The Sheikh’s American Fiancée: Desert Sheikhs Book Three Page 9

  “Christina.”

  Tirsa’s voice startled her, and Christina gasped, spinning to find the irritatingly pretty assistant. Tirsa gave her a clipped smile, hugging a legal pad to her chest.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  Christina floundered for a moment, unsure how to interact with this woman in a regular, social way. “Uh, no?”

  “Hm.” Tirsa stepped forward, her dark eyes like a laser beam. “I thought you were going back to Kattahar.”

  “Oh, right.” Christina relaxed a little. Maybe this woman wasn’t always dripping venom. Every word out of her mouth didn’t have to have an agenda. “Well, the flight was cancelled yesterday. Another sandstorm. So I had to spend another night here.”

  “Yes, I knew that.” Tirsa’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile never faltered. “What I mean is that I thought you were going back to address the issue with Sabra.”

  Christina blinked a few times, her words refusing to click together. “What issue with Sabra?”

  Tirsa’s brows knit together. “The fact that she passed away recently. Aren’t you going to retrieve her belongings?”

  Christina fingered the edge of her shawl as Tirsa’s words trickled through her. So maybe she was wrong about the venom. This had to be another ploy of hers. “Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t want to hear any more of your creepy lies.”

  Christina turned and started back up the stairs, but Tirsa called out after her. “This isn’t a lie. Dakaric told me this morning. You were upstairs. But you don’t have to believe me.”

  Christina stormed back to the bedroom and slammed the door shut, though she didn’t know why. Maybe Tirsa was lying—maybe she wasn’t. The only way to resolve this would be through Dakaric. As she paced the room, she talked herself down. There was no way Dakaric would keep something that huge from her. No way Dakaric would confide in Tirsa first about this issue, of all people.

  But still, anxiety gnawed at her, made all those warm fuzzy feelings of the night before evaporate in a puff of smoke that looked like Tirsa as it faded. She didn’t realize she’d been stewing so intensely for so long until Dakaric pushed open the bedroom door and stuck his head in.

  “Hey, beautiful.” His heart-stopping smile made her forget, momentarily, what had been plaguing her for the past half hour. “You ready to go?”

  “Dakaric, can we talk about something?” She gestured him inside, and they both sat on the edge of the bed. She paused as she struggled to find the right words. “Is Sabrina dead?”

  Dakaric’s face went pale for a moment, a confirmation she really hadn’t been counting on. Her stomach pitched to her toes, and she swallowed back a knot of emotion.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “I just need to know if Sabrina is dead.” Christina struggled to keep her voice level. “Because if she’s dead and you’ve been keeping it from me, then I think that’s really wrong.”

  Dakaric didn’t answer for a long time, so she sent him a stern look. “Dakaric. Answer me.”

  “She is.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut as she let the unsavory news settle inside her. Goddamn that conniving woman, and goddamn this lying man. She fought back tears as she stood and walked toward the window, nibbling at her lip as she tried to piece together the next step.

  “I can’t believe you would keep something like that from me,” she said through gritted teeth. A single tear rolled down her cheek as realization sank in. She spun on her heel, anger bursting forth like a geyser. “It’s the whole reason I’m down here! How could you deceive me like that?”

  Dakaric’s head dropped, and he held up a hand. “Christina, it’s not—”

  “I agreed to help you. And you agreed to help me. That was our deal. And the whole time, you’ve known that the person I’m looking for isn’t even around anymore. You fucking duped me.”

  Dakaric sprang to his feet, his hands outstretched. “That’s not how it was—”

  “Let’s use the stupid American girl as my fake fiancée, and I’ll tell her whatever she wants to hear, just as long as I get some pictures out of it.” She shook her head, storming over to her suitcase. She’d fly back to Kattahar now. That was the next step. But then America was her final destination. No matter what.

  “I didn’t know she was dead when I asked for your help,” Dakaric said, trying to insert himself in her path. She dodged him, packing her things lightning fast.

