“The sign of a good time,” she’d said.

  When they touched down in Omirabad in the early afternoon, Samir couldn’t ignore the tension building at the back of his neck. They’d gotten married in a drunken ceremony in Las Vegas. His family wouldn’t be thrilled.

  They pulled up at the private entrance of the palace half an hour later, and Samir got out of the car to help Clementine out. His body man, Abbad, waited at the door. “We’ll take the afternoon,” Samir said. “Could you coordinate with Rashid’s people to—”

  “I’m sorry, Sheikh Samir,” Abbad said carefully, which brought Samir up short. Abbad didn’t normally address him with his full title when they were having a relatively private conversation. “Lunch has already been planned. It’s in an hour, to give you time to change. The rest of the family will greet you in the family dining room.”

  Clementine’s hand tensed on his elbow, but when he glanced down at her, she was wearing a pleasant smile. The only hints of her nervousness were the wrinkle in her forehead and the way she clutched his arm.

  “All right. Thank you.”

  He led her through the palace to the wing that held the private suites. As soon as they stepped through the door to his own apartment, he felt better.

  Clementine, however, stopped dead at the entrance, her eyes wide. She took a deep breath, then another. Samir stayed close. This had been his suite for years—since secondary school. And yet, through her eyes…

  It must have looked massive. The entry opened into a wide living room, a dining room off to one side. Through the dining room was the kitchen, a professional outfit although Samir didn’t do much cooking. Down a hall was the master suite, his private office, a den, and a small library, along with two guest suites.

  Clementine took a tentative step inside. “This is nicer than Paris,” she breathed. “You should have…” She laughed. “You should have warned me, Samir.”

  “I thought you knew I was a prince,” he said lightly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to see your room?”

  She nodded silently.

  It had to be overwhelming for her. Over dinner in Paris he’d learned that she’d spent her teen years in a series of foster homes, and she hadn’t had to say much for him to understand that her life had been as different from his as possible. She’d gone to college on a scholarship that she still seemed amazed to have gotten. To walk into a palace and meet his family…

  He hadn’t thought it through to this point. Samir had vague plans of taking her with him when he traveled to the desert to meet with the tribal leaders. It was where he felt most at home, and somehow, during their journey to Omirabad, he’d imagined going straight there.

  That wouldn’t be happening. First, they had to survive the gantlet that was meeting his family. Sweat pricked on the back of his neck. He’d need his own chance to change and steady himself before lunch. He loved his family, of course, but he’d also loved the boyhood trips to the desert with his uncle and the long stretches of solitude they provided. A slower pace of life. He ached to give that to Clementine.

  It couldn’t be today.

  He opened the door of the guest suite closest to his own. The staff had freshened it, clearly—it had even been repainted in a lemon yellow that made Clementine’s eyes light up.

  “All yours,” he said and came in with her to show her the large en suite bathroom, the walk-in closet, and the small dining table by the window.

  Clementine caught him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down to kiss him.

  The kiss deepened in a matter of moments, her tongue teasing at his lips, and just before Samir gave in to the temptation to take her to bed, she broke away. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I just wanted—”

  He kissed her to stop any argument, then said, “Never apologize.” It took all his mental fortitude to step away from her. “Take your time getting ready. We have most of an hour.”

  “All right,” she said, and he could hear the question in her voice—Will you be back here tonight?

  He hoped so, but another cold swell of nerves pitched in his gut. How was the lunch going to go? Would Clem even want to be near him? I’ll try my best.

  There was a knock on the door as they met back in Samir’s living room. Samir went to open it and found a servant there with a garment bag draped over her arm.

  “For Ms. Llewellyn,” she said, bowing her head and handing him the bag.

  Samir read the note attached to the bag. “From Nora, who you’ll meet at lunch.”

  Clem unzipped the garment bag and pulled out a dress that was more formal than the one she was wearing. In fact, it was much like the dress she’d worn in Paris. Her face lit up.

  “Two minutes to change.”

  She was back in less. Samir offered his arm to the vision in the burgundy dress, and they went to the formal dining room.

  His family stood near the table. This must have been what it was like for Rashid when he came home with Nora, only…different.

  The conversation stopped as they stepped closer. Rashid took the lead, stepping out in front. “A surprise wedding,” he said, saving a flicker of a smile for Clem. “And it’s legitimate?”

  The paperwork—Rashid would be concerned with the paperwork.

  “Yes—”

  “We had a sexy honeymoon and everything,” blurted Clem next to him.

  Samir’s heart stopped, and a backlash of heat flew over his skin.

  And then…the laughter.

  His family laughed, even his father Rafiq, and Samir stepped forward against every instinct. Clem’s face was the color of her dress, but she took it in stride as Rafiq greeted her, kissing both her cheeks and insisting on having a look at her. Rashid shook her hand and then straightened with pride as he presented Nora. Nora, with her red hair and kind smile, introduced her son, Taj, who was asleep on his mother’s shoulder, still round and soft at six months old.

  “A hell of an entrance,” said Khalid jovially, shaking Clem’s hand too hard. He burst into another peal of laughter. Aliyah’s eyes danced as she brought little Matek, one year old, to be introduced.

