a few feet away, his attention focused on the group. “Does anyone know who that man is to my left, holding up the wall?”
“What man?” Adan asked.
“The one who keeps staring.”
Sunny glanced over her shoulder before focusing on Piper again. “That’s Tarek Azzmar, a corporate investor who hails from Morocco and a billionaire probably ten times over. I met him in Mexico City a few years back when he was opening an orphanage. He’s a man of few words and rather reclusive. An enigma wrapped in a mystery, as they say.”
“And Rafiq invited him,” Zain added. “Apparently he’s building a mansion not far from the palace. We’ll be able to see his estate when we’re standing on the west-facing veranda.”
“So much for privacy,” Adan muttered. “And with that in mind, if you fine people will excuse us while I have a few moments alone with my wife?”
“By all means,” Zain said. “The courtyard outside provides enough protection to begin your honeymoon, if you so choose. My wife will attest to that.”
Piper caught a glimpse of Madison elbowing Zain in the side, earning quite a bit of laughter as her husband led her away.
Once in the corner of the deserted vestibule, Adan turned her into his arms. “How does it feel to be an honest-to-goodness princess?”
“Unreal. Surreal. Wonderful.”
“I’m glad you are up to the task, and I’m hoping you are willing to take on another.”
She suspected she knew where this could be heading. “Hold it right there, hotshot. We have plenty of time to make a sibling for Sam.”
“I would like to get to that in the immediate future,” he said, “but this task involves your painting skills.”
“What would you like me to paint, Your Highness? And please don’t tell me one of your planes.”
He gave her that earth-shattering, heart-melting grin. “As tempting as that might be, I’m referring to capturing the entire family on canvas. Rafiq, with the council’s support, wants to commission you as the official palace artist in order to preserve history.”
Piper could think of nothing she would like better. Actually, she could, but she’d take care of that later in bed. “I’m absolutely honored, and I will do my best to prove I’m up to the challenge.”
“It is going to be challenging, at that. You’ll have to rely on photographs of my father to capture his likeness. And we’ll hang that in the foyer.”
“I can do that,” she said, thankful Adan had thought of it first. “What about your mother?”
“Since she’s here for the sitting, that should not be a problem.”
Another feat accomplished—his acceptance of Elena. “We’ll hang that one in the nursery, next to yours and Sam’s.”
“And will you be able to paint one of all three of us?”
“Certainly, and I’ll make myself look much thinner.”
He frowned. “No need for that. You are perfect in every way.”
So was he. So was their life, and their love. “Now that we’ve taken care of the details, why don’t we go up and say good-night to your son?”
“Our son.”
“You’re right. As of this morning, he’s legally mine.”
He brushed her hair back from her shoulder and kissed her gently. “He has been yours from the beginning, and I will be yours for all time.”
In that moment, Piper realized she’d been very lucky to find the sheikh of her dreams. A prince of a guy. The one who got away...and came back, this time to give her his heart.
* * * * *
Kate Hewitt
After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories, she loves reading, baking and playing chess with her son — she has yet to win against him — but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at kate-hewitt.com.
‘SOMETHING’S WRONG—’
Elena Karras, Queen of Thallia, had barely registered the voice of the royal steward behind her when a man in a dark suit, his face harsh-looking and his expression inscrutable, met her at the bottom of the steps that led from the royal jet to this bleak stretch of desert.
‘Queen Elena. Welcome to Kadar.’
‘Thank you.’
He bowed and then indicated one of three armoured SUVs waiting by the airstrip. ‘Please accompany us to our destination,’ he said, his voice clipped yet courteous. He stepped aside so she could move forward, and Elena threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin as she walked towards the waiting cars.
She hadn’t expected fanfare upon her arrival to marry Sheikh Aziz al Bakir, but she supposed she’d thought she’d have a little more than a few security guards and blacked-out cars.
Then she reminded herself that Sheikh Aziz wanted to keep her arrival quiet, because of the instability within Kadar. Ever since he’d taken the throne just over a month ago there had been, according to Aziz, some minor insurgent activity. At their last meeting, he’d assured her it was taken care of, but she supposed a few security measures were a necessary precaution.
Just like the Sheikh, she needed this marriage to succeed. She barely knew the man, had only met him a few times, but she needed a husband just as he needed a wife.
Desperately.
‘This way, Your Highness.’
The man who’d first greeted her had been walking beside her from the airstrip to the SUV, the desert endlessly dark all around them, the night-time air possessing a decided chill. He opened the door of the vehicle and Elena tipped her head up to the inky sky, gazing at the countless stars glittering so coldly above them.
‘Queen Elena.’
She stiffened at the sound of the panicked voice, recognising it as that of the steward from the Kadaran royal jet. The man’s earlier words belatedly registered: something’s wrong.
She started to turn and felt a hand press into the small of her back, staying her.
‘Get in the car, Your Highness.’
