The Sheikh's Marriage Bargain - Leslie North

1

Laila looked down on the city of Raihanabad, the capital city of Raihan, and drank it in. The colors. The evening sunlight pouring down on ancient stucco buildings snugged up next to modern glass structures. None were higher than the palace in the center, surrounded by its green gardens. What would it be like, to trace the shapes of the city in clay? She could feel those edges beneath her fingertips. An arch here, a rough corner there, and a gleaming palace at the heart with all the swoops and falls of Spanish architecture.

Her grandfather’s house had an amazing view. Part of her wanted to stand here forever, looking across a perfect morning in Raihan. The house hugged a tiny vineyard on one side and a custom fountain in the back. She took another long, deep breath and listened to the water burble in that fountain. The sound moved through the house on the breeze. So peaceful.

“Papa?” she called, splitting the silence. “I have to get back to the city.” How long had she been standing at the window? She turned away and scanned the large living room, which led into a spacious kitchen and dining room, with a den on the other side. A hall on the left led to two guest bedrooms and the master suite. All of it had been done in a shade of white that made her think of chalk, if chalk were the most elegant thing in the world. Simple, yet high quality. That was her grandfather’s style. But where was the man himself?

A car door slammed in the back, and she moved into the kitchen and toward the noise without thinking. He couldn’t have left and come back. Could he? If he’d needed something from the city, it wouldn’t make sense to go in the middle of her visit. Although his dementia made him forget the teakettle and sometimes call her by her mother’s name, she hadn’t known him to wander off without telling anyone. Yet. The hairs on the backs of her arms pointed up and away. No, she thought. Let this all be all right. It would probably be fine. She did a quick breathing exercise to calm her nerves.

“Papa?” The door at the back of the kitchen swung open, letting the orange sunlight in along with her grandfather. “There you are,” she said. “I thought you might have gone to the city without me.”

Labeeb, her grandfather, came around the kitchen island and gave her a smile. “Gone to the city? Not when it’s time for the ceremony, no.”

“What ceremony? I didn’t plan on any ceremonies today. I have to get back to the studio.” Her pottery studio was a rented space in the center of the city. Tiny, no air conditioning, a postage stamp of a courtyard, but it had everything she needed while she was in Raihan. She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “I’ll come visit next week.”

“No, you’ll stay.” He put his wizened hand on her elbow. “It’s time. Harb, come in.” A confused look flashed across his face and was gone. “It’s almost dinnertime.”

“That’s right, but I have plans.” And Harb—she did not want to see Harb. The man was a creep. He’d shown up at dinner with her grandfather her first week in the country, and he’d made her stomach turn. He always looked like he was plotting something when he looked at her—something she knew she would not enjoy.

The man himself stepped into the doorway. The smug smile on his face threatened to unseat her lunch.

“Hello,” she said. “See you next week, Papa.”

“Don’t go just yet, my dear.” Harb stepped fully inside, and Laila backed into the living room. Harb laughed. “No need to be shy. In a few minutes, we’ll be married, and you’ll have no time to be bashful.”

A terrified laugh bubbled up into her throat, but she swallowed it back. “I promise, you’re wrong about that. I’m not marrying anyone, least of all you.”

Herb raised his eyebrows at her grandfather. “You didn’t tell her? Labeeb, you’re losing your edge.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the back pocket of his linen pants. “I’ve come to claim you as my bride. The deal is set.” Harb handed her the paper. Laila willed herself not to throw any punches.

She read the words printed there, which spelled out the marriage contract—including a bride price, of all things—but the signatures at the bottom dealt the final blow. Harb’s and her grandfather’s.

He was already talking.

“—perform