hair, letting the pale strands fall loose over her shoulders. “Right?”
Zayed’s hands went to his hips and he continued to stare off in the direction Jesslyn had gone. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? How could she think we … I …” She took a quick breath. “She knows I’m a psychologist, a relationship expert, she knows I’m here working with you.”
Silence stretched until Rou’s nerves felt close to breaking, and then he turned and looked at her and shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she believes you’re my fiancée.”
“How can that be?”
He shrugged calmly. “I said the next time I returned, I’d come with my fiancée.”
Rou stared at him, horrified. “Does everyone think that?”
“I don’t know. It would explain why you’re here in my sisters’ rooms. These rooms are reserved for immediate family only.”
“Oh no.” Rou covered her eyes, not wanting to imagine what Jesslyn was thinking as they sat here having breakfast together, talking about life and children, work and the future. Had Jesslyn imagined that Rou was her future sister-in-law? Oh, so awkward, especially as Jesslyn already had so much to cope with.
She dropped her hands. “You have to go explain,” she said urgently. “You have to go now and make sure everyone knows I’m not your fiancée, but here working to help you get one. Especially the queen. She’s so stressed already. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable when your future fiancée does arrive.”
“And when is that, Dr. Tornell? This morning? Tonight? Tomorrow? We’re no closer to finding a wife for me now than we were in Vancouver five days ago.” He dropped onto the couch where Jesslyn had been sitting, folded his arms behind his head and gazed steadily at Rou. “Perhaps it’s time to rethink our search.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Rou reached for her notepad, ready to take notes. “There must be someone close to you, already in your life, who would be suitable. A former girlfriend. A second or third cousin. A family friend.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “A family friend. Yes. Someone that knows us, someone with a history with us. That would make the most sense.” Zayed leaned forward, snagged a pastry from the nearly full tray and took a bite. “Be ideal, actually.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said, making a few more notes on her pad of paper. “But tell me, I’m curious. Sharif has four children, three girls and a boy, two-year-old Tahir. Why wouldn’t one of them inherit the throne? Why does it pass to you?”
“It’s due to our old Sarq laws. In many ways we’re a modern country, but in other ways, we have changed very little in the past four hundred years, and Sarq tradition dictates that it must be a male ruler, and he must have reached the mature age of twenty-five, as well as be married with at least one wife—”
“At least one wife?” Her head jerked up. “How many wives are kings expected to have?”
“My father and grandfather were forward-thinking men and they both only took one wife. My great-grandfather had three.”
“But a king today could have more than one wife?”
“Legally, yes. Morally? No. For the past one hundred years, Fehrs have taken just one wife, and loved one wife. We are loyal to our women, and I—despite what you may have heard about me—will be loyal, too.”
“I suppose that would be a relief for your future wife.”
He smiled. “I thought so, too.”
“Now, do you have someone in mind, or are we to brainstorm and start a list?”
His expression turned lazy. “Oh, I have someone in mind.”
“Excellent.” Now they were getting somewhere, and she smiled at him expectantly.
He smiled back even more pleasantly. “I think you’ll be surprised.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ve decided on you.”
Her pulse did a funny little flutter. Clearly she wasn’t following his logic. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve decided on you, Dr. Tornell. You’re perfect. Educated, accomplished, successful. And best of all, you’re an old family friend. Brother Sharif’s protégée.”
Rou stumbled to her feet, putting distance between them. “Have you been drinking?”
“I had a coffee, but it wasn’t an espresso.”
“Sheikh Fehr—”
“Perhaps it’s time you called me Zayed.”
Her voice hardened. “Sheikh Fehr—”
“We are virtually betrothed.”
Rou’s head swam. She sat down abruptly on the stone steps. “No. No, we’re not. Absolutely not. Under no condition, in any situation.”
“But I’m afraid Jesslyn and the children already believe it to be the case.”
She pointed down the hall. “Then go clear up the misunderstanding. I am here to help you find a wife, and that’s the only reason I am here.”
“I’ll still fund your research center. The money would still be yours.”
She, who never swooned, nearly fainted now. Was he serious? And had he really just mentioned money? That he’d give her money to marry him?
Rou grabbed the edge of the step with both hands and held on for dear life. Her stomach was doing crazy somersaults. In fact the room was spinning wildly. “We. Are. Not. Marrying.”
He just regarded her with lazy calm. “You know you’re the perfect solution. You’re exactly what I want. You know my situation. You know I need an arranged marriage and am not planning on a love match. You’re highly qualified as candidates go, you’re smart and interesting and our children would be very bright—”
“Good God! Children?”
“We could wait a year before trying to get you pregnant to see if Sharif is found, because if he returned, I’d of course free you from your obligations….”
“You’re serious.” Her voice fell to a whisper, and she once again was staggering to her feet, rushing for the privacy and sanctity of her bedroom and bath.
“There’s no reason to panic,” he called after her. “We’ll have the courtship. We’ll just begin after the ceremony.”
Rou turned in the doorway to her bedroom to look at him. He was still sitting where she’d left him, cool and calm and as confident as could be.
The worst thing was, she couldn’t even pretend he was insane. She knew the signs of insanity. He didn’t display those. But he was totally, completely out of touch.
