Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEFACTTHAT their wedding was to be intimate did not, as it turned out, mean her outfit was correspondingly plain. In fact, the wedding dress was utterly magnificent. Made of white silk, the gown was fitted to the waist where it flared in a confection of skirts and tulle. Tiny diamonds were stitched into the hemline, giving it a weight that prevented it from flaring too much. There were also diamonds along the neckline, small at the shoulders and decolletage, then enormous at her cleavage, so India balked at even wearing the thing for fear of what it must have cost. Though the dress’s opulence was dwarfed by the tiara she was presented with—the diamond in its centre was the size of a large button, shaped like a teardrop, and it was bracketed on either side by equally flawless, shimmering jewels. The weight of it was significant so a team of servants braided her hair to catch the clips, giving it more support. She watched with an awe that almost edged out her sadness. But not quite.
Her overarching emotion as she prepared for her wedding day was grief. Grief that her mother wasn’t with her, grief that her groom didn’t love her, grief that she was marrying for practical reasons rather than the fairy tale she’d been foolish enough to hope for.
But it was enough—it had to be. She couldn’t change their situation and if she’d had any doubts about Khalil’s feelings, his silence since their conversation had shown her the truth.
Nervousness flared through her as a servant appeared at her door. ‘It is time, madam.’
India nodded, apprehension tightening every muscle in her body.
‘The ceremony is to take place in the Court Rooms,’ the servant said, and India appreciated that she didn’t refer to it as a wedding. ‘Ceremony’ felt far more appropriate. This was a simple formality—the legal binding of a man and woman for the sake of their accidental children’s future. The more she thought of it in those businesslike terms, the better. Except it wasn’t businesslike. She loved him, and, having admitted that to them both, she was plagued with doubts.
There was the sensible solution—marrying him for the sake of their children. She could easily make herself see the points in favour of this plan. It was right that they should be parents together—that was what they both wanted.
But at the same time, her fragile, aching heart was beating her, begging to be heard. Because marrying someone who didn’t love you was guaranteeing disaster, wasn’t it? What would her mother—who’d struggled with a small child on her own rather than living in an emotionally abusive and hurtful relationship—say about India’s choice? Would she understand that India was doing this for love? Or would she remind India that marriage was an important partnership that demanded work and respect, a lifetime of commitment?
A lifetime!
Her knees wobbled as she stood on the threshold of the Court Rooms, shifting to the side suddenly so she could press her back to the wall and stare up at the ceilings. Inside, her fate awaited her. But it was a fate that would require all of her courage to pursue and, suddenly, India wasn’t sure if she was brave enough.
‘Calm down, Khal. You look as though you’re about to fall over.’
He shifted a sidelong glance at Astrid, catching his parents’ disapproving glances from their seats a little way across the room.
‘She’s late.’
‘Yes, well, that is a bridal traditional, at least in America. And this is a very big palace. It is quite possible she’s wandering a corridor, looking for us, completely lost...’
‘Someone was sent to collect her thirty minutes ago.’
‘Then she is simply finishing getting ready. Calm down. She’ll be here.’ Astrid put a hand on his arm, her eyes warm and comforting—neither emotion did anything to reassure Khalil. ‘Believe me, Khal. I have seen the two of you together, and I have spoken to India at length. That woman would walk through the desert at midday for you. She’ll be here.’
Khalil was very still; even his heart slowed to a heavy, uncertain thump in his chest. ‘What?’
Astrid frowned. ‘What do you mean, “what”?’
‘Why do you say that about India?’
Astrid’s expression was quizzical. ‘Because she’s in love with you. And gathering by the way you’re burning holes in the door, and intermittently shaking your watch to ensure it hasn’t stopped working, it’s quite clear you feel the same about her.’
Anxiety isn’t love.
And he was anxious. He realised now how foolish he’d been to ignore her in the lead-up to the wedding. Except ‘ignoring’ her wasn’t exactly accurate. She’d plagued him, head and heart, every minute of every hour since last he’d seen her. Only he’d resisted going to her. He’d avoided seeing her, even when she had somehow become a part of him anyway. Was it possible she would refuse to marry him after all? And then what would he do?
Whatever it takes to make her happy.
Even if that meant letting her go.
He looked around the room with a growing ache in the pit of his gut.
