Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘TELLMEABOUT your parents?’
She considered that as he reached up and held back a particularly long and spindly branch of the pomegranate tree.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of the citrus grove as they walked, early in the morning, before the sun was too high, through the kitchen gardens. In the distance, a team of servants had scattered, carrying out their work separately but in harmony—some picking fruit, vegetables and herbs for the day’s meals, others tending to the garden. Yet despite their presence, India and Khalil were virtually alone. This walk had become a habit of theirs in the week since visiting the wonders of the Athani Caves. Neither had discussed it, but it seemed to happen regardless, and it had become a highlight for India. She relished these opportunities to be alone with Kahlil, to speak with him, to brush her hand against his, to feel his nearness and to realise that they were walking side by side—into a future they would share. It was a different togetherness from what they shared in bed. That was primal and animalistic, driven by an insatiable chemical need to come together. This was slower, more exploratory, as though each were walking a tightrope towards trust and acceptance, trying to find their way to solid ground without falling.
‘What would you like to know?’ She plucked a lemon blossom from a tree, bringing it to her nose. The aroma was delightfully sweet.
‘What did your mother do?’
‘She was a teacher,’ India said. ‘And very passionate about it.’
‘And your stepfather?’
‘A librarian.’
‘Did they meet at school?’
‘No, at our local library, actually.’ She swished the lemon blossom between her fingertips before passing it to Khalil to appreciate. ‘After my father left us, we moved around a bit. Mom struggled with rent, and work—I was only little. It was a very hard time in our lives. I was too young to remember much of it. I know there were times when we were living in a car, eating from food banks.’ She shook her head, oblivious to the way Khalil stared at her, his features frozen, hanging on her every word, painting the picture of the life she described. ‘Then, one day, we settled, for a while, in Brooklyn. She had a friend from school who lived there—Juanita—who was going to Australia for a year’s work. She offered Mom the house on really cheap terms—basically no rent, just the upkeep. It was such a gift—a real opportunity for Mom to claw her way out of poverty. We didn’t have much, just a suitcase, and I was an avid reader, even at that age. So Mom would take me to the library, almost every day. And while I was checking out the books—’
‘She was checking out the librarian?’ he prompted, lifting a thick, dark brow.
‘Something like that.’ India laughed. ‘Dad—I call him “Dad”, because he raised me—was so kind. The opposite to my biological father. And he doted on us. He helped Mom get a contract with a local school, even though her work experience had been patchy for a few years. I enrolled in the same school, which meant childcare was easier. And before Juanita came back from Australia, they were married, so we moved in together. They were such a great couple. Anyone who knew them adored them. They were so much fun to be around. Dad was a total dork. He had theme songs for our family, and he’d randomly burst into song when we were out in public, like at the mall. I used to be mortified, but now, that’s one of my favourite memories.’
‘He sounds unique.’
‘Yeah, he was.’
‘And your biological father?’
‘A total non-event.’ She shrugged, the pain in her chest ever-present, even though her birth father didn’t deserve that. ‘He blew in and out of my life from time to time, when it suited him, but never for long, never with any reliability, and the older I got, the less he knew how to be with me, how to speak to me. Eventually, he stopped coming altogether.’
‘And I take it he did not support your mother financially?’
She poked out her tongue. ‘Not even a little. He was the worst.’
He stopped walking, a frown on his face. ‘India...’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m very grateful that you came here, to tell me about your pregnancy. I can see how hard it must have been for you, not knowing how I would react, not knowing if I would be like your biological father or your actual father.’
Her heart lifted at his distinction. Despite the fact English was his second language, he had understood the nuance perfectly.
‘It was hard,’ she agreed with a nod, moving towards him and linking their fingers. Sparks flew through her and her heart lifted, but there was always a dark spot within it, a weight that pressed her down to earth. Knowing what he believed her capable of sat like a stone in her gut. She closed off her mind to it, ignoring the threat of an aching pain, wanting to feel only the good and warmth of the morning. ‘But worth the risk, I think.’
‘I think so too.’ His smile blasted light into her world; she returned it without hesitation. ‘What about your parents?’
He reached for a flower as they passed by a tree that India didn’t recognise. Fragrant with a small blue fruit, the blossoms a pale pink.
‘What about my parents?’
‘When will you tell them about all this?’
‘When you have agreed to marry me.’
She blinked slowly. ‘Haven’t I agreed?’
‘Provisionally.’
India’s hand curled over her stomach as she remembered the negotiations they’d had when she’d first arrived in the country. Back then, she’d pushed for a delay, and part of that had included reminding Khalil that the first trimester was a high-risk time in gestation. But the idea of anything happening to the twins made her feel as though she were going to pass out. She couldn’t bear it.
