The Inherited Bride. Maisey Yates

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СКАЧАТЬ had asked him to bring her back for the wedding—had begged him to bring him his future bride so that his honor would not be compromised. That was what he was here to do—though he was beginning to doubt her suitability. A selfish, spoiled child with no sense of duty would not make an appropriate sheikha for his country. But Isabella Rossi came with the allegiance of an entire country—a trade and military alliance that would not come from any other bride. That made her essential, irreplaceable.

      “Going off on your own was extremely foolish,” he bit out, calling on all his willpower to squash the desire that had risen up in him. “Anything could have happened to you.”

      “I was safe,” she said. “I’ll continue to be safe. I’ll—”

      “You will do nothing but come with me, amira. Do you honestly think I would leave you to yourself just because you put on a pretty smile and ask nicely?”

      Her lush lips parted in shock. “I … I had hoped that—”

      “That you would not be held to your word? If the people of Umarah were to find out that their sheikh’s bride has deserted him his honor would be compromised. He would be shamed in the eyes of his people. You might be deemed an unsuitable choice. And if that were to happen, what would become of the alliance? Jobs, money, security, all meant to benefit our people, gone.”

      She bit down hard on her lower lip, her blue eyes glistening. Annoyance surged through him—a welcome replacement for the sudden physical attraction that had hit him the first moment he’d seen her. He didn’t have the patience to deal with emotional women. Emotion in general was useless to him. Although he had a feeling Isabella was employing it as a manipulation technique.

      She would soon learn that he was the wrong man to try to soften with tears. Tears meant nothing to him.

      “I wasn’t going to run out on the wedding. I just wanted some time.”

      He noticed the way she turned the large solitaire diamond ring around on her slender finger as she spoke. She was still wearing the ring Hassan had sent her—a possible sign that she was telling the truth.

      “Time’s up, I’m afraid.”

      The devastation in her eyes would have affected most people. He felt nothing. Nothing but contempt. He’d seen far too much of the world to be swayed by the tears of a poor little rich girl, bemoaning her marriage to an extremely wealthy royal.

      “I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower,” she said quietly.

      “What?”

      “I didn’t get to see the Eiffel Tower. I took the train from Italy, and I just arrived here this evening. I wasn’t going to go out by myself at night. I didn’t see anything of Paris that I wanted to.”

      “You’ve never seen the Eiffel Tower?”

      She blushed, her sun-kissed cheeks turning a deep rose. “I’ve seen it. But seeing it from a moving motorcade and actually going to it, getting out and experiencing it, are two very different things.”

      “This isn’t a holiday, and I’m not here to give you a guided tour. I’m taking you back to Umarah as soon as possible.”

      “Please—just let me go to the Eiffel Tower.”

      It was a simple request. One that could be easily accommodated. And, while he wasn’t moved by her drama, he wasn’t cruel. It would also make it much easier to remove her from the hotel if she came of her own free will. He wouldn’t hesitate to remove her by force, but it was not his preference.

      “In the morning. I give you my word I will let you stop there on the way to the airport. But you have to come with me now, and not kicking and screaming.”

      “And you’ll keep your word?”

      “Another thing you will learn about me, Princess: I’m not a nice man, and I’m not particularly good company, but I do keep my word. Always. It is a matter of honor.”

      “And honor is important to you?”

      “It’s the one thing no one can take from you.”

      “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. He inclined his head in agreement. “And if I don’t go with you …?”

      “You’re going with me. Kicking and screaming optional—as is sightseeing.”

      “Then I suppose that means my choices are limited.” She chewxed her bottom lip.

      “That’s understating it; your choice is singular. The method, however, is up to you.”

      She blinked furiously, her shoulders sagging in defeat, her eyes averted as if she didn’t want him seeing the depth of her pain. Although he was certain that in truth she wanted nothing more than for him to witness just how distressed she was.

      “My bags will have to be packed. I’ve just gotten all of my things put away.” She didn’t make a move toward the closet, she simply stood rooted to the spot, looking very sad and very young.

      “I’m not doing it for you,” he said sardonically.

      Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a delicate rose. “I’m sorry. You work for Sheikh Hassan, and I assumed.”

      “That I was a servant?”

      She mumbled something he thought might have been a curse in Italian, and stalked over to the closet, sliding the lightweight white doors open.

      “I don’t know how you meant to survive in the real world when you still expect someone else to deal with your clothes for you, Princess.”

      Her shoulders stiffened, her back going rigid. “Don’t call me that anymore,” she said without turning.

      “It’s what you are, Isabella. It’s who you are.”

      A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Who knows who I am? I don’t.”

      He let the comment pass. It wasn’t his job to stand around and psychoanalyze his brother’s future wife. His duty was to return her unharmed, untouched, and he intended to do that as soon as possible.

      He had other matters to attend to. He had geochemists actively searching for the best place to install a new rig, looking for more oil out in the middle of the Umarahn desert. He liked to be there on site when they were making final decisions about location. He didn’t micromanage his team, he hired the best. But during major events he liked to be on hand in case there was a problem.

      Facilitating the growing Umarahn economy was only half of his job. Protecting his brother, and their people, was his utmost concern. He would give his life for his brother without hesitation. So when Hassan had informed him that his bride had gone missing Adham had offered to ensure she was found. He was now regretting that offer.

      She whipped around to face him, a pile of clothing, still on hangers, draped over her arms. “You could help me.”

      He shook his head slightly, watching as she began to awkwardly fold the clothing and place it in her bag. By the third or fourth article she seemed to develop some sort of method, even if it was unconventional.

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