her mother so distant and the vacuum of Francois Beaumont’s loss still gaping inside her, she’d been increasingly comforted thinking the king was her father, right up until he’d sprung the arranged marriage on her. And in spite of her pain and humiliation, she’d known she’d have no life without Shehab, had yearned to marry him for whatever reason, had hoped he’d meant even a fraction of his protestations. That one day, what had started as a duty for him might turn out to be a real and satisfying relationship.

Now she had no father.

And Shehab wasn’t duty-bound to marry her.

It was over.

She closed her eyes and begged silently for the pain to just finish her.

But something like a butchered bird flapped inside her chest. She tried to still its struggle, to no avail.

It kept screeching that maybe now that the king had no daughter, the two kingdoms would find another way to forge their alliance, and Shehab would be with her for a while longer…

“But my real daughter has been found.”

She lurched as the king’s words impaled the wild hope, killing it on the spot. And the king was going on, every word twisting the knife further.

“It turned out her mother-your mother-had given her up for adoption.” His burdened gaze turned to Farah’s mother, who was looking as if she was about to faint. “Then she married Francois Beaumont, adopted you, a two-year-old daughter, as a substitute for the daughter she couldn’t forgive herself for giving up.”

He then looked at the squirming woman by his side who was clearly his blood. “My sister was the one who adopted Aliyah, raised her as my niece among her family even if not in her rightful place. During the latest upheavals, she finally came forward, and another DNA test has just proven her allegation.” King Atef’s gaze settled on Farah, more pained than ever. “I regret all this more than I can say, but Aliyah is my daughter. And Shehab must now marry her at once.”

Shehab. His embrace had been surrounding her with his strength and presence all along. Only the consecutive blows had distracted her from homing in on his reactions to the shocking developments.

But she’d never seen into his heart as she’d been so certain, so giddily, ecstatically, stupidly certain, she had.

He kept insisting he’d never deceived her about his emotions, that the cruelties he’d uttered had been the only outright lies he’d ever told her.

But he took his duty to marry for the throne very seriously. He could have been making the best of this mess, placating the woman who’d be his wife, to smooth the course of the marriage Bill had described as forever.

Now the name of the woman he had to marry had changed.

As long as he fulfilled his duty, would he even care which woman he took to his bed? Would it matter whose body cried out for his, who lived to love him?

She lurched again, and his arms fell away, the only things that had been keeping her together during the maelstrom that had uprooted her existence, left her without identity, origin or direction. And she got her answer.

No, he wouldn’t care. He’d never cared. None of it had ever been for her. She’d been King Atef’s daughter to him. Now that she wasn’t, Farah no longer mattered.

He’d already let her go. She’d already ceased to exist.

Had she ever existed at all?

She swayed, sinking into the mercy of numbness, her eyes focused on the king. The man who wasn’t her father. Neither was Francois Beaumont. She had no father…

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she whispered. “I should be the one apologizing for the misconception. My mother should be, my mother who…who isn’t even my mother…”

The king was the one who surged toward her, his hand around her mother’s arm, bringing her nearer with him. “No, my daughter…” She jerked, stumbled back. He stopped, his eyes gentling, realizing the pain the word daughter had inflicted on her. “You must not blame your mother. You have to understand how it all happened. I loved your mother deeply, but I had to give her up, could never be with her, even after she discovered her pregnancy. I was unable to acknowledge the child, and with so many demands tearing me apart at the time, I told her to get rid of it. I regretted it even as I said it, and never stopped regretting it, but I did think she’d terminated her pregnancy. I forced myself not to seek news of her for long years.

“Then I had a heart attack, and, faced with my mortality, what really mattered became clear. I acted on a gut instinct that always told me I had another child, searched for your mother, found out she had a daughter the exact age my child would have been, and didn’t doubt for a second you might not be mine. It was only when the final steps of admitting you into the royal family necessitated proof of your parentage that I sought it. After the negative results, investigations ensued, uncovering your adoption. It seemed we were back to square one, where the crisis is concerned, until my sister Bahiyah confessed the truth and I had your mother flown here to get the complete story.”

Her wavering gaze turned from him to her mother.

Lies. It had all been lies. From the beginning. Everything she’d ever believed about her life. With her mother and father. With Shehab. Even now, what she was being told-all the so-called facts turning everything that she’d believed about her identity, her history, her very life upside down all over again-could turn out to be more lies.

Her mother’s face, open for the first time with blatant emotion, streaming with tears, begged her leniency.

She had none to give as the dam of deadness shattered, swamping her with agony and disillusionment.