She wasn’t coming.
‘Why did you marry Ethan?’
Astrid frowned. ‘Why does anyone get married? I loved him.’
‘Do you regret that now you know what he’s like?’
‘How can I? I have Romeo. But, more than that, loving Ethan taught me a lot. It’s like your experience with Fatima—you went through hell with her, but it made you all the more equipped to recognise true love when you found it.’
He looked away, his throat feeling thick and textured, as though he had razor blades stuck there.
‘Love is a huge leap of faith, Khal. It never comes with a guarantee, you know. But look—how beautiful and serene your bride looks.’
His head whipped around, his eyes pinpointing India immediately as she entered the room. Astrid was right; she was beautiful, but he knew the woman in question better and he saw much that Astrid had missed.
India was strained. Tired. Exhausted. Stressed. Scared. Terrified. She also looked completely and utterly...alone.
It was wrong for India to be walking down the aisle like this. Someone should have her arm. Her brother should be here.
It would feel like lying to him.
It’s not real.
His heart slammed into his ribs and he stepped forward, instincts stirring to supersede anything else. Everything about this was wrong...
‘Excuse me a moment.’ He was conscious of his parents’ attention on him as he strode down the aisle, aware when his father stood, but Khalil didn’t stop. He walked quickly towards India as though she were her own gravitational pull, and he powerless to resist it.
India’s stomach was in knots. Her panic attack had receded, but she was still light-headed and uncertain, the enormity of what she was about to do cascading through her like a tsunami. It wasn’t helped by Khalil’s approach. Was this some custom she hadn’t heard of? Was the groom supposed to meet her?
His eyes seemed to lance hers and the intensity in their depths had her steps faltering.
‘Is something the matter?’ she whispered, when he was right in front of her.
‘Yes.’ He reached out, touched her hands lightly then immediately withdrew again, angling his face away, his gaze deliberately averted, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her. Was the idea of this marriage so terrible to him?
‘We need to speak.’
Her heart tripped into her throat. Only minutes ago she’d balked at the idea of marrying him, but now that she stood on the cliff-face of not doing so, she was awash with remorse. It took the spectre of losing him—this—to know without a doubt what she really wanted, regardless of the pain she knew would follow. Some pain was worth enduring.
But what if that wasn’t the case for him? What if nothing about this marriage made it worthwhile after all? It was patently obvious that he was having doubts.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
His father’s voice was booming, a noise that resonated through the room. Khalil reached for her hand now, interlacing their fingers.
India closed her eyes as something like a sense of completion wove through her.
Guard against it. It’s not real. Nothing about this is real. He doesn’t love you.
‘A moment.’ Khal responded in the same voice, terser though, as though tension were overtaking him.
‘Come with me.’ He drew her with him, through a row of seats towards a door at the side of the room, carved from dark, heavy wood. He pushed on it and it creaked a little as it opened to reveal a room that was smaller in size, but no less sumptuous. This had a large red carpet square in the centre, and the furnishings around the room were gold. There was only one window, but it was large and pushed out from the walls, creating a seating area with a view of the rose garden.
He dropped her hand as soon as they entered, then swept deeper into the centre, his back to her, hands on hips. Her heart dropped into her toes. It was clear that whatever he wanted to discuss was negative.
‘Khalil,’ she murmured, her voice throaty. ‘Why don’t you just say it?’
He was silent, but slowly, oh so slowly, he pivoted, his eyes unreadable as they locked to hers.
‘I mean it. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever it is, just say it. I’d rather hear the truth than stand here not knowing.’ But she did know. She could see the intent in his expression and was simply waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall.
His eyes narrowed, his expression carefully muted of feeling. ‘This wedding is a mistake. We cannot marry.’
She’d feared this was coming, but hearing the words shattered a part of her. ‘Because I love you?’
‘Because you’re miserable,’ he responded, dragging a hand through his hair. ‘Because despite my best intentions I will never be able to make you happy—and I promised that I would try. But I can’t. You love me, and I can’t give you that. There is no happy ending here for you. You’re already miserable—marrying me is only going to make you feel a thousand times worse. We can’t do it.’
His words swirled around her, wrapping her into knots, so she didn’t know which way was up. ‘I’m not miserable,’ she contradicted quietly.
