from Saturday which makes it eighteen days.’’
The issue wasn’t fourteen days or eighteen days. The issue was not getting married…or at least, not getting married his way. If he wanted a wedding, she’d give him a wedding, she just wasn’t about to be a bride, trapped in Baraka. ‘‘I have thoughts on the wedding, Your Highness. I’ve made some preliminary arrangements of my own.’’
‘‘You have?’’
‘‘Yes. As my mother was American, I thought we’d fly to the States for the actual wedding.’’ She saw his incredulous expression and hurried on. ‘‘I’d hoped to marry in my mother’s parish church, just outside Baton Rouge, Louisiana.’’
His jaw tightened. ‘‘I’ve never even been to Louisiana. Have you?’’
‘‘No, which is why I want to go. I’d like my mother’s family to be able to attend—’’
‘‘They can attend the wedding here.’’
‘‘They’re—’’ she swallowed hard, ‘‘—poor, Your Highness. Most have never been outside their county, much less on an airplane to a foreign country.’’
‘‘So we’ll send my jet. Problem solved.’’ The Sultan walked to a bureau hugging a far wall, retrieved something from the top drawer and returned to her side. ‘‘Your schedule,’’ he continued, handing her an appointment calendar. ‘‘As you can see, you’ll be quite busy helping plan and prepare for the wedding here. Some things you’ll do on your own. Many things we’ll do together—’’
‘‘King Nuri,’’ she interrupted, fingers burning from the brief touch of their hands, ‘‘forgive me for being obtuse, but I don’t understand why we can’t at least discuss my ideas for the wedding.’’
He lifted his head, met her gaze, his cool silver gaze still. ‘‘But of course we can discuss your ideas,’’ he said after a moment. ‘‘I think its essential to incorporate as many of your family traditions into our ceremony here. This is exactly what I wish you to tell your wedding planner. You’ll be meeting with her later today—’’
‘‘Today?’’
‘‘Tonight.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘But to ensure you’re not overwhelmed, your assistant, Alea, and the wedding planner will discuss your agenda, make sure you’re comfortable with your various duties, as well as answer any question you might have with your schedule. I think you’ll find both women most helpful.’’
She suppressed a wave of panic. A wedding planner. A personal assistant. How many handlers did she need? ‘‘I’m quite capable of handling the preparations myself.’’
‘‘I realize you have a great deal of experience at planning receptions and the sort, but you’re to be my wife, Queen of Baraka. It wouldn’t do to have you inundated with fatiguing details. I’ve brought in the most competent professionals available. I know you’ll like your staff—’’
‘‘But I don’t need a staff!’’
‘‘You do.’’ He smiled almost benevolently. ‘‘It’ll help you manage the stress.’’
‘‘I don’t feel any stress.’’
He smiled even more benevolently. ‘‘You will.’’
Actually, she had lied. She was feeling unbelievable stress at the moment. If she couldn’t get out of Baraka…if she couldn’t get her sister and Lilly to the States…if the wedding went forward without an escape route…
To hide her worry, Nic opened the bound leather calendar and skimmed the pages, noting the various names and dates written in. Meet personal assistant, first Arabic lesson, first fitting for wedding gown, selection of wedding ring, second Arabic lesson, first engagement party, culture lesson, third Arabic lesson, city tour with King Nuri, fourth Arabic lesson. And on and on all the way until the wedding.
Eighteen days of activities. Eighteen endless days of pretending to be somebody she wasn’t. Eighteen days of acting as if she were about to become King Nuri’s queen. ‘‘I have something scheduled every day.’’
‘‘Exactly.’’
It boggled her mind. He’d thought it all out. He was training her for the wedding. Language lessons, beauty lessons, public appearances, private activities with her betrothed. It was a whirlwind of activity to ensure a smooth wedding and transition into married life. ‘‘King Nuri—’’
‘‘Malik,’’ he gently corrected.
‘‘Malik,’’ she amended, wondering where to even start with her concerns. ‘‘Is this all necessary?’’
‘‘You’re to be Queen.’’
‘‘Yes, but some of this can happen after the wedding. The language lessons…the cooking classes…’’
‘‘It is better to take care of as much as possible now, before the wedding.’’ His tone allowed for no argument. ‘‘I expect you’ll be carrying my child soon after the wedding, and I understand some women do not feel up to much activity in their first trimester. My desire is to simplify your life so that after the wedding you are free to concentrate on the family.’’
This was definitely not part of the plan.
The plan was to rescue Lilly via America—not get stuck here in Baraka with a wedding ring on her finger and a sultan’s baby in her womb. ‘‘You want to try for children immediately?’’ Nic prayed she didn’t sound as horrified as she felt. Nic loved kids—other people’s kids. She wasn’t the nesting sort. Felt no intense maternal urges. Had never been one to want to hold the babies when friends came by the palace with their latest.
‘‘But surely you want more children?’’
More, that’s right. He saw her as a mother already. She had one daughter, what was oh, five or six or seven more?
‘‘Yes, of course, but we’re still strangers….’’
‘‘We won’t be in a few weeks time.’’ He gestured to the calendar she held limply in her hand. ‘‘If you’ll check your schedule you’ll see we spend a significant amount of time together every day. Some days we’ll be dining alone. Some days we’ll be entertained. Other days we’ll be shopping for necessities like a marriage bed.’’
Marriage bed. A fate worse than death.
Nic felt the blood drain from her face. She didn’t want a marriage bed. She wasn’t going to share any bed with Malik Roman Nuri, especially no bed that had ‘‘husband and wife’’ hung over it.
Making love was one thing. Getting married for the rest of your life was another. Unfortunately, King Nuri had them on a fast track to the ceremony, and right now, he was providing no loopholes.
Wasn’t this just what Grandfather Remi had predicted? He’d said for years that one day Nic was going to meet the man who was more than her match.
‘‘Not all men are going to roll over and play dead just because you snap your fingers,’’ Grandfather had said. ‘‘There are men who can be shaped, directed, and then there are men who do the shaping.’’
Malik watched her face, seeing the wariness in the princess’ blue eyes. He’d never seen a less eager bride in his life. But then, he understood some of her apprehensions. When he realized he’d have to marry, he’d had plenty of his own.
He was marrying out of necessity. The issue of succession had become more pressing since the assassination attempt last year. His younger brother, Kalen, wasn’t about to leave London, having renounced all ties to Baraka and his royal family. Malik had sisters with young sons, as well as numerous male cousins, but none had remained in Baraka, all choosing Western culture over their own.
That