“How could you do this to me? Why did you let me, and him, believe I was his daughter? You regretted adopting me, wanted to foist me on someone else, didn’t you? Why? I was never a burden to you, I only wanted you to love me, or at least not to resent me. I never understood why you did. I thought I’d found the answer, thought I reminded you of the man you loved and lost. But you only resented me because I wasn’t yours all along…”

The king tried to intervene again, but her mother clamped a hand on his forearm, stopping him, staggered to Farah, clutched her shoulders in rabidly strong hands. “No, Farah. I never resented you. It was always the opposite. I wanted to adopt you from the first day I saw you, only you, out of a hundred children. But they refused me, a single woman who’d just a year earlier given up her own daughter for adoption. Then God sent me Francois, and he moved heaven and earth so we could adopt you. He agreed that you were ours, should never be told otherwise. You know how he loved you. You were his world. But I was sick, Farah. And he stood by me, hid the fact that I was in therapy or you would have been taken away from us.”

“Therapy? You were in therapy? And you never told me?”

“I couldn’t tell you. It was about you, and I didn’t want you to feel responsible or guilty. But I had these overpowering emotions for you, unreasonable fears of losing you, and Francois soon made me see I was stifling you. You wouldn’t remember, since I’ve been in therapy since you were six. Ever since then I’ve been constantly struggling to pull back.”

Farah let out a laugh full of bitterness. “You succeeded too well. I always thought I was such a disappointment, that you could barely stand me, especially after Dad died.”

Anna shook her head, her hair sticking to her wet face. “No, no, darling, no. I was going crazy after Francois died, wanted to cling to you with all my strength. And I knew you’d let me, would bear all my need and weight and never complain. I knew you’d let me rule your life and time and drain you. And I couldn’t do that to you. I wanted you to live your life.”

“So you let me live it alone. Is that what you thought best for me?”

“Don’t, darling, please. Please try to understand how hard it was, the anxiety attacks, the need to hound your every step. There was no middle ground for me. It was either suffocate you or let you go.”

“So you let me go. And now I don’t have a mother at all…”

“Don’t say that, darling, please. I am your mother.”

And Farah screamed. “No, you’re not. If you cared anything for me you wouldn’t have done this to me. Don’t you know what you did? You let them think I was this vital missing piece in their grand scheme and they sent Shehab after me. I was content with my life, solitary as it was, expecting nothing special to happen to me. Then he came, and I actually dared dream of more, was actually happy-blissfully happy-for a few weeks. And now it’s all over.”

Arms tried to pull her in their embrace, infinitely strong and gentle, shaking, but she was blind, mad, struggled like a cornered animal, tore away until a cold surface stopped her momentum. She found herself slumped against a marble column, heard nothing but the horrible sound of her own weeping.

Anna’s sobbing voice rose into her consciousness. “When I k-kept silent about your identity, I thought I was giving you a new father to love, who w-would love you, and a life of undreamed of privilege. I didn’t know where or who my biological daughter was. I wanted you to have the birthright she should have had, and I thought she’d never have now. I wanted to help Atef and his kingdom. I never thought for a second that I could harm you, and that I have and this much-oh, God, my darling…f-forgive me. For everything…”

Farah staggered around to face her mother. “Have you met your real daughter?”

Anna shook her head, reached out imploring hands.

“When you do, never tell me about her. I-I can’t have even a mental picture of her…”

Sobs overwhelmed her again as she imagined Shehab, his magnificent body open to the worship of the faceless woman, a woman fit to marry a king, a princess born, favored by all, the instrument of peace and prosperity, his equal in beauty and refinement, sharing his background and culture, versed in all the nuances she’d never known, and in the arts of seducing and servicing her man.

And he’d take his pleasure inside her, spill his seed where it would take root, as it…

“I can’t bear it.” Hands came over her at her cry, each imprint a brand. She cringed at each, screamed, “Don’t touch me.”

The hands withdrew, and the world swam, everything swelling and distorting, inside and out.

At last she heard herself rasp, “Who are my real parents? Do you even know them?”

Anna only hiccupped a great sob, shook her head again.

And Farah wailed, “Oh, God…I’m nobody’s.”

Shehab had to stop Farah. Had to stem her agony before it killed them both.

But before he could dash to contain her, she was careening to the door, her beloved face shuddering, her eyes gushing tears that looked as if they were blood-tinged.

He lunged with the surge of fright, caught her arms, examined her tears frantically, his fingers dipping in them, rubbing at their texture, almost sagged with relief to find it all in his abused mind.