‘So after twelve weeks,’ she said slowly, ‘you’ll tell them.’
‘And we’ll announce our marriage.’ He nodded. ‘If my calculations are correct, that’s next week.’
Her cheeks flushed with warmth. ‘Yes. Wednesday.’
He nodded, turning away from her, resuming their walk, but at a gentle pace so India found it easy to keep up.
‘The wedding will take place Friday evening. Is there anyone you’d like to invite?’
She thought of Jackson, and how strange it would be to marry without him, and yet, at the same time, she didn’t want to make a big deal out of what was essentially a convenient arrangement.
‘No. No one.’
‘Not your brother?’
She glanced at Khalil, wondering how he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘It would feel like lying to him. I don’t think I can do that. It’s not real.’
‘Lying how?’
She sighed. ‘We grew up in the same home. We saw what our parents were like, how madly in love, and what a perfect pair. He wants the same things I do—love, happily ever after, you know, the whole deal. I don’t know how he’ll...when I tell him...’
Khalil frowned. ‘You haven’t told him?’
‘No. We were waiting, remember?’
‘But now?’
‘Soon.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll have to tell him soon.’
Khalil stared at her as though there were a thousand things he wanted to say, his brows drawn together with obvious non-comprehension, but he let it go, relying on her instincts. She was glad. She didn’t want to explain about Jackson, and how she’d always been protective of her younger brother; she didn’t want to go into the details of why she didn’t want to worry him. She knew he’d be disappointed in her, and for her, and she couldn’t bear that.
‘Then we will keep the ceremony small: just us, my parents and Astrid.’
‘What was your other wedding going to be like?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw, and she could see the topic gave him little pleasure. ‘Big.’
‘As in, lots of people?’
‘Yes.’
She lifted a brow, her tone lightly teasing. ‘You’re being evasive.’
‘Am I?’
She laughed, despite her frustration. ‘Obviously. If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so; I’ll understand.’
He expelled a harsh breath. ‘I will talk about anything you wish. But do I need to elaborate?’
The problem was she’d asked simple, ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions. She changed her approach. ‘How many people would have come to that wedding?’
‘Two thousand.’
She gasped. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Yes.’
She bit down on her lip. ‘Is it going to be a problem that our wedding is so understated? Perhaps your parents will expect something more substantial?’
‘The size of the wedding had nothing to do with my parents.’
She considered that. ‘Nor with you?’
‘No.’
‘So your fiancée wished to invite all those people.’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened with the two of you? Why did you break up?’
Khalil stopped walking, his hands on his hips as he stared directly ahead. Tension radiated off him in waves. India studied him, knowing she should give him a way ‘out’, tell him it didn’t matter. But curiosity was burning through India, eating her alive.
Finally, he spoke. ‘Fatima is very beautiful, sophisticated, clever, and witty. She made me laugh effortlessly with her dry commentary on our mutual acquaintances. My experience with women, before Fatima, was limited to brief affairs. It had never occurred to me that I might fall in love with a woman, because that is simply not how it’s done for us. My parents’ marriage was arranged by their parents, as was their parents’ before them.’
India could barely breathe, and pricks of light filtered through behind her eyes.
‘She is also very, very ambitious.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘No, of course not. But her ambition was solely for wealth and power.’
‘Then I suppose it’s fortunate she fell in love with a sheikh.’
‘She didn’t love me.’ The words were spoken quietly, but with all the force of a freight train barrelling towards her. ‘And she taught me an important lesson about love that I will never forget. Love made me weak. Believing myself in love with her blinded me to all her flaws. I stopped seeing her as a real woman. I idealised her. If I hadn’t, I might have anticipated her behaviour. I might have at least known what she was capable of.’
India’s lungs were filled with a rush of hot air. She tried to expel it, drawing breath from deep within. He was speaking about another woman but his indictment of love was like a weight on her chest. ‘What did she do?’
‘What Fatima cared about most in the world was money.’ He spat the word with derision, and even though he was speaking about another woman, her tummy swirled. She knew instantly that she’d been tarred with the same brush the morning after they’d slept together—what else could explain the level of his venomous anger? ‘My personal wealth is no secret. Separate to the royal income, my family has several businesses and holdings abroad. When it came time to negotiate our marriage contract, she asked for a king’s ransom.’
Just as India had.
Heat stung India’s ears and she felt nausea spread through her. She pressed a quivering hand to her brow, nodding, silently encouraging him to continue even when a wave of guilt at having asked him for anything made it difficult to think straight.
