The sheikh had warned her of Tarif’s prank and the “significant” consequences that would come with it, especially when the press realized no statement of denial from his house would be forthcoming. She had dismissed his warnings, thinking that no one would be stupid enough to fall for his cousin’s prank.

But she was wrong.

As soon as she had stepped out of Lincoln Airport, she realized right away that the whole world was apparently that stupid, hence the shitstorm that had become Harper’s life for the past six days.

The press hounded her everywhere, reported her every move, threw questions and insinuations at her every chance they got. Thank God the sheikh had been a stubborn bully, ignoring her protests about having her own security, and when he had introduced them to her, she had recognized the trio of guards right away.

The custody goons, Harper had gasped.

The three men’s expressions turned stonier while the sheikh coughed.

They have been with the Ramilian army since their teens and are among the best of my own security. The sheikh gestured to the men, saying, Please introduce yourself.

I am Amir, anisdi. He appeared to be the eldest and the leader of the group.

I am Farid, anisdi. He was the largest of them, with the most ferocious scowl.

I am Kamil, anisdi. The last seemed to be the least communicative, his tone colder than the two.

But Harper by then had been thinking of something else.

Amir. Farid. Kamil.

AFK, she had blurted out.

The sheikh had frowned. Is that not an acronym for – away from keyboard?

Yeah, it is, but--- And Harper had pointed to the three bodyguards. That’s what I’m calling them – whoa!

Her so-called AFK was scowling at Harper like they wanted to work for the enemy so they could have an excuse to kill her instead.

I don’t think they like me, she had said uneasily.

The sheikh had done his best not to smile, telling her soothingly, They will warm up to you in no time.

Remembering this made Harper’s lips twitch. Yes, well, that hadn’t exactly happened, but since the AFK had been extremely good at handling the press and getting rid of anyone they considered a threat to their future queen, she wasn’t going to complain.

If not for those guys, Harper was sure one of the paparazzi would have manhandled her already, desperate as the whole pack seemed to be in their quest to be the first to dish out a scoop on Sheikh Khalil Al-Atassi’s “secret love.”

As always, Harper’s nose wrinkled at the term, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. How could the whole world be so blind? The sheikh had lovers left and right in the past several years, and they could still believe that he had been in love with her all these years?

It made her realize that people would believe what they wanted to believe – and this terrified her. Because the truth was, she wanted to believe the same thing, too. She wanted to believe that the sheikh had been in love with her all these years, albeit unconsciously. She wanted to believe this so badly, and wasn’t that the most horrible thing?

The sheikh had tried calling her numerous times on the first day, and in the end she had sent him a short message to put an end to his attempts. I need time and space to think. The sheikh had not tried to contact her after that, and until now she didn’t know what to feel about it. On one hand, it showed that he cared enough to respect her wishes. On the other, it could also mean that she meant so little to him that he could so easily put her out of his mind.

So what now, she wondered. Time was running out, and she knew if she didn’t make a decision soon – the sheikh might marry someone else.

And if he did, Harper forced herself to think, so what?

Would it hurt her to see him belong to another woman? Yes.

Would it always hurt? Yes.

Harper’s fingers dug into her palms as she forced herself to confront the last and most important question of all.

Would it hurt enough to make her wish she’d married him instead?

* * *

It was only eight in the evening when the sheikh returned to the privacy of his suite. Although festivities continued elsewhere in the palace, Khalil had made his excuses early, having realized that his tension was putting a damper on everyone’s mood. It was not their fault he had chosen the world’s most stubborn woman to be his bride, and he was now paying the consequences for it.

A day had already passed since the so-called deadline of his offer of marriage, and he still hadn’t heard from her. He knew that was already an answer in itself, but a part of him refused to accept it. Harper Griffiths was the ideal woman to be his wife and queen. Every cell of his blood told him this was so---

But should that even matter if she didn’t want to marry him?

And could he blame her if it was so?

Thanks to the daily reports that her guards had submitted to him, the sheikh had been able to monitor her even from the palace. Being linked to him so publicly hadn’t just turned her life upside-down. Her life was now a living hell, and it would continue so even if they did not end up marrying.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and the sheikh said wearily, “Enter.”

“A guest awaits you at your private receiving room, Your Majesty.”

He frowned. “Who is it?”