She shook her head and tried to squirm out of his hold, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m s-sorry…for all the time and effort you wasted on me. But you now h-have the woman who’ll solve your problem a-and you’ll never hear from m-me again…”

He knelt down before her again, collapsed. “Er-ruhmuh ya Farah…mercy. If you don’t want to kill me, even though I deserve whatever you do to me, I beg you, stop. Stop tormenting yourself. None of this, none of us, especially not me, is worth one of your precious tears.”

She stared down at him, her tears running faster instead as a shaking hand flailed down his cheek before whipping away as if he’d burned her. She looked at it in stupefaction. It was wet.

And he realized it-he was weeping, too. He’d shed tears only at his mother’s deathbed. Not only for her loss, but for what she’d endured before death had spared her the suffering. His father’s death had been so sudden, yet somehow expected. Shehab hadn’t been able to feel real grief when he’d felt his father had gotten his heart’s desire, rushing after his wife.

Now he wept, for the grief he’d caused the woman who’d become the one thing he wanted from life. The woman who deserved to be cherished by all, who now felt that she never had or would ever have anyone.

He’d set her straight, once and forever. “It’s not true you’re nobody’s. Even if it were, it wouldn’t matter. You’re mine. As I’m yours.”

Everything stopped. Her tears, her breaths. His heartbeats. But he knew he wouldn’t convince her that easily. He must…

“You must stop this at once, Shehab.” That was King Atef, agitated now, severity entering his voice. “I will do everything in my power to compensate Farah, but you have a duty.”

Shehab only took Farah around her hips, hugged her as she swayed, supporting her as he turned his head to the king. “Yes, I have a duty…” He turned his face back up to her. “To the woman I love. I beg you, ya farah galbi, joy of my heart, marry me.”

Farah jerked in his hold, gasped, her tears flowing again, splashing all over his upturned face, mixing with his.

He hugged her more fiercely, buried his face in her bosom, begged, “Marry me, let me live my life filling yours with security and fulfillment.” He raised his eyes, seeking evidence of her starting appeasement and healing. “I want only you, no agendas, just need, just love, for you, and nothing but you.”

Her hands swept over his head, his face, as disbelief warred with creeping elation and hesitant belief on her expressive face.

He hurried the latter. “Yes, believe me and in me again, I beg you, ya maboodati. It’s true, every word and touch and pledge were true, and all for you.”

She still shook her head. “But you can’t…I’m not…”

“And I’m ecstatic that you’re not. As long as you were the king’s daughter, you would always have thought marrying you served my original purpose. I was about to let you go, would have moved heaven and earth to have peace without the need for our marriage, would have begged to remain your lover, to become your husband only when you believed that I wanted you for yourself. But now it’s better than what I didn’t dare imagine. Now you’re only Farah. Mashoogati. You’ll be sure that every minute from now till the end of my life is for you, and nothing and no one but you.”

“Enough, Shehab,” King Atef roared. “Don’t be cruel, don’t go promising the child what you will not be able to fulfill. As Judar’s future king…”

“As Judar’s future king I have to pay the price of not pledging myself to Farah.” Shehab cut across the king’s righteous wrath, rose to his feet, cleaving her to his side. “And since that’s an impossibility, then I gladly abdicate.”

The world had stood still so many times since she’d laid eyes on Shehab. This time it streaked, as if to skip his declaration, unable to actually record it.

But nothing could lessen its impact. Or stop it from storming through her.

He wanted to abdicate. For her.

He’d been telling her the truth. He felt the same.

He felt the same.

He hugged her off the ground, burying his face in her neck where his still-wet face singed her skin with the concept and reality of his tears. His tears.

And she couldn’t bear it, wouldn’t have it, that she’d be the reason for his pain, his loss, for discord.

She clung to him, took his face in her hands. “If you’re doing this so I’ll believe you, you don’t need to. I do believe you. I believe you, my love. But you can’t walk away from your duty.”

“I can…” he turned his lips to one of her hands, then the other “…and I will.” He suddenly threw back his head and laughed, the most marvelous sight and sound to ever occur on the planet. “Do you know who I love almost as much as I love you at this moment? Kamal. I’m ecstatic to have him for a younger brother. I now understand how relieved Farooq was to have me next in line, to pass the throne and its attached wife to.”

“You mean…? But you…and he couldn’t be…” Her stuttering came to a halt before she burst out. “I can’t let you do this, not for me. You may regret giving up so much, and I can’t-”

“It’s giving you up that would have been giving up my very life. Kamal will be the future king. He is probably more suited for the role than I am. And he’s unattached, so marrying Aliyah should be no problem for him. I and Farooq will still be princes, second and third in line, and we’ll go on as before, ensuring Judar’s greatness and the region’s stability.”