‘You are. I can see it in your eyes. Marrying you was a simple equation when I didn’t know you. Then you were just a woman I’d slept with.’ He frowned, a line forming between his brows. ‘No, you were never just that to me. I don’t know what I’m saying. It was easier when I still thought you capable of—’
‘When you didn’t care about my feelings,’ she said with a tight lift of her lips.
‘Yes.’ He was arrogant enough to cross his arms over his chest and stare at her unapologetically, but a moment later he grimaced, shaking his head. ‘What a monumental ass that makes me. As though I had any right to dictate this decision to you.’
‘You didn’t dictate, you persuaded.’
‘I persuaded by employing threats. That is no different from dictating. If I had given you a true choice, would you have made this one, India?’ He didn’t wait for her to respond. ‘Of course you wouldn’t.’ The words were grim, and it was obvious that he was angry with himself.
‘You don’t know that.’ She paced slowly towards him, but then changed direction, moving across the room instead. Space was needed. ‘I have always known I wanted a family.’
‘A true family,’ he interrupted gruffly, shaking his head. ‘A husband who loves you, children who were created out of that love. Not this.’
Her heart stammered. ‘I do love you. So far as I’m concerned, our children are born of love, even if it’s not mutual.’
‘That’s not a good enough reason to marry,’ he said firmly, loudly, his voice shaking her so she flinched, and he groaned. ‘Damn it, India, this isn’t enough for you. Any fool can see you deserve better than what I can give you. This marriage was a mistake, but, fortunately, not one I will live to regret.’
Pain seared her. She stared at him, struggling to draw breath.
‘I will take legal advice on the line of succession,’ he said quietly. ‘As I should have done from the beginning. I understand the importance of ensuring their birthright. If needs be, we may marry purely for their birth, and dissolve the marriage almost immediately. I appreciate that is still far from ideal—’
‘Stop.’ Anger shifted through her; the word emerged as a roar. ‘Just, stop this.’
Surprised by her outburst, he did so.
‘You just said you persuaded me into this marriage, rather than giving me any real choice, and now you’re doing exactly the same thing about cancelling our marriage. Don’t you care what I want?’
‘All I care about is what you want!’ he responded with strange determination, so an odd, uncertain suspicion began to flicker to life in the recesses of her brain.
‘And you think I want this?’
‘Yes. Clearly.’
‘Why is it clear?’
‘Because I can see the fear in your eyes. The hesitation in your steps. A bride should glow with pleasure, and you do not.’ He moved closer and she sucked in a deep breath, bracing for his nearness. ‘You deserve to marry a man who makes you glow.’
‘And how will you feel then, Khalil?’
He stopped walking and stared at her, his eyes a stormy grey with flecks of gold showing uncertainty.
‘If we don’t marry now, and in a year’s time I meet someone else. How will you feel?’
‘Relieved,’ he said, but that flicker of doubt burst into a full flame. Her heart began to pound.
‘Oh, yeah?’ she whispered. ‘Then why do I only see fear in your face? Is that what all this is about, Khalil? You’re afraid?’
He stared down at her, his nostrils flaring. ‘Of what?’
‘Of loving me! Loving someone is an act of faith. You have to trust them not to hurt you, and Fatima betrayed that trust, so you’re afraid to trust me, even though you know I’m different. But more than that—and here’s what you really need to understand—loving someone isn’t a choice. Do you think you can end our engagement and whatever feelings are in here—’ she jabbed her finger into his chest ‘—will simply go away? Do you think you’ll stop thinking about me? Do you think you’ll stop wanting me?’
‘I think you’ll be happy.’
‘I won’t be, because you’re the man I love. Like I said, it’s not a choice. I can’t simply box away those feelings and move on to some other guy. I don’t want to move on.’
‘Even if I can never give you what you want?’
Flames overtook her. ‘Oh, Khalil, you can give it to me. In fact, you already have. What you’ve done just now is incontrovertible proof—not just of your decency, but of your love for me. You care about me—to the point you’d break with your constitution to ensure my happiness. What is that if not love?’
‘Respect,’ he muttered. ‘Fairness.’
Sadness washed over her. She knew she was right, but he was determined to fight her. ‘Are you really so afraid of this?’ she said gently, because now her pain was a shared pain.
