Wifed By The Sheikh Read online

  Zelda tried to pay attention to both the ceremony and her husband-to-be, but Zayed looked so handsome in his wedding finery, his expression almost rapt, that she barely caught her cue from the officiant to say her part.

  Zayed’s hands tightened on hers as she responded automatically. “I pledge myself to your protection, to be your wife and companion, to bring you joy and cushion your sorrows, to walk with you through the world in trust and faith.”

  In spite of the fact that she knew that their marriage would last mere weeks—until neither of them needed the benefits it would confer anymore—Zelda felt her eyes watering at the beauty of the pledge.

  “I pledge myself to your dependence, to be your husband and provider, to bring you comfort and support you in hard times and good, to hold your hand as we walk through the world together in trust and faith,” Zayed said, in his part.

  Zelda swallowed against the tight feeling in her throat, and the regret that the vows they were exchanging weren’t real. They were legal, but the knowledge that they would be parting ways, and that the pledges were essentially hollow, weighed on her.

  The officiant went on, requesting the approval of all of those gathered to watch the union, explaining the meaning of a true marriage, and leading them into the final phase of the ceremony. It was a beautiful ritual, and Zelda hoped that someone had captured it on video; even if the marriage was a sham, the wedding was such a wonderful thing that she thought she might want to remember it even long after she and Zayed were out of each other’s lives.

  “Zelda, please make your pledge to Zayed again,” the officiant told her. Speaking in English—which brought a murmur from the gathered crowd—Zelda gave Zayed’s hands a quick squeeze as she spoke.

  “I pledge myself to you with all my heart, with my trust and soul. I share everything that is mine to give.” The words were from the ritual, but the fact that they were in her language, and not in the Murindhi dialect, was something that Zayed had insisted on, pointing out to the officiant that she should make her final pledge in her native language.

  The officiant nodded his head in approval and turned to Zayed. “And now, if you could give your pledge to your new wife,” he told the Sheikh.

  “I pledge myself to you with all my heart, with my trust and my soul. I share everything that is mine to give.”

  Zelda fought back tears as the officiant announced that the two had pledged themselves freely, in sight of everyone, and could now be seen as husband and wife.

  On cue, one of Zayed’s friends stepped forward and handed him a small, wooden box; at the same time, one of the female attendants handed Zelda her own small box. Zelda opened hers to reveal the ring she was going to put on Zayed’s finger, a simple gold and platinum band; Zayed’s ring for her was slightly more intricate, made to go with the engagement ring he’d given her.

  They put the rings on each other’s fingers, and Zelda found herself smiling more warmly, more genuinely, at Zayed than she had thought she would as the officiant declared them fully married. The Sheikh leaned in and kissed her on the lips—more than a peck, but less than a full-blown passionate kiss.

  Zelda couldn’t quite suppress the tingle she felt, the rush of something like desire that flowed through her at the soft, warm feeling of Zayed’s lips against hers. Don’t get too caught up in the moment, she reminded herself firmly.

  The ceremony over, Zayed took her arm and led her back down the aisle to the processional, and Zelda felt a wave of relief as she realized that the first part of the ordeal was over. The guests cheered and clapped, smiling approvingly at them, and Zelda kept her smile fixed in place, looking around, not even trying to suppress the blush that rose into her cheeks. She was supposed to be glowing, wasn’t she?

  They stepped through the doors separating the house from the garden and Zayed turned to look at Zelda. “Well done,” he said, leaning in briefly to kiss her on either cheek.

  Hadya took charge of her again, then, and led Zelda away, back to her quarters to rest while the staff transitioned everyone from the west garden to the east garden where the reception would be held.

  Zelda looked down at her hand as Tahirah loosened the dress on her, taking in the sight of the rings on her finger, feeling the significance of them. Zayed had insisted that she should take them with her when she went back to the US, even if she sought a divorce to be able to marry “for real.” Zelda wasn’t sure if she would be able to bring herself to do it, even if she knew that the rings would otherwise just go to waste, never to be used on another bride.

  When the time came, she put her shoes back on, and Tahirah and her assistant straightened the dress, removing the veil which was no longer necessary, and Zelda was ready to meet her new husband in the garden to begin the reception.