At her continuing objections he placed a finger on her lips. “I’ll never regret my decision, ya mashoogati. My only regret is and will remain ever hurting you, losing your faith, if even temporarily. It almost killed me, to see you in such pain, pain I inflicted, to feel you breaking up inside, drifting away from me where I felt I may never reach you again. You’re the one I was born to love, the one my heart was made to beat for. You awakened me to a world I never dreamed existed, you saved me, ya farah rohi, joy of my soul, and you own me.”

She threw herself at him, murmuring incoherencies, covering him in kisses and reciprocations. And he stood, taking it all, showered, taken, blessed.

Then it was time to let in the outside world. Only because he believed she needed it to complete her healing.

He turned to the others who’d been watching them all along.

“This will work out for the best,” he said to the troubled but clearly resigned king. “Kamal is a far better statesman than I am.”

The king gave a harsh bark. “You’re letting your brother, the region’s most uncontainable force, enter a union with my nie…my daughter, the region’s most volatile entity, and you’re promising me the best results? If there’s anyone who can make the Aal Shalaans rue their machinations and the Aal Masoods regret succumbing to them, it’s those two.”

Shehab laughed, dropped a kiss on Farah’s alarmed mouth. “Maybe they’ll be exactly what the region needs.”

“Don’t you mean what it deserves?” the king scoffed, before approaching, bringing with him the still-weeping Anna and his highly moved sister.

“My daughter, forgive me for opposing Shehab’s pledges, but I was unaware of the depth of your involvement. I have to say I was alarmed when I saw this would lead to settling on the last Aal Masood brother…” He winced, as if settling on the devil would have been preferable in his opinion. “But now I’m only grateful Shehab has a spare heir, even if it is Kamal, so he can give you what you deserve, the best this life has to offer. In the time I thought of you as my daughter, I truly came to care for you. I hope now you’ll be my daughter’s selfah-sister-in-law-and by virtue of sharing a mother, her sister, that I’ll be in your heart as you are in mine.”

Farah gave a strangled sound and catapulted from Shehab’s hold to throw herself at King Atef, hugging him around the waist and sobbing, “I would have loved having you for a father. I k-know you’ll be in my heart…” She raised hesitant eyes to his. “And in my life?”

The stunned king groaned, hugged her back. “B’Ellahi, it would be a privilege and an honor, ya bnayti.”

At this point, Shehab feared Anna would collapse, or worse. He turned to her. “And I hope you’ll feel as enthusiastic about having me in yours, ya sayedati.”

The woman’s color became dangerous, her eyes never leaving Farah’s face as she stuttered. “Yes…yes, of course…”

He tugged at Farah, who’d stepped away from the king, murmured in her ear, for her ears only, “Make peace with the mother who loved you so much, she didn’t know how to love you. Guide her, ya habibati, like you guided me, in how to love, then take all the love that’s due to you.”

The flare of love and gratitude in her eyes was so pure, it was more bittersweet torment, his Farah’s specialty.

Then without further recriminations his magnanimous Farah swept her mother into her embrace. “I always wanted to make you proud and happy, Mom. I love you. You shouldn’t have struggled alone-you should have let me help you. And I will, from now on.” Anna burst into another weeping jag, and Farah soothed her, kissed her cheeks, hugged her more securely. “Don’t feel bad, Mom. It’s over. As for all the things I said, look how wrong I was. If not for you keeping silent, I wouldn’t have found Shehab, wouldn’t be happier than a human being has a right to be now. And I didn’t mean it, about Aliyah-uh, or I did only because I thought Shehab would marry her, not because she’s your real daughter. I hope she lets you, and me, be part of her life. I’d love nothing more than to have a sister.”

“Aliyah most certainly would love nothing more, too.” That was Bahiyah, smiling tentatively now. “She always wanted a sibling, namely a sister.”

“This means you’ll be my aunt.” Farah threw her arms around the woman, to Bahiyah’s delighted surprise. “I always wanted an aunt, too.”

The gathering soon moved to the king’s family room, where Shehab watched Farah winning over everyone around. And though he wanted nothing more than to sweep her away to be alone together again, he let them have as much as they wanted of her and she of them.

Hours later, the king had left and only Anna remained, getting acquainted with him and getting reacquainted with Farah. It was only when Shehab felt the mother/daughter relationship was on the path to true balance that he finally decided to bring the warm gathering to an end.

He bent to kiss his future mother-in-law’s cheek. “I would have insisted that you come with us now, but I know you are King Atef’s guest and have another daughter to forge a relationship with. When you’re ready to come to us, our home is yours.”