“I w-was not told, Your Majesty,” the aide stammered. “I was only asked by Sheikh Tarif to report to you and that your presence in the receiving room is immediately required.”

Khalil nodded. “I will be there shortly.” And if this turned out to be one of Tarif’s pranks again, it would be their fists talking after.

When he entered the receiving room, Tarif was alone, no guest in sight, and Khalil frowned. “Where is the guest then?”

Seeing the grim look on Khalil’s face, the other sheikh said swiftly, “Before you even ask, I did not ask you to come on a lark.” Tarif grimaced. “And I know you must be sick of hearing this by now, but I can only apologize again for the unintended consequences of my action. I had thought you’d have persuaded her to come back with you and would thus be properly protected from the press.”

“Your first apology was more than sufficient, brother.” The sheikh’s smile was self-mocking. “And if anything, your greatest sin was that you had placed too much faith on my powers of persuasion.”

“Maybe.” Tarif’s tone was casual. “Maybe not.”

The sheikh’s gaze narrowed. “If you are about to start playing another game---”

The door of the en-suite restroom opened, and Khalil stiffened when he saw Harper stepping out. She hadn’t yet seen him, her head turned towards Tarif. “Have you told him I’m here?” she was asking.

“He hadn’t.”

Harper whirled around with a gasp.

Behind her, Tarif said, “She had her guards contact me, asking if I could help her surprise you. She was, however, worried that you wouldn’t welcome such a surprise. I told her she was being foolish about it. Don’t you agree, brother?”

“Not just foolish.” But although the words were directed at Tarif, the sheikh’s intense, dark gaze didn’t once leave Harper’s frame, which was now visibly trembling. “I would say,” the sheikh drawled, “it’s downright stupid.”

Even as her heart slammed against her chest at his words, she managed to grumble, “Are you calling me stupid?”

Instead of answering her, Khalil said to his cousin, “May you excuse us, Tarif?”

“Already on my way out, and I’ll let the guards know that you are not to be disturbed at all costs.”

And then they were alone.

The sheikh was staring at her, silent, unmoving, and so damn handsome it made Harper realize that what she had read in books were true. Looking at a person could actually hurt.

Are you surprised? Are you happy I’m here? Do you still want to marry me? Those were the questions she wanted to ask. But when her lips parted, no words came out, and Harper realized in shame that fear had turned her into a coward.

She couldn’t ask those questions. She just couldn’t. How could she when she was afraid he’d answer no to any of them? And so she stared back at him, even when it hurt to look at him, and it hurt even more when she realized that this could be the very last time she’d see him before he broke her heart---

Tears began to prick her eyes, and she hated it. “If you’re not happy I’m here, then just say it.” The words came out in a proud, furious hiss, but everything was ruined when her voice caught in the end, and her fingers clenched against her sides.

And still, he stared at her.

And it hurt.

So, so much.

A tear escaped, its wet trail burning her skin, and mortification ate her alive.

“If you’ve changed your mind,” she snarled, “then just---”

He cut her off, his voice quiet as he spoke her name. “Harper.” And as she broke off, trembling, staring at him in mute hurt and anger, the sheikh’s arms opened.

“I missed you,” he said so very simply.

And before she knew it, she was already crying, running to his arms –

His arms closed around her, and everything was alright again.

Khalil’s hand actually shook as he stroked her back. “I’m sorry.”

As she hid her face against his chest, she whispered, “Did you change your mind?”

“Yes.” She flinched, and his arms tightened around her. “You misunderstand. It’s not the way you think. I want to marry you. That’s never changed. But seeing you now, knowing what you’ve gone through and how it can only get worse – it made me realize just how much you will suffer if you marry me.”

Cupping her face, he made her look up at him, saying grimly, “Being my wife and queen won’t be a walk in the park, qalifa, especially for someone like you.”

She stiffened. “Because I’m a commoner?”

He shook his head. “Because no matter how you try to pretend it’s not so, you have the softest heart, Harper Griffiths. And people are bound to break it again and again when you marry me.” His chest heaved. “So knowing that - will you still marry me?”

Fear of the unknown squeezed her heart, but more than that she felt…joy, and with it came a certain kind of knowledge, of intuition – this was what she was meant to do, for better or for worse. And so she whispered, “It’s what I came here to do.”