  “Brave of you,” she said, shaking her head a little. “Very brave.”

  “The things that come out of my mouth,” said Clem. “It’s nerves.”

  “Nerves!” said Rafiq. “But my children are so kind.”

  They sat down to lunch, an expansive spread, and Nora and Aliyah peppered Clem with questions. “Where did you go to university?” Nora asked. “The U.S., I’m assuming.”

  “Oh, yes,” Clem said, her cheeks going pink. “I wouldn’t have been able to travel out of the country, but that would have been a trip. Literally.” She laughed at her own joke, and Nora laughed with her.”

  “Do they advocate for Vegas weddings there?” Aliyah winked at Clem, and another round of laughter rose over the table.

  “You know, I never thought about it—not when I was in college. Too much fun to be had,” Clem answered.

  “Too late now,” Nora said briskly. “You’re in it for good with Samir.”

  “Oh, not for good,” he cut in. “Only three months. A temporary thing.”

  A colder silence fell in the wake of his comment, Clem’s face falling along with it. He winced at the sight. It hurt him to see the pain on her face. And yet…and yet. He cared for her. He really did. But Samir was in no position to hand over his heart wholesale—not after what had happened in his past—and if he did, his wife needed to be a good match in his world, not just Paris. He’d never felt it as keenly as he did now, sitting here in the family dining room of the palace.

  “You’re mistaken,” Nora said, her voice breaking through the silence and rescuing them all. “Vegas weddings aren’t temporary, Samir. Your mind must be struggling from the jet lag. And honestly, Clementine…” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial level. “Samir’s lucky to have you for five minutes, much less a lifetime.”

  “Oh,” Clem said, waving off the compliment and straightening her back. “I’m only here for a little vacation. You’d all get tired of me after three months.” She laughed, and it twisted at his heart more than he expected to see her wipe the hurt out of her expression and replace it with a nonchalant smile.

  He wasn’t supposed to be the one who was blinded by his own emotions. They’d had a hot time in Vegas, and Paris had been a dream, but Samir didn’t see those idylls translating to a successful relationship in Omirabad. How could they? Clem wasn’t going to be able to move seamlessly between family dinners and official events and the desert tribes.

  You thought she’d do fine in the desert. The thought crept up as the conversation went on without him. You wanted her by your side.

  And he still did. But it was different in his country. Things were more…traditional. More conservative. He couldn’t have a wife who blurted out sexy honeymoon jokes. Even if they did make everyone laugh. Samir had never wanted that. He’d always wanted to do right by his family and country, and a quickie wedding that he couldn’t remember wasn’t ticking those boxes.

  He leaned back in his seat, stealing glances at Clem while she talked with his brothers, exchanged looks with Nora and Aliyah, and cooed over Matek and Taj. She was holding her own for the moment, but it was no guarantee of her future performances.

  Samir put the worry out of his mind. They liked her well enough that the vacation wouldn’t be a problem. That was all he could have hoped for.

  10

  It shocked her, the way her heart twisted and ached when Samir told his family that their marriage was only temporary.

  Why did it shock her?

  Clem sat at the table, listening to Nora tell a story about visiting the market with Rashid. The details kept slipping out of her memory. Pay attention, she commanded herself. This is your family…at least for the next three months.

  Her life had always had a temporary feel to it. It was no one’s fault in particular that she’d been placed in foster care after her mother died—there were no other relatives, and though teenaged Clem had been able to blame her mother for that, her adult self knew that the situation had been out of her mother’s control. Still, being in the system meant that she had known from that young age not to depend on the permanence of anything. There could always be another foster home, another school, another set of siblings to meet and get along with.

  Did she always get along with them? Of course not. When her nerves got the better of her, Clem tended to say whatever came to mind.

  But it hurt even more that he was so eager to let everyone know she wouldn’t be a permanent fixture in his life. If she were anyone else, would he have fallen over himself to make clear that she was his guest for three months and that was it?

  Why did it wound her? That kind of thing had been her life. And it wasn’t like it had been done with particular malice. One day, people were done with having her there, and that was the way of the world. It just didn’t make sense that it stung so much coming from Samir. Two days ago, she’d been looking for an out herself.

  “—the Eiffel Tower?” Aliyah was asking. “I visited once a few years ago, and we looked out over Paris.”

  “We looked out over the Eiffel Tower from a restaurant,” Clem told her, talking past a lump in her throat. She’d had plenty of practice doing that in her life. “Truly, it was an incredible view.” And Samir had seemed so delighted in her happiness. The only thing that had changed between yesterday and today was that they were in Omirabad. Was he this different at home with his family? Because she’d felt real passion between them the previous night. She’d hardly slept because they hadn’t been able to keep their hands to themselves. Clem had never had so much fun in bed or woken up so satisfied before.

  Maybe it was all an illusion.

