The Sheikh’s Stubborn Bride by Leslie North

1

Sheikh Kadir Oman raised his fingers to his temples to try to massage the pounding sensation away.

He glanced around the claustrophobic dressing room where he and his brothers were preparing for his upcoming nuptials to make sure no one was a witness to his weakness. Kadir had been raised to march through discomfort, whether it was standing under the blazing sun in full dress for hours during parades or smiling through gritted teeth at faux allies during palace dinners. He was always the picture of a dignified royal, the perfect oldest prince and his country’s hope for the future. So why was he falling prey to the pressure in his head? It was just a migraine.

But he knew it was so much more than that.

Today was the day he was marrying a stranger, a woman he’d only met on paper and seen in person a few times from a distance.

They had been connected through his sister’s matchmaking service, Shiraka. It was the Arabian word for partnership, and that’s what his sister’s company strove to provide—a partner not only for love, but for life. The business had been passed down through generations of women in his family, and his sister Naziha benefited from all those years of expertise. Kadir trusted her opinion, so he’d submitted to her surveys and filled out what seemed like hundreds of questionnaires so she could match him with just the right woman for his needs.

Arranged marriages weren’t new in Al-Fatha. Truthfully, most of the royal family had met their mates through arrangements made based on lineage or economic benefits. It wasn’t like he expected a fairy-tale ending, a happily-ever-after romance. Those only happened in the old films he secretly loved and watched when no one else was around.

No, he had to do this because it was time. Time to get married and start a family of his own. Time to get his life in order because he’d be ascending to the throne when his father stepped down in two months. Kadir needed a queen by his side to support him and help him succeed in his vision to bring Al-Fatha into the twenty-first century, better and brighter and stronger than ever.

“What’s the matter?” Yusef asked from across the room where he was adjusting his keffiyeh in the mirror, his tone droll. The middle Oman brother was usually the quiet, serious one—an attorney and all that implied. “You look a bit green, brother. Having cold feet?”

“No. Not at all.” Kadir frowned, upset that his brother was on to him. He tugged on the formal white thobe with the gold embroidery down the front he’d been dressed in for the ceremony, making sure that it hung properly.

He stared past his youngest brother Salah’s shoulder at the large family portrait hanging on the wall across from them. It was a huge thing showing his grandparents on their wedding day. Both looked smiling and happy, most likely because it was all over. Kadir wished he were that lucky, entering into a marriage that eventually became a true love match. Getting married wasn’t something he’d planned on doing this quickly, but his sister had found him a suitable mate, and Kadir wasn’t one to put off the inevitable. He needed to marry, and so he was. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders. “I just want to make sure everything goes according to plan. The staff isn’t used to Western-style weddings.”

Salah, the wildest of the Oman brothers by far, snorted. “Remind me again exactly why we’re including those touches to begin with?”

“Because my bride is American. I want her to feel comfortable.”

“Right. Your American bride who you’ve never even talked to before.” Salah elbowed Yusef in the side, then lowered his voice. “Maybe you’re queasy because you’re afraid you’ll lift her veil and see she has a unibrow.”

Yusef chuckled and shook his head, getting in on the teasing. “Or a wart on her nose.”

Salah laughed. “Or worst of all, she’s gorgeous and finds you repulsive, brother. Want to make a bet who pukes first? Kadir or her?”

“Enough,” he replied, using the tone that always silenced his younger brothers. “I have seen her before, and she is fine, physically. You know that. And yes, it was from a distance and in photographs, but all the tests show we are more than compatible.” Kadir stood and shoved past his brothers to check his appearance in the mirror again. He loved his family, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to pummel them sometimes. “Shouldn’t you both be out front now?”

He was hoping for a few minutes alone to collect himself so that when walked out to meet his fate – his bride -- he was his usual poised self. The more they ribbed him the more he felt himself falling prey to the uncomfortable feelings roiling in his gut.

The fates seemed to be on his side when a handler appeared the moment the words were out of his mouth. Yusef and Salah were ushered away, thankfully, leaving Kadir to check his wardrobe one last time and go over his vows in the mirror. The face staring back at him looked regal, strong, and sure, as always. The perfect mask to hide the doubts and insecurities that he wouldn’t allow to surface. Like the fact that he had no idea what a strong marriage looked like. Given that his own mother ran away from his father and their family when Kadir was just eight years old, it wasn’t like he had a solid example for what he was about to enter into.