  “Why would I believe you?” The suitcase buzzed a loud zzzzip as she closed it. “I know your pretty girl assistant tends to get in the way a lot of the time, but this time, she was right for once. And I’m glad she told me.” She stood, jolting the suitcase to standing behind her. “At least she helped show me I was being used.”

  “I didn’t use you,” Dakaric insisted. “Can you calm down, please?”

  “Ha!” Christina hoped the condescension dripped from her voice as she strutted past Dakaric. “Calm down? I’m tired of being calm. I’m tired of being strung along like a chump.”

  Dakaric stood in the doorway, his mouth a thin line. “I didn’t want to tell you until I had all the facts.”

  “Well it sounds to me like you knew a fact and failed to tell me. Or am I missing something?”

  His nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Exactly. Which means that you were keeping a secret from me. And you know what I’ve had my fill of?” She leaned in close to him. “Secrets. My parents lied to me and my sister our entire lives. And it’s because of secrets that I’m here now, standing in your stupid inn in this far-flung village, waiting for some fact about my sister that might help save my niece from dying.”

  Dakaric’s face creased, and he crumpled slightly. She took the break in his armor as a chance to escape. She burst past him, her suitcase wheels rolling loudly over the bumpy tile floors.

  “Christina, wait.”

  “No.” She waved her hand in the air, not bothering to turn toward him. She was done being the butt of the joke. Tirsa had tried to oust her from day one, and now Dakaric was just as bad, in a whole different way. She should have known better than to fall for the fairytale king. Those stories only ever worked out on paper.

  No way she could have been lucky enough to find her King Charming and walk away without a broken heart.

  “Let me come with you back to Kattahar, and I’ll explain,” Dakaric said, keeping pace beside her on the staircase.

  “No. I want to go back by myself.” She didn’t break her stride as she headed for the door. “I don’t need any help getting my things from your place. I know how to call the airline to change my ticket. I’m fine on my own.”

  “Don’t do this,” he pleaded.

  “Why shouldn’t I? You got what you wanted.” She gestured around the inn. “We’ve deceived everyone for your political and personal gain. Now call the driver and get me back to the airport.” Dakaric didn’t move, which made a bellow erupt from her. “Now!”

  Dakaric fished his phone out of his tunic without breaking her gaze. He dialed a number and left a terse message for someone.

  “You’re wrong about all of this,” Dakaric said, and it sounded more like a warning.

  “I’m not,” Christina said, offering a snide smile. “Because you admitted it yourself. Sabrina is dead. And that’s where my trip ends.”

  The car pulled up to the doors a moment later, and she strutted outside, feeling more tumultuous and empowered than she’d ever felt in her life. Dakaric followed her to the car, his earnest face so sincere it almost made her crumble.

  “Christina, please don’t do this. Don’t leave this way.”

  “You don’t get it.” She pulled open the backseat and tossed her luggage in. “Your niece isn’t dying. Now I need to get back to my family.”

  She sat in the backseat and tugged the door shut before Dakaric could say anything else. The driver pulled forward a moment later, and she fought the urge to look back at him.

&n
bsp; Anger thudded through her for the first few miles as they drove, and she was embarrassed when tears started to fall. She hated that she’d been duped, hated that Dakaric had been both her greatest romance and her greatest betrayal.

  She’d allowed herself to get sidetracked, and this was the result. A whole lot of wasted time.

  It was time to get back to the US.

  15

  Dakaric watched until Christina’s car disappeared over the horizon. Then he turned and stormed back into the inn.

  She might think that this was the end, but it wasn’t. Oh no. Not if he had anything to do with it.

  He hurried up the staircase, a few different options cycling through his head. Somehow, she’d caught wind of his conversation that morning with Zatar. And he knew exactly who must have leaked the information to her.

  Tirsa needed to be addressed. But he wanted to make sure Christina didn’t leave Kattahar. He headed for his bedroom, then thought better of it. Tirsa first. He stormed toward her room and pounded on the door.