‘If I’m afraid, it’s of hurting you. Of seeing you live a lifetime, broken by our marriage. I cannot bear it.’
‘And why do you think that is?’ She allowed the rhetorical question to fall between them, watching him, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t, and the weight of his silence grew heavier and heavier until India sighed, tears stinging her eyes. ‘Is this really what you want?’
He stared at her, a pulse working overtime at his temple. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
She nodded, a single tear falling down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly. ‘That’s strange, because it feels the opposite of right, doesn’t it?’
She stared at him for a moment, waiting for an answer that didn’t come, and then, on a huge gasp of air, spun away, moving back to the heavy wooden doors. She wrenched them open and startled to see Astrid in a close conversation with Khalil’s parents, across the room. For a moment, she stood perfectly still, pale-faced and frozen to the spot, and then she turned, moving quickly away from them, away from the flower-embellished altar at the head of the room, back to the golden doors that had marked her entrance to the ceremony.
Her breath was burning, coming in shallow spurts, just as it had before, but this was for another reason. She wasn’t panicking now, so much as struggling to get enough oxygen—grief had swollen inside her, forming an organ of sadness, and it had overtaken the space previously occupied by her lungs. Once she’d cleared the room, she broke into a run, lifting the heavy silk skirts of her dress, holding back a sob until she’d rounded the corner. Then, she pressed her back to the wall and gave into her tears, letting them fall unchecked, perfectly aware in that moment she’d never know true happiness again.
He swore to himself as he followed her, ignoring his father’s commands that he stop, his mother’s pleas for him to come back and explain himself. He was aware, vaguely, of Astrid’s hushed tones urging patience and calm, but nothing—no one—could prevent him from going after India. Hell. He’d wanted to fix things for her, to make her happy, and he’d failed miserably.
He cursed again as he came out of the Court Rooms and looked left and right, the empty corridors filling him with a sense of panic and dread that defied logic. He knew she couldn’t leave the palace without his knowledge and consent—a fact that filled his mouth with tart acidity, for what that said about her living conditions this past month. She’d been his virtual prisoner, and still she believed she wanted to marry him?
He thrust his hands onto his hips and looked left once more, but this time, a palace guard caught his eye and with the simplest shift of his head nodded further down the corridor, and around a corner. Khalil stood right where he was for all of two seconds and then moved quickly, his long legs carrying him with haste through the ancient hallways and then to the left.
And when he saw her, his heart ceased to function as he’d known it. It no longer beat, but burst. It was no simple organ in his body, but a creation of something more, something that was intrinsically linked to India. Seeing her in tears immediately pulled at him, so he groaned, striding towards her so fast she didn’t realise he was there until he put his hands beneath her elbows and drew her to him, pressing her sobbing body to his. She was stiff, resisting him at first, and his heart squeezed again, recognising her rejection and knowing it was the least he deserved.
But he moved a hand to her back, stroking her there, each touch lighting a part of him with intuition and understanding—an understanding he would never have found if India had been less courageous, and less wise. She’d been prepared to fight him—to fight for him—even when he’d pushed her away again and again with his stubborn insistence that she meant nothing to him. He couldn’t even imagine how ferociously she would fight for their children!
His heart swelled to overtake his whole body and he pulled away from her just far enough to look into her eyes for several long, vital seconds.
‘You’re right,’ he said finally, moving his hands to cup her face, loving the feel of her there, the goodness and beauty and wisdom and strength that fired through her eyes filling him with all the strength he needed to face the truth. ‘I love you. And the idea of that terrifies me. But a life without you in it scares me so much more—a fact I didn’t fully appreciate until I watched you walk away from me just now. My God, India, how did you do this to me? Somehow, when I was not paying attention, you dug in here and I know now that you will always be there—a part of me. The best part of me.’
Her lips parted and her eyes, awash with sadness, met his. ‘I don’t know why you’re saying this. If it’s because you feel bad, please don’t. I always, always appreciate honesty—’
‘Then I am glad I can finally give that to you. In my defence, I have not been honest with myself either. I fought this so hard. I wanted to keep you in a neat little box, a wife of convenience who would never mean more to me—yes, I hear how absurd and stupid that is, after everything we’ve shared. And it is not, in any way, something I could ever have achieved with you, my darling, beautiful India.’
