Page 39 of The Sheikh's Defiant Girlfriend

“I’m sorry about the date,halu. I know this was supposed to be your wedding day, but…” He took a deep breath, swallowing hard against the squeeze of regret in his chest. It was his fault—his and his brothers—that Naziha wasn’t walking down the aisle herself today, and for that he’d never forgive himself. He smoothed his hands over his sister’s small shoulders and gave her a solemn stare. “Are you all right?”

Naziha nodded, her gaze lowered, then she broke into a tremulous smile and turned once more to check her makeup in the mirror. He’d always told her it was unnecessary, that she was as naturally beautiful as their movie star mother. “Yes, I’m fine, brother. Really.” She caught his gaze in the reflection, and her smile widened. “Let’s not dwell in the past on your special day.”

Kadir felt a wave of love for his sister. Her heart was tremendous, and her capacity for forgiveness was a lesson for all around her.

He bowed his head briefly as acknowledgement passed between them. “Thank you sister. I just hope you haven’t been telling my new wife about how horrible I am. I know the two of you are friends.”

His sister laughed, seemingly happy to revert back to their playful relationship. “I thought about it, no lie. But father wouldn’t allow it.” She winked. “Besides, you’re about to take the throne, and I know better than anyone that you’ll need a good, strong wife by your side. Stella will make an excellent partner for you.”

“Let’s hope you are right.” Gratitude tempered the nervous tension that had been welling inside him and kept him awake all night. His sister’s thoughtfulness in taking such pains to find him just the right person to marry touched him deeply. Honestly, if their situation were reversed and he’d been the one who lost a fiancée because of his siblings’ actions, Kadir wasn’t sure he’d have reacted so magnanimously.

As if in sympathy, his stomach cramped anew. Or maybe that was the stress he refused to admit he was feeling. Hard to tell at the moment.

“Okay, brother?” Naziha asked him, giving his hand a squeeze. “You look a tad pale.”

“I’m—”

Before he could finish, the door opened again, and this time Kadir’s father, Ibrahim, poked his head in. At fifty-eight, the current Sheikh of Al-Fatha was still in his prime. Tall and well-built, like his son, he looked hale and hearty enough to take on any obstacle blocking his country’s path. But despite his health, he’d told his eldest son and heir he was ready to turn the reins over to a new generation while he was still young enough to enjoy his retirement. So Kadir was set to ascend to the throne. If he survived his wedding day, that was.

“It begins,” he said, giving his son the look Kadir knew so well.

The one that reminded him of everything that rested on his strong shoulders.

With a curt nod, Kadir kissed each of Naziha’s hands, then followed her out the door and into the grand foyer of the royal palace of Al-Fatha where the ceremony would take place.

His future was waiting, for better or worse.

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