‘I had no interest in the negotiations. To me, they were a triviality. Because I was in love.’ He spat the word scathingly. ‘I left the work to my lawyers; that was a mistake. If I was too emotionally invested, they were not nearly enough. They refused many of her requests, argued over things I would never have cared about. The negotiations stretched on and things between Fatima and me grew tense.’
India pulled her lips to the side in a gesture of deep thought. ‘But surely you and she could have talked about it—’
‘She would never have showed her hand to me. She wanted me to think our wedding was all about love for her too. And fool that I was, I believed that. If the wedding had happened, she would have had access to anything she wanted. It wasn’t necessary for her to do it.’
She didn’t need to prompt him. It was obvious that he had disappeared through a time tunnel; he was back in the past, reflecting on the events as they’d happened.
‘Negotiations soured. She presumed I knew and had done nothing to salvage them. To punish me, she had an abortion.’
India’s lips parted on a noise of shock and horror. ‘No.’ The word drained out of her.
His face was ashen. ‘At least, that’s what she said. I don’t know if she made it up to wound me. She certainly hadn’t told me she was pregnant, but that doesn’t mean...’ He shook his head, as if that could wipe his grief and worry. ‘I have been tormented by guilt. If her claim is true, then the negotiations were responsible for the death of my baby. I couldn’t protect my own child.’
But I’ll protect these.
A frissonran down her spine, as understanding shifted in her mind. It was why he’d fought so hard for her to stay in Khatrain, why he needed to see and be near her, to ensure nothing happened during this pregnancy.
‘Your fiancée was responsible, no one else.’
‘I would have walked over fire to save that baby.’
The sadness in his statement was gut-wrenching. She nodded slowly, tears making her eyes sparkle. ‘I know that.’ Because that was exactly what he was doing this time around. From the moment he’d heard of her pregnancy he’d done everything he could to draw her into his life, to be sure these babies were cared for. Ultimately, that was what he cared about—making sure history didn’t repeat itself, in any way, shape, or form.
‘You must hate her.’
He made a sound that was halfway between a gruff laugh and a sigh of disbelief. ‘I do. She is the worst of the worst.’
Love had turned to hate; he’d never love again. He’d said that, over and over, and she’d wondered if it was truly possible to live without love, but now it was as if he were whipping her with his words, the very idea tearing something vital and irreplaceable apart inside her, because she understood. She understood why he couldn’t contemplate loving someone again. He’d loved, he’d trusted, and he’d been burned—the kind of burned from which one didn’t recover. What he’d been through was too much. He was broken.
Only, she desperately didn’t want him to be. Her mind was spinning too fast, trying to make sense of a conundrum, but attempting to reach the answer was as difficult as catching soap in the bath. Her brain wouldn’t work.
‘I was so angry with you that night.’ He stopped walking, staring at her. ‘After Ethan called me, and said what he did, all I saw was Fatima. I swore I’d never be fooled by a woman again and, in that moment, it was so easy to believe the worst. I was furious—with myself, with you, with the world.’
India’s lungs were expanding and contracting without catching air. She felt faint.
‘I get it,’ she said, slowly, her voice thick. ‘I didn’t then, but knowing what you went through—’
He lifted a hand, as if to touch her cheek, then dropped it. ‘What I went through with Fatima was a nightmare, but it was with Fatima, not you. I should have given you a chance to explain. I should have believed you. God knows I wanted to.’
She looked away, wondering at the mixture of pleasure and pain that was lancing her.
‘I have been fighting myself ever since you arrived in Khatrain—for longer, if I’m honest—wanting to believe you, wanting to listen to you, but knowing that listening is a fast track to being lied to.’
It made sense, and, more than that, it showed her how awful his heartbreak must have been, the first time around. She lifted a hand to his chest, sympathy colouring her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry for what she did to you.’
‘When you told me about your pregnancy, all I could think was that I had to act to protect our baby. I think about that every day, wondering if I missed some vital sign, if I had paid more attention, would things have been different? I don’t mean that I wish to have married her, only that for her to have gone to the lengths she did...what did I miss? What could I have done differently?’ He lifted his shoulders at the rhetorical question. ‘So when you arrived, I swore I would miss nothing.I had to keep you here, to know that you were safe and well, that our baby, or babies, as it turned out, were fine. Fear drove me to act in a way I’m not proud of, India.’
His admission pulled at something in her chest. She blinked up at him, her heart exploding with love. She wanted to wipe away his guilt, his worries. She wanted to make him smile.