She blinked, each flutter of her lashes seeming to clear the sadness away. He expelled a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, releasing tension and pent-up angst from deep within his gut. She sparkled once more. But there was still something in the depths of her gaze that held him back. He hadn’t convinced her yet.
‘But this wedding today is still wrong,’ he said gently. ‘I do not want to marry you in a hushed, hurried affair. When—if—we marry, it should be worthy of the love I feel for you.’
Her eyes flashed away from him. ‘I’m not Fatima,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t want a big wedding. That’s never been what this is about.’
‘Not a big wedding, no, but a wedding that celebrates our love, with our loved ones present. All of them. How can we marry without your brother here, India? Without me even having met someone who is so important to you?’
Her gaze flickered back to his, and his heart soared. He could see that he’d expressed a hesitation she herself felt.
‘But it’s more than that.’ He scanned her face slowly. ‘I do not want to marry you until you believe the truth of my words. When you walk down the aisle towards me, I want you to be floating on air. I want you to glow with happiness and certainty. I want you to glow with the knowledge of my love for you and trust in you.’ He caught her hands in his, lifting them between their bodies. ‘I love you. I have loved you, I think, for as long as I’ve known you, since I first saw you. I knew I wanted to make you mine, but it was so much more than physical. I felt that if I didn’t take you home that night, a part of me would wither into nothingness. And then, that night we shared was like something out of time and reality. It was like a dream. You were unlike any woman I had ever known.’
‘Until the morning...’
‘And I reacted so harshly, because already you had come to mean so much to me. I think, if I was truly honest with myself, I would admit that a part of me had begun to build a fantasy about our future. So when Ethan told me such a vile lie about you, I clung to it, because it was proof of something I’d come to believe—not about you but about love, lies, and about all women.’
‘You were protecting yourself,’ she whispered softly, her heart so gentle even then that she rose to his defence.
‘That doesn’t make it okay. I pride myself on my instincts and, with you, I had it so completely wrong. If you had not conceived the twins, I shudder to think of what I might have lost.’
‘Might have?’ she said with a lifted brow.
‘You have no idea how I had to fight from coming back to New York. I thought about you, India. I thought about you often. You were like a fever in my bloodstream and I have no doubt I would have realised, at some point, that things between us were unresolved. If only I could have realised that I loved you—imagine how much simpler this would have been.’
‘Simpler, perhaps, but do you know, Khalil, I’m not sure I would change a thing about what we’ve shared. Our love has been forged in fire, tested at many points, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s the kind of love that will survive anything. Anything. So long as we live, and love—’
‘And trust,’ he finished, dropping his forehead to hers before brushing their lips together.
Thirty minutes later, after more reflecting on their love, and the circumstances that had brought them to it, they returned to the Court Rooms, hand in hand.
The three guests were still there, and as the doors opened they turned, as one, to the couple.
‘The wedding is off,’ Khalil said, with a broad grin, which brought a corresponding frown to the faces of his parents and Astrid.
‘What? Why?’ Astrid looked from one to the other.
‘Because, my dear cousin, when you love someone with your whole heart, as I do India, it is not enough to marry like this. I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want a wedding that the whole kingdom hears of.’ He turned to face India then, his voice ever so slightly uneven. ‘I want everyone in the world to know that I have fallen in love with the woman I intend to spend the rest of my life attempting to deserve.’ He squeezed India’s hand, before turning back to Astrid. ‘And we will count on you to help us organise it.’
Astrid beamed as she swept towards them, pulling India into her arms in an enormous hug. ‘Of course! This is a far better idea, cousin. I’m glad you are not completely brainless after all.’ She drew back and winked at India, in time for Khalil’s parents to appear.
‘Your Highnesses.’ India pulled free of Astrid and Khalil and dipped into a low curtsy.
It was Khalil’s father who laughed, a gruff noise, before putting a hand on India’s forearm. ‘My dear girl, please stop that at once.’
She shifted an uncertain glance at Khalil.
‘You are to marry our son. You clearly make him happier than we have ever seen him. We’re family now. We do not need to stand on ceremony.’
And then, Khalil’s mother hugged her, and India fought back more tears, but the kind that were drawn from the happiest wellspring a person could possess. Somehow, she’d found her way to family, to home, and every single part of her was whole again. She smiled, and wondered if she’d ever stop.