He bent to Farah, who was looking at him with her heart emblazoned on her face, and swept her up in his arms. “Now, pardon me. I need to take my bride-to-be home.”

An hour later, aboard his jet in their bedroom, Farah turned in his arms and whispered, “Is all this happening? I have you? And I will have my mother at last? And maybe a whole new family, too?”

He smoothed his hand lovingly down her back. “It’s all happening, the least that you deserve, ya malekat galbi.”

“You will translate every word in Arabic from now on. I want to speak it as soon as I can.”

He chuckled. “I promised to teach you everything you want. Malekat galbi means ‘ruler of my heart.’”

She bit her lip. “Speaking of rulers…there’ll soon be another who’ll rule both our lives. I suspected it, did a test in that bungalow before you arrived, and…and I…I’m pregnant.”

He froze. Her words stumbled over each other in alarm. “W-we never used protection, and it was reckless of me, but I always thought I’d end up adopting or having a child without a father, since I wasn’t going to have a man in my life. But I-I loved you, knew I’d never love again, and I thought i-if I got pregnant with your baby I’d have a part of you forever…”

He crushed his mouth over hers, then withdrew to give her one shake. “You…you…” He had no words. For the first time in his life. But he had to find them.

He sat up, reeling, raking his hands in his hair. “You had better watch what keeps spilling from these lips, from this mind, or you may end up married to a madman with a very short life expectancy.” He turned, snatched her onto his lap, hiding her in his embrace as if afraid she’d disappear. “You would have walked away carrying my child, sacrificing yourself? What did I tell you about sacrifices? You will give me your pledge never to sacrifice anything again.”

“Having your child alone would have been no sacrifice but my very own miracle. Now she or he remains so, besides having you. And I certainly won’t pledge such a thing. I’d sacrifice anything for you, so you’d better learn to live with that. Just like I have to learn to live with the huge sacrifice you made for me.” He started to rumble that it had been no sacrifice, that he was only waiting for the chance to give to her as much as she’d given him, but she silenced him with her next words. “And I want to have at least one more baby. Uh…if everything goes OK with this one…and, uh…if it’s OK with you…that is…”

He swung her around, above him, overcome. “There’s nothing I want or hope for more than to fill my world with outspoken, enslaving replicas of you. Every time we made love, I did wish for a child made of our love and pleasure. But know that I’d be happy with one, or with none. I’m happy just having you…”

It wasn’t until they were landing in Judar that emotion relinquished its hold enough for him to speak again.

“Welcome to your new home, ya ameerati…my princess.”

She smiled in expectation, sat up, twisted to look outside the window. Wonder crept over her features. “This looks like another planet.”

He chuckled, trailed kisses up her back. “And I’ll give you a wedding from another time, another realm. A One Thousand and One Nights reproduction the likes of which the kingdom has never seen.”

She turned, alarm firing her eyes. “But you saw how I handled attending a sophisticated party and wearing an elaborate gown. I’d die if I embarrassed you in front of the whole world.”

“Uh, about that…” And he confessed his setup.

After he’d borne her punishment in delight, she looked up from her revenge, flushed and excited, before her face fell again. “Still…those events can take endless planning and we’d probably see nothing of each other for weeks. Didn’t you pledge every minute to me?” Her flush deepened as she hastened to add, “Not that I want you tied to my side or anything, but think of all the minutes we’d waste chasing our tails during the hectic preparations.”

“We’re both in luck, since Farooq’s wife, Carmen, is apparently an event-planner fairy. I bet she’ll wave her magic wand and free all those precious minutes for us. I promised you everything, ya mashoogati. And you’ll have it all.”

“I already have it all…uh, how do you say habibati and mashoogati, for a man?”

He kissed one hand. “Habibi.” Then the other. “Mashoogi.”

And she kissed both of his, tears of joy filling her eyes. “I already have it all, ya habibi. I have you, ya mashoogi.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “And how you do.”

She feathered them open, attempting a teasing smile. “How?”

“I’ll show you how. You have fifty years?”

She sighed, kissed his neck. “For starters.”

“You’re too generous, ya farah rohi. And you’re too lenient. You should have drawn out my torment.”

She gave his jaw a sharp nip, giggled at his indrawn breath of pained pleasure. “You’re into S and M?”

“I want you to get satisfaction.”

“Oh, I did. I do. How I do.”

“Show me.”

She showed him. And as he drowned in her love and pleasure and magnanimity, in her, he knew beyond a doubt. She would always show him. She was the reason he’d been made how he was, so he’d love her, be hers.

He thanked God again for the crisis that had brought them together. For all the things that had conspired to give them the gift of each other.

And now, the miracle of their love had been given new life…