Still, things would work out, because this marriage was based on quantifiable criteria. Similar interests, similar life goals, similar tastes. Nothing so fleeting and flighty as love, like his parents’ union. In his mind, any relationship based on love was doomed to disaster from the start.

Loyalty, stability, trust. These were his guiding principles, the things he valued most. They were also the scores that were highest in the tests his sister had used when she’d matched him with his bride-to-be. Things would be fine. He’d make sure of it.

He had no choice.

Kadir adjusted his white headdress and smoothed a hand over his short, dark beard. The door opened once more, and he looked over, expecting to see one of his brothers back to bother him, but instead, Naziha breezed in, looking gorgeous as always, petite and pretty with her long, shiny black hair twisted up into an intricate style atop her head and sparkling ruby earrings dangling from her earlobes. She rushed over and threw her arms around Kadir.

“Oh, brother. I’m so excited for you on your big day.” She sniffled, then leaned back to meet his gaze, her dark eyes warm with affection. “I think you and Stella will be very happy together.”

“Thank you, Naziha.” Guilt stabbed his chest before he could stop it, and he cleared his throat.

She smiled and stepped away, walking over to check her appearance in the mirror beside him, the hint of sadness in her eyes only apparent to Kadir because he knew her so well. Because marrying a stranger wasn’t awkward enough for him as it was, they’d chosen the same date that his sister’s wedding had been planned for. That wedding would never happen now. It hadn’t been Kadir’s choice, but more of a logistical must, given his impending rise to king in less than two months’ time and his need to have his bride fully briefed and ready to assume the reins of queenship when the time came. It was now or never, quite literally.

If he stopped to think about the pressure of it all, he was likely to implode. He straightened his back and shifted his attention to his sister, who’d grown silent, her smile gone. Too silent.

“I’m sorry about the date, halu. I know this was supposed to be your wedding day, but…” He took a deep breath, swallowing hard against the squeeze of regret in his chest. It was his fault—his and his brothers—that Naziha wasn’t walking down the aisle herself today, and for that he’d never forgive himself. He smoothed his hands over his sister’s small shoulders and gave her a solemn stare. “Are you all right?”

Naziha nodded, her gaze lowered, then she broke into a tremulous smile and turned once more to check her makeup in the mirror. He’d always told her it was unnecessary, that she was as naturally beautiful as their movie star mother. “Yes, I’m fine, brother. Really.” She caught his gaze in the reflection, and her smile widened. “Let’s not dwell in the past on your special day.”

Kadir felt a wave of love for his sister. Her heart was tremendous, and her capacity for forgiveness was a lesson for all around her.

He bowed his head briefly as acknowledgement passed between them. “Thank you sister. I just hope you haven’t been telling my new wife about how horrible I am. I know the two of you are friends.”

His sister laughed, seemingly happy to revert back to their playful relationship. “I thought about it, no lie. But father wouldn’t allow it.” She winked. “Besides, you’re about to take the throne, and I know better than anyone that you’ll need a good, strong wife by your side. Stella will make an excellent partner for you.”

“Let’s hope you are right.” Gratitude tempered the nervous tension that had been welling inside him and kept him awake all night. His sister’s thoughtfulness in taking such pains to find him just the right person to marry touched him deeply. Honestly, if their situation were reversed and he’d been the one who lost a fiancée because of his siblings’ actions, Kadir wasn’t sure he’d have reacted so magnanimously.

As if in sympathy, his stomach cramped anew. Or maybe that was the stress he refused to admit he was feeling. Hard to tell at the moment.

“Okay, brother?” Naziha asked him, giving his hand a squeeze. “You look a tad pale.”

“I’m—”

Before he could finish, the door opened again, and this time Kadir’s father, Ibrahim, poked his head in. At fifty-eight, the current Sheikh of Al-Fatha was still in his prime. Tall and well-built, like his son, he looked hale and hearty enough to take on any obstacle blocking his country’s path. But despite his health, he’d told his eldest son and heir he was ready to turn the reins over to a new generation while he was still young enough to enjoy his retirement. So Kadir was set to ascend to the throne. If he survived his wedding day, that was.

“It begins,” he said, giving his son the look Kadir knew so well.

The one that reminded him of everything that rested on his strong shoulders.

With a curt nod, Kadir kissed each of Naziha’s hands, then followed her out the door and into the grand foyer of the royal palace of Al-Fatha where the ceremony would take place.

His future was waiting, for better or worse.