Heir to a Desert Legacy - By Maisey Yates Page 0,28

Oh, all powerful Sheikh, please reveal to me, the poor, little, feebleminded woman, my desires.”

“You are being overdramatic now, Chloe.”

“I am not. I am being exactly as dramatic as the situation demands.”

“What is the difference between you living here in a room in the palace, and you living here in a room in the palace with a title and a marriage certificate? Practically, for you, there will be very little difference.”

“Marriage honestly means nothing to you?”

“It is nothing more than a social construct. Without emotion or obligation to remain faithful, why should it mean anything? I do not want a wife, and you certainly won’t be filling the position. You will be here for Aden, which will be to your benefit. And you will be here for public events, which, I will not lie, will be for mine. But I will require nothing from you in terms of what a man wants from a wife. I don’t need a place in your bed, neither do I wish for you to give me children.”

“Good, because I don’t want that stuff, either.” She ignored the little kick that went through her body at the mention of being in bed together. Ignored it so well it was almost as if it hadn’t happened. Because it didn’t mean anything. Nothing at all. “I can’t believe you. You arrogant, controlling...”

“Decisive,” he finished. “I am decisive. You said what you wanted and I set out to find a solution that would work. More than work, I have found one that will benefit us both. I suggest you thank me, rather than verbally abusing me.”

“I think your ego can stand it.”

“I don’t have an ego, Chloe. I see things as they are, as they need to be in order to work. It’s not about ego, it’s about knowing my place in life and ensuring that I meet every obligation. I will do it for Aden and when you are my wife, I will do it for you.”

When, not if.

Chloe felt as though she was breaking apart inside. Like the world, the world she knew anyway, had cracked and was shattering around her, taking away any sense of certainty, any idea of where the right path was.

She was standing in the dark, wishing she had a lantern so she could find her way.

But she had a feeling there was no right way. Not now. There was only the way that would hurt the least, the way she could best manage.

If only she knew for certain which direction that was. Because one choice would lead her back to Oregon, back to her life as she’d planned it since she was a teenager. But it would lead her away from Aden.

And the other way would lead her straight into the lion’s den. Straight into the thing she feared the most.

But she would be here. Would be with her child.

And he really could be hers. No more holding herself slightly at a distance to keep herself from breaking.

She swallowed, fear, grief, making her throat tight, making it hard to breathe.

And in the darkness, she saw the light. It came with an image of Aden. Because in that instance she realized that out of every desire she had, that one would never lessen. The connection with him would never fade.

Jobs would change, what she wanted in terms of work would change. The people in her life would come and go. She would move out of her apartment, and lose her attachment to the old one. She would complete her doctorate and find new, more challenging goals.

But no matter what changed in that part of her life, no matter where her priorities shifted to, her love for Aden would remain. It would be the constant, no matter what she was surrounded by. And if she chose to leave, the grief, the pain at being separated, would be the companion to that love.

She couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the idea of embracing ephemeral, temporary things for the one connection she had that had ever felt real. Permanent. For the only family she had.

It was more than even that now, more than just a desire for her family. Aden was her son. No matter what the truth might be genetically, the truth of her emotions was that he was nothing other than her own child.

“All right, Sayid, I will marry you,” she said, the words getting stuck in her throat.

There was no look of victory on his face, no sense of triumph, just a single