The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition

“It’s a clean break.”

“Yeah, except that’s not what you need. She’s the one, Salim. You know it, don’t try to tell me different.”

Salim laughed, but it wasn’t a genuine laugh, more of a forced guffaw. “No, Elan. Your romantic American notions are touching, but Celia is not the one. I intend to marry Nabilah Al Sabah.”

Celia’s jaw dropped as her ribcage tightened around her painfully swollen heart.

“Who’s Nabilah Al Sabah?” Elan’s skepticism showed in his tone.

“She’s the daughter of Sheikh Mohammad Al Sabah.”

“The guy who owns that big shopping mall in Dubai.”

“Among other things. He has a large retail empire.”

“So this proposed marriage is something of a business arrangement?” Elan didn’t try to hide his distaste.

“Not at all.” Salim had the decency to sound offended. “I’ve chosen her because I think she will be an ideal wife and will make a good mother for our children.”

“How many children do you two have together?”

Celia gulped.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even kissed her.”

Elan laughed. “Then how do you know she’ll be a suitable wife?”

“She comes from excellent stock.”

Elan let out a long dismissive snort. “Brother of mine, you know I have a strong appreciation for excellent stock. I pay close attention to it—when selecting my stallions and mares. With women and marriage it’s entirely different, let me assure you.”

“I’ve been married before.”

“Not successfully.”

Celia’s breathing was in danger of becoming audible, as she crouched painfully against the rock, a few feet from the brothers. Sweat trickled down her face.

She heard some movement in the sand, and when they spoke again they were farther away.

“I was young then, and unprepared for the responsibilities of marriage and family. I tried to fulfill them as best I could, but only disappointed a wife who wanted an affectionate husband, as well as a reliable head of household.”

“Because you were still crazy about Celia and didn’t want to make love to another woman.”

The long silence made Celia aware of the pounding of her own heart, louder than the surf hitting the sand a few yards away.

“At the time, yes.”

“And what makes you think that will be different now?”

“Because I’m older and wiser. I’ve accepted that I cannot marry Celia and I must choose a suitable wife and do everything in my power to make the relationship work.”

“Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?” Elan’s incredulity rang across the sand.

Probably his own brother was the only person to express an honest opinion to a man as powerful and revered as Salim Al Mansur.

“Why can’t you marry her?” Elan demanded.

“She’s American, free-spirited, she doesn’t care about tradition.”

“I can tell you from personal experience that such women make very fine wives and mothers.” She could almost hear Elan’s grin.

“It’s different with you and Sara. You live in America. Celia would never live here in Oman.”

“How do you know? Have you asked her?”

“Of course not. Besides, she wouldn’t fit in. You’ve seen how she dresses. She’d never go along with all the arcane social rules and regulations we have here.”

“You certainly don’t. At least from what I’ve observed so far. I’ve seen you drinking wine, for a start.”

“I may not always agree with traditions, but as head of the family I have a duty to uphold the best of them. I’m proud of the customs and mores of our country, and I want my children to be raised accordingly.”

“Brother.” She heard a rustling sound, like Elan taking hold of Salim. “If you plan to marry another woman, then why are you playing around with Celia? Why did you bring her here?”