  The door swung open. She had her face pressed to her phone.

  “Tirsa. We need to talk.”

  She held up a finger, squinting as she listened to the other end of the line.

  “Tirsa. Now.”

  She shushed him. Anger sparked. He was done being treated like a plaything, like someone she could manipulate at will. He grabbed the phone out of her hand, and she gasped, her wide eyes swinging up to his.

  “I said we need to talk.”

  She sputtered. “But, Dakaric…there’s a fire!”

  His face fell. This had to be another lie, another tactic to get him to bend to her will. “Stop lying, Tirsa.”

  “This isn’t a lie. Part of the village is on fire!”

  He wilted under the conflicting desires. Part of him was so desperate to stop Christina that he’d turn away from anything right now in order to follow her.

  But the better part of him knew that he had a duty to fulfill. This country, for better or for worse, was his duty.

  “Let’s go,” Tirsa said, yanking at his wrist. “I’ll take you there now.”

  Dakaric followed her out of the inn and toward a Land Rover parked at the back of the property. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the engine. It rumbled to life a moment later. Under Tirsa’s direction, he followed a winding, bizarre path through the sandy outskirts of town, one eye on the horizon for evidence of a fire. As he drove, his insides churned. His fingers itched to make contact with Christina, but until this emergency was resolved, he couldn’t do anything. Finally, Tirsa pointed toward the far edge of the village. There was no smoke, no evidence of a fire.

  “Park here,” she said firmly.

  He ground his jaw as he maneuvered the Rover toward a small bit of open pavement, his anger already churning.

  “Tirsa—”

  “It’s been impossible to talk to you,” she spat in Arabic. “I needed to get you away from her, so I could talk some sense into you.”

  He rubbed his face as the truth came over him. “You lied about the fire.”

  “Well, yes! I had to!” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re obsessed with that woman. She’s not fit to be queen, you know.”

  He turned to Tirsa, eyes narrowed. “I can’t imagine how you would be qualified to determine that.”

  “She’s not from here,” Tirsa said, the condescension thick in her voice. “What you need, what this country needs, is someone who knows the land and the people.” She paused, crossing her arms over her chest. “Someone like me.”

  Dakaric groaned. Crown hungry was one thing. This woman was starved. “How could you ever be queen? All you’ve immersed yourself in since Christina arrived is pettiness and underhandedness. That’s not a queen’s behavior. That’s a liar.”

  She straightened her back. “I’m only trying to protect you. To protect our country.”

  “You haven’t protected anything!” His voice came out a gruff shout. “All you’ve done is ruined things. And leaking the information about Sabra today was the last straw.” Dakaric revved up the Land Rover and made a beeline for the inn. He was done with this. He’d tried to do the right thing by retaining his great-uncle’s cabinet, but maybe that hadn’t been the right approach.

  After all, Dakaric’s vision for the country was new and different; why should he keep the same people that shared his great-uncle’s restrictive vision of Al Qalb?

  “I’m on your side,” Tirsa shouted, the wind whipping past them as he careened toward the village. Sand sprayed as he hit the steep side of a dune. Tirsa shielded her face as Dakaric squeezed his eyes shut. When the air cleared, he veered to avoid a pit in the sand.

  “You’re fired.” If Tirsa couldn’t hear the rage in his voice, she must be deaf.

  Dakaric pulled into the village and parked the Rover behind the inn. He stomped his boots off before he headed for the inn. Tirsa fixed her hair and swiped sand off her clothes as she followed him.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.” He pushed into the inn, his steps echoing off the walls as he clomped up the stairs. “I’m going to Kattahar. Your work here is done. Remove your belongings immediately.”

  Tirsa followed him up the stairs, but he slammed the door to his bedroom in her face, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment.

  He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but this was an important first step to reclaiming his kingdom.

  He picked up the phone to call Zatar.