  The guests had all gathered and helped themselves to glasses of champagne or cocktails from the bar, and as Zelda stepped out onto the terrace, a little cheer went up from the glamorous crowd watching on. Zayed stepped out after her, and the applause intensified.

  “We thank you for coming to witness our nuptials,” the Sheikh said, first in English and then in Murindhi. “To get this reception started the right way, we’ll be having our first dance as man and wife.”

  Space cleared for them, then, and as Zayed looked at Zelda, she couldn’t resist grinning at him.

  Someone behind the scenes started the music, and Zayed and Zelda moved into the dance as one, Zayed’s hands on the small of Zelda’s back and Zelda’s arms draped over his shoulders. She heard the murmur of approval as they moved together and knew instantly that more than anything else they’d done that day, the dance had solidified their story as impulsive lovers, deeply invested in each other.

  The rest of the reception was a blur as Zelda accepted congratulations and wedding gifts from the Sheikh’s friends and associates. The party stretched on through the afternoon, and she kept her overjoyed smile on her face, dancing with Zayed, eating and drinking and trying her best to convince everyone at the reception that she was deeply in love.

  By the time the reception ended, Zelda was utterly exhausted and more than ready to get out of her gown into something more comfortable. She made her ceremonial exit with her new husband and Tahirah followed her into her quarters to help her get out of all the finery.

  “Tonight’s going to be the magic night,” Tahirah told her, grinning.

  Zelda smiled back, but couldn’t help but feel a little sad that she knew for a fact that there would be no magic for her that night, only hours and hours of much-needed sleep.

  FIFTEEN

  Zelda had expected that she and the Sheikh would be driven off in a car together, to create a good picture for the guests before parting ways. Zayed would go to the office to finalize the details of the buyout of his rival’s company, and Zelda to the island where their “honeymoon” was supposed to be taking place, from whence she would, after a few days, travel home.

  Instead, as she stepped out of the house arm-in-arm with Zayed, she saw a helicopter waiting for them. Flower petals rained down from all sides as they ran through towards the waiting chopper, and Zelda laughed, shaking her head at the beauty of it, putting aside, for the moment at least, the thought that none of this was real.

  “Is this your first time in a helicopter?” Zayed asked her as the pilot took off, lifting the vessel off of the ground and quickly banking in what Zelda hoped was the direction of their honeymoon destination. According to Zayed it was a private island, off of the Murindhi coast, which was owned by one of his friends—the perfect place to get away from the rest of the world for a week or two before resuming normal life.

  “It is,” Zelda admitted, looking dubiously out onto the ground, which moved farther and farther away as the helicopter climbed higher into the air.

  “Martin is an excellent pilot,” Zayed told her reassuringly. “He has a flawless safety record; really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Zelda smiled ruefully as she realized that the Sheikh�
��s question had come from noticing her apprehension. She decided to give into enjoying the flight, filing it away for future stories to tell her friends and, maybe one day, her children.

  A moment later, Zayed lightly tapped her shoulder, and she turned to see that he had a glass of champagne for her. She accepted it gratefully, raising it to her new husband and taking a sip as the still blazing sun over the bright blue water drew her gaze once more.

  They were mostly quiet on the trip out to the island; the helicopter was too loud to allow for much conversation, and Zelda found she was far more tired than she had even suspected she would be after the long day.

  Sipping her champagne, she thought about her parents’ probable reaction to the impulsive nature of her wedding. Would they hear about it in the news before she had the chance to tell them about it in person? Or was Murindhi too small a country for it to merit more than maybe an inch in the newspaper, a minute on TV? Within the country, Zelda knew, it was the society event of the year, and something that had launched a dozen talk show segments and news highlights.

  The pilot touched down yards away from a mansion that was every bit as palatial as Zayed’s, and Zelda shook her head at going from one lap of luxury to another. Apparently the Sheikh’s friend had lent his staff to the occasion of his friend’s honeymoon as well; Zelda saw them file out of the main house as she and Zayed climbed out of the helicopter. She had packed luggage the night before—enough clothing to last her a week, along with her own things. Zayed had insisted that she could keep anything she wanted when she went back to the US—the clothing and accessories had all been bought with her in mind, and would go to waste if she didn’t use or keep them—but he had so liberally furnished her closet that Zelda had known it would be impossible for her to take all of it with her, even with first-class luggage allowances.