‘From the moment I got to Khatrain we have been in agreement about one thing: that our children are our priority. That’s how you’ve acted. Even when you have made me so mad I wanted to scratch at your eyes, I have always, always known that you were fighting for our kids. And I love that.’ Her voice cracked a little as she said the final sentence, her heart begging to be unleashed, to be freed by her admission.
He growled. ‘You gave up university to care for your mother, you work a job you are overqualified for to support your brother, and now you make excuses for me. At some point, your heart of gold is going to become a liability.’
‘Is it?’ She moved closer, so their bodies brushed, and she felt a rush of heat between them, a sensual awareness that she now understood was so rich and urgent because it was driven not just by sex but also by love. ‘I think it’s going to guide me pretty well, actually.’
He furrowed his brow, not understanding.
‘Khalil, listen to me,’ she murmured urgently. ‘I’m not Fatima. I’m not going to use you, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m never going to lie to you. What I will do, if you’ll let me, is be your wife.’ She brushed her thumb over his lower lip then pushed onto the tips of her toes, kissing him slowly, savouring the feeling of their mouths dancing together. ‘In every way, your real wife.’
‘You know that’s what I want,’ he growled, deepening the kiss, his hands against the small of her back, holding her to him, so stars burst through her and desire ran rampant. He took a step forward, pressing her back against a broad, ancient tree with a wide canopy, so they were shaded from the sun, mostly hidden from view. He found the waistband of her shirt and pushed at it, his fingertips connecting with her bare flesh. A moan was trapped low in her throat, and she succumbed to it, to him and to this perfect moment. But it wasn’t simply a moment. It was one moment in a thread of moments, a lifetime of memories they would make together, side by side, just as she’d always wanted.
‘I will never get tired of this,’ he promised, pushing at her skirt, finding her underpants and guiding them down as he freed himself from his trousers. He lifted her easily, wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing into her, kissing her as he possessed her, as his body moved with hers. She held onto him for dear life, pleasure usurping everything else; every single one of her senses was in overdrive, so the sky, the grass, the warmth, the fragrance of the blossoms that surrounded them, all took on a startling clarity. She dug her nails into his shirt-clad back, her heels interlocked, holding him deep inside until they reached a euphoric, shared release.
It was so perfect, and she knew then that she was right. She loved him. And she had to tell him. That was terrifying, but it was also important—how could she marry him and keep that secret? She’d just promised him she wouldn’t lie to him—what was that if not a lie?
‘You are incredible.’ He kissed her hard, his tongue flicking hers as he lowered her to the ground.
‘I need to ask you something.’
He lifted his brow, focussing on straightening his clothes, so he wasn’t looking directly at her. ‘Right now, you could ask me for all my worldly goods and I’d happily comply.’
She pushed aside his assurance. Wealth, when you were Sheikh Khalil el Abdul, was easy to part with. His heart, on the other hand, was likely under far tighter lock and key.
‘We’ll see,’ she murmured.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m just wondering how sure you are about the whole love thing.’
‘What “whole love thing”?’
‘The whole “you’ll never love anyone again” thing,’ she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She saw nothing in his that gave her reassurance.
‘I’m very sure,’ he said simply, but she knew it was a veneer. He was treading carefully, his hackles rising, his concerns shifting so he was seeking to minimise risk.
But she’d come this far. She couldn’t walk away now. ‘Because, the thing is, I just wonder if maybe love doesn’t have ideas of its own.’
‘What exactly do you mean?’
‘Don’t you think there might be something more here than either of us realised?’
He stared at her without speaking. Only his chest moved, rapidly, so she dropped her eyes to it for a moment, before looking at him once more.
‘I think our marriage is based on a pregnancy that was an accident. That’s not love.’
She pulled a face, hoping the grimace would hide the waves of uncertainty that were rolling through her. Was he right? Or was she? ‘And what about everything that came after? This last month has been so much more than I expected. Getting to know you, spending time together...’
‘Yes, it’s defied my expectations too.’ He spoke gently, almost sympathetically. ‘But that’s sex, azeezi,nothing more.’
Her heart stammered; she shook her head. ‘I don’t agree.’
‘You do not have much experience,’ he pointed out softly.
‘And you do, but that doesn’t make you right and me wrong.’
‘In this, it does.’ All so gentle! So compassionate! That made her want to break something! She didn’t want to be treated like a fragile glass vase.
‘So you’re saying we can’t have great sex and also fall in love?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded his head to underscore his verbal response.
‘Are the two mutually exclusive?’
‘No. But love is out of the question for me.’ He lifted a hand to her face, but she jerked away from his touch on autopilot—she couldn’t bear the kindness, it made her want to cry, and she wouldn’t show her vulnerabilities like that. ‘I’ve been honest with you about this. I have never wanted you to care for me. I should have thought it impossible, after the things I said...’