  * * *

  Christina arrived in the Kattaharan royal airport with a swollen face. She wasn’t happy to admit it, but she’d been crying the entire flight. Which made the surprise arrival of King Zatar and Queen Alexis a little inconvenient.

  She tried to wipe off her face and compose herself as she walked into the airport. They stood in full formal regalia, long robes and shimmering stitches. She hadn’t been expecting this.

  “Welcome back to Kattahar,” Zatar said.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Alexis asked.

  Christina sniffed, straightening her back. She leaned into the handle of her rolling luggage. “Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine, thanks. How are you?”

  Alexis sent her a small smile. “We want to take you back to the palace for the night. There are some things we need to clear up.”

  On the ride to the palace, it became evident that Dakaric had made a phone call to them. To intercept her, for one. But also to explain his side, which she didn’t appreciate, because she was still perfectly content hating him. But once they reached the palace, Alexis led Christina into an opulent sitting room. The air smelled like lavender, and there were more plants in this single room than Christina had ever seen in one place before. She sat on a chaise longue at Alexis’s urging. The queen handed her a leather-bound journal.

  “This is going to interest you.” Alexis sat down on the chaise next to her, the soft scent of her floral perfume reaching her. She ran her hands over her growing belly as she settled into place. “This is what Zatar called about earlier this morning.”

  Christina held the journal for a few moments, letting the details settle into something that made sense. “When did Dakaric find out that Sabrina was dead?”

  “This morning,” Alexis said softly. “We found out late yesterday. Zatar told Dakaric when he called him.”

  So Dakaric hadn’t been keeping it from her since the start. She still hated that he’d told Tirsa before telling her. Christina looked over her shoulder where Zatar hovered on the periphery, his hands clasped behind his back. “Do you swear?”

  Zatar nodded. “On my mother’s grave.”

  Christina studied the journal for a moment and then opened it. The leather spine crackled, as though it hadn’t been touched in years. She thumbed through a few pages, finding many written in a dreamy sort of scrawl, mostly Arabic.

  But a few pages near the center caught her attention. Heavily slanted script…but it was English. She squinted, reading further.
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br />   “Whose journal is this?”

  Alexis placed a hand on Christina’s shoulder. “It’s Sabra’s.”

  “My guards retrieved it when they located her resting place,” Zatar said. “They passed it along to us since they knew we were curious about her history. It’s yours, if you want it. Or your sister’s, more properly.”

  “She should read it, first,” Alexis said, looking back at her husband.

  “By all means.” Zatar waved her on.

  Christina waded into the journal entries somewhat hesitantly, unsure what lay around the corner. Not knowing the preceding Arabic entries left her feeling a bit misplaced, but the picture was soon clarified.

  Sabrina wrote of her life in the United States. She’d emigrated from Kattahar at age twenty and made a decent life for herself. Housekeeping job, a small group of friends. When King Patar visited the US, she made a point of meeting him, since there were so few Kattaharans in the world.

  But that meetup led to more. A romance blossomed between them, one that led to a pregnancy. Once she found out she was pregnant, Sabrina traveled to Kattahar to tell the king herself.

  The journal entries veered wildly between excitement about the pregnancy to doubt and confusion about how to pursue a married man. She believed Patar would claim his child.

  But Kasha was born without ever knowing her father. And within the first year, revolutionary forces emerged in Kattahar. Sabrina fled to protect her baby, going straight to the safest place she knew.

  Christina swallowed a knot in her throat. The safest place for Sabrina? The house Christina and Kasha had grown up in. The house where Sabrina had worked as a housekeeper. She’d left her baby with Christina’s parents for safety and returned to Kattahar, ever hopeful Patar would acknowledge their daughter.

  “This is a lot to take in,” Christina whispered after a long time. She wiped away a tear that had fallen.

  “I know.” Alexis sent a worried look back to Zatar. “But there’s good news here too. Christina, Kasha is Zatar and Salari’s half-sister.”