  Two men came to retrieve their baggage from the helicopter, and Zayed introduced her to the staff working at the island mansion, looking more at ease than he had in all the time Zelda had known him, but with a ripple of tension in his demeanor all the same.

  The housekeeper, Nudara, offered to show them around the grounds and Zayed, after looking at Zelda to confirm she wanted to, gave his assent. His friend’s home on the private island was every bit as big as Zayed’s palace on the mainland, but more modern; there was less artwork on the walls and fewer pictures, more windows, and the floors were hardwood instead of marble.

  The servants, Nudara told them, were putting their things away in the master bedroom. Zelda almost interrupted to ask that she have a room to herself, but decided against it; it would just prompt questions, and while she trusted Zayed’s household staff, his friends were unknown to her. If I need to, I’ll find another room later, she promised herself.

  The question that had stuck out in her mind when they’d boarded the helicopter remained with Zelda the whole time they toured the grounds, taking in the huge swimming pool, the access to the little, white-sanded beach, Zayed’s friend’s “menagerie” housing dozens of birds, a few monkeys, and other curiosities. Why was Zayed still with her? Why wasn’t he in the city, putting the final touches to the business deal he’d gotten married in order to secure? It made no sense at all.

  Zelda went back to their shared bedroom when they’d finished the tour with Nudara, and decided that she wanted to go swimming in the pool while there was still some light in the sky; the pool faced the west, so Zayed suggested meeting her out there with more champagne and snacks. Zelda felt hesitant at the idea, but reminded herself that she was on her honeymoon with him—that he was her husband, and they would need to act as husband and wife for a little while longer, at least in front of others.

  She closed herself into the bathroom to change into the bathing suit Zayed had bought for her the week before, and stepped out into the empty room. She still wasn’t certain what her new husband was doing, or what his motivation was.

  “He deserves a vacation too,” she told herself, reasoning that this was the way that Zayed was viewing the trip. “He worked hard to make the wedding happen.” And he had told her when they’d made their deal that he didn’t expect any kind of romantic relationship with her.

  Zelda dismissed her questions about her new husband’s motives and found a towel in one of the closets in the bedroom before heading for the pool; the prospect of having to share a bed with a man who was both a stranger and not a stranger, someone she was supposed to be a wife to but whom she had married as a sham, made Zelda nervous. She was certain that she could trust Zayed not to overstep the boundaries they had set, but did she want him to stay within those boundaries?

  Zelda looked down at the two rings on her finger, shocked that she could even ask herself such a question. Certainly, Zayed was attractive—he was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen in her life. And technically, she was his wife; they had been married in front of witnesses and had the paperwork to prove it. She could gain Murindhi citizenship any time she wanted, just from the paperwork they’d signed, and her immigration status in the country was clear. She had set a deal with a man who was a stranger for the sake of benefitting them both, but the man she’d married was less of a stranger than Zelda had thought he would be after only two weeks.

  As she reached the pool she shook off the thought of anything other than sleeping in the bed Zayed’s friend had provided them with, telling herself that it was likely Zayed would simply stay the night for appearance’s sake, and then be gone in the morning to complete his deal. She would enjoy her little vacation on the island, and then fly back to the United States a legally married woman.

  Mom and Dad will be so pleased, she thought wryly, stepping into the water on the shallow end of the pool. She swam out to the deeper end and turned onto her back, staring up at the sky; it was darker than the blue of the sky in Miami, she thought, and not just because of the fact that it was gathering towards night.

  Zelda heard movement and turned her head to see Zayed emerging from the house, a bottle of champagne in his hand, along with a bucket of ice and a couple of champagne flutes.

  She shifted around in the water to touch the bottom, and watched him for a few moments. He had at some point put on swim trunks, and Zelda had to admit to herself that the man she had married for convenience had a very attractive body. Stop thinking like that!

  Zayed turned to look in her direction. “I thought we could use some more champagne,” he told her, setting the bucket down near the edge of the pool. He opened the bottle and quickly filled the two glasses, setting the bottle into the bucket of ice. The Sheikh sat down on the edge of the pool and extended one of the glasses towards Zelda, who accepted it.

  Zayed raised his glass, and Zelda raised her own in response. “To us,” he said. “We pulled it off.”

  Zelda smiled and reached over to clink her glass against her