  “When you go back,” said Aliyah, “I’ll have to give you a list of my favorite shops. There’s a bakery there that…” Clem nodded along as Aliyah gave a rundown of her top spots in Paris. The next time she visited. There probably wouldn’t be a next time in Paris. Not with Samir. It wasn’t that Clem had expected the marriage to become permanent. Why would she? She’d stood in Samir’s room two days ago and told him they needed to get a divorce. She had stood in front of Heather and Howard and said they needed it to be annulled.

  But she had hoped. There had been some small flicker, locked away where Clem wouldn’t let herself see it, and now it ached as it died in a pathetic little puff of smoke.

  Well. It wouldn’t have worked out long term in Omirabad anyway. What would she and Aliyah—and even Nora—have to talk about for much longer than the length of a lunch? Clementine had spent one day in Paris, and Aliyah sounded like she’d been all over the world. When Nora chimed in with her list from London, where she’d grown up, Clem wanted to disappear beneath the table. She could tell a few stories about the bad side of town in Allentown, and saying anything about Brown seemed…fraudulent, almost. She hadn’t gone there because she was on the same level as the royal family. Or Heather. She’d had good grades and good recommendations, and most days, Clem felt like she’d been able to spend four years there because someone caught a whiff of hope and desperation in her application materials and took pity.

  She picked at the rest of her lunch and kept her face pleasant, wide open, as if she were meeting a new foster family for the first time. Except now she knew that no matter how nice she was and how hard she worked to impress them, it would be over. The clock was already ticking. The clock had been ticking since she woke up in Samir’s room. No—before that. From the moment he’d slipped the wedding band on her finger, time had been hurtling toward their marriage’s expiration date.

  At least Nora had thought of her. Someone had thought of her before she arrived. She’d known Clem was coming, and she sent a dress to wear to lunch. That had been different, at least. It hadn’t been a hasty drop-off at a strange hour and a random family rushing to find somewhere, anywhere, she could squeeze in.

  It didn’t much matter, though. By the time the servants—servants!—stepped forward and started clearing the lunch dishes, Clem was desperate. She needed an escape. She wasn’t sure where, exactly, she could escape to, but in a palace this size there had to be somewhere. Her room would do, in fact. She could at least close and lock the door.

  Samir stood up first, and Nora practically leaped out of her seat to come around the table and give Clem a quick hug.

  “It’s lovely to have you,” she said in her delicious English accent.

  “Thank you for the dress,” she said. “I never expected—”

  “Learn to expect it.” Nora took a step back, squeezing Clem’s hands as she went. “You’re not on your own here.”

  Clem nodded, her throat tight. “We’ll catch up,” she said lamely. “After—”

  “Once you’ve settled in.”

  Then it was time for the long walk back to Samir’s rooms. They walked side by side, but the space between them seemed like an insurmountable chasm.

  Her heart beat harder as they got closer to Samir’s suite, her throat tightening, and it was all Clem could do to keep herself calm and collected. It had been a long day. It had been a long week. At the beginning of it, she had been single and setting off to a convention to try to grow her little business. Now she was in Omirabad with a handful of business cards stuffed somewhere in the depths of one of her bags, and she was married to a sheikh who couldn’t wait to divorce her the moment three months was up.

  She gritted her teeth. You can still use the time to reach out to those contacts, she told herself. The servants would have delivered her bags and maybe even unpacked her things, so she could get started as soon as they got back to the room.

  She opened the door to her own suite-within-a-suite with a barely stifled sigh of relief. “I’m sure you have other things—”

  “I’m sorry,” Samir said, a step behind her in the hallway. She turned to face him, wanting not to feel that blooming desire when he looked into her eyes. “It’s a temporary situation, yes. But I was only trying to focus on the practicalities.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want it to be…painful. I want us both to benefit from the experience.”

  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “That’s not an apology, Samir. And it’s not helping.” There was nothing else to say. She wanted to be cool and aloof, but she wasn’t.

  “It is an apology. And I didn’t think we disagreed about the terms, or the length.” The longer he stood outside her door, the more she wanted to do two things: slam it in his face, and kiss him. “Back in Las Vegas it seemed simple. Or simple enough. The laws of Omirabad won’t allow a divorce before three months is up, but as long as we’re married, we should be together.”

  “That’s absurd,” Clem said, her hand on the door. “Why did you bring me here if we’re going to go our own ways in three months? Plenty of married couples live apart.”

  “Not royal married couples.”

  “The more you keep saying that, the more it reminds me that I’ll be right back where I started in three months.”

  “That’s not true.” Samir took an urgent step forward. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you make connections, both here and in the U.S., so that your business is thriving by the time…” He trailed off.

  “You’ve said it enough already today. You mean, by the time I leave Omirabad and we never see each other again.”

  It was terrible, how much she liked the sight of him. The lines of his slacks, perfectly tailored to his body, made her feel…all sorts of feelings. And his shirt, the top button open, begged her to tear it off his shoulders. Why couldn’t they still be in Paris, away from the stupid reality of a quickie wedding in Vegas?

  “That’s what I meant, yes.” Samir crossed his arms over his chest, and the set of his jaw made him even more attractive. It wasn’t fair. “But I don’t want to spend the next three months tearing at each other's hearts.”