‘Initially, perhaps. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re perfect.’ She sighed. ‘If anything, I fell in love with your imperfections, with the way you fought yourself, fought me, fought for our children. I fell in love with you and I needed you to know that, before we got married. I told you I wouldn’t lie to you, so I’m not going to. When I say those vows, I’ll mean them.’
‘India, no.’ His features tightened and he stepped backwards, panic radiating from him. ‘Listen to me.’ There was a new kind of urgency in his tone now. ‘This is impossible. You’re mistaking lust for love. I understand that—our chemistry is off the charts, but there’s nothing more between us than sex. And one day that will fade, we will no longer want each other like this, and you will forget all about loving me. Trust me, this is fiction, fantasy, not fact.’
If it weren’t for the tree at her back, she might have stumbled. His words were so completely the opposite of what she’d expected that she didn’t know how to respond to them at first.
‘Let me get this straight,’ she murmured distractedly. ‘You think the only thing we share is sex?’
He compressed his lips, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘Obviously it’s a huge part of it.’
India sucked in a breath that didn’t begin to fill her lungs. ‘Did you ever stop to wonder why?’
‘No.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I get the basics of sexual attraction. I don’t need to analyse things further than that.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘By your own admission, you’ve never wanted anyone like you’ve wanted me. Haven’t you stopped to ask yourself why that is? Maybe, just maybe, our chemistry is because of our connection, our compatibility.’
‘I wanted you the first night I met you, when I knew nothing about you. That wasn’t love, it was desire, plain and simple.’
‘And revenge,’ she remembered with a shudder.
‘No, we’ve dealt with that. I saw you and wanted you before I even knew you were with Ethan. The revenge thing was just convenient.’
‘Not for me,’ she pointed out, then shook her head, refusing to be drawn into an argument they’d already had out. ‘But that’s beside the point now. Since I’ve arrived here, since we agreed to get married, things have changed between us. Like you just said, you’ve seen beyond your first impressions, you’ve got to know the real me.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But again, that is not love.’
That hurt. She blinked away from him, a frown line forming between her brows. ‘Can you really say that everything we share is just sex?’
He hesitated and for a moment, she had hope. But then he nodded, once.
‘So how come we walk like this together each morning? How come we talk about anything and everything that comes to mind? How come you took me to see the fireflies?’
He ground his teeth together, his eyes pleading with her. ‘Again, treating you with decency is not love. If I wanted to atone for the way things started between us, then that should be seen as an attempt to improve our relationship, for the sake of our children, nothing else.’
Her lips parted. ‘So all of this is, what? Guilt?’
He expelled a harsh breath. ‘I wouldn’t have put it so crudely.’
She closed her eyes as pain washed over her. ‘I’m not asking you for a declaration of love. I just need to know that you’re not so broken by what Fatima did that you will never love. I need to know that you’re open to loving me.’
He didn’t answer. She opened her eyes, trying to read his face, and understanding nothing.
‘And that’s what I have been trying to tell you all along. I’m not open to loving anyone. Nor do I believe it’s necessary. As I have said, numerous times, we can have a great marriage without that sort of emotional complication.’
‘Because of sex,’ she whispered.
‘Sex, yes. Children. Shared interests. Respect.’
‘But not love?’
‘No.’
‘Never love,’ she repeated, for her own benefit more than his, wrapping her arms around her chest and stepping out of the shade of the tree. It didn’t improve her temperature; she felt iced to the core.
‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was soft, coming from right behind her. ‘I should have been clearer.’
‘You were plenty clear,’ she corrected. ‘I just didn’t believe you.’
They were silent, staring at each other for several long moments.
‘This is the last thing I want,’ he said, taking a step towards her. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt any more. What can I do to fix this?’
Her smile was a ghostly impersonation. ‘Nothing. You feel as you feel. I just need to learn to accept it.’
She went to walk away but he caught her wrist, spinning her back to him. ‘You’ll realise that I’m right soon enough. You’ll realise that your love for me is an illusion. And I’ll be glad when that day comes.’
She nodded awkwardly, tears filming her eyes as she spun away. She knew he was wrong—she would never stop loving him. But she also knew he’d never return it, and suddenly the future seemed desperately bleak. They were getting married, and she faced the prospect of walking down the aisle towards a groom who would never be able to give her the one thing she’d always known she wanted. Leaving him was not an option. Not because of the babies, not because of sex, but because she did love him, with all her heart, and she would do anything to be with him, even if there was torture in that togetherness, because he’d never love her back.
