Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) by Abby Green (pride and prejudice read .TXT) 📗

She was stunned into speechlessness. The emotions his gesture evoked within her were too huge and confusing. Eventually she said, ‘But I can’t accept. It’s too much.’

He was firm. ‘It’s yours. In your name. To do with what you will. A place where you can come and be free. Independent. Beholden to none.’

Liyah couldn’t believe what Sharif was saying. He was literally offering her everything she’d ever thought she wanted and needed to be happy.

But that had been before. Before Sharif had come along and blown it all up. Exactly as he’d accused her. Except, for him, it was just a superficial wound.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t want it, Sharif. It’s too much.’

‘It’s too late.’

Frustration, anger, love and pain all mixed together and threatened to overflow. She pushed past Sharif, moved back into the courtyard, needing air. Space.

‘You don’t get to do this,’ Liyah said through her breaking heart. ‘You don’t get to buy me a dream castle in the middle of the desert just to salve your conscience so I can be here on my—’

She stopped and turned around, overcome. She felt Sharif close behind her.

‘On your what?’

Something gave way inside her. A last defence. She was undone. Reduced to nothing. She had nothing left to lose.

She turned around again, let him see the emotion she was feeling, that was leaking out of her eyes. He went pale. ‘On my own, Sharif. I’ve been on my own my whole life. Until I met you. You made me want more. You made me want things I’d never dared dream I could have. Like a relationship. Even after I’d vowed I would never let myself be so vulnerable. You made me fall in love with you and I’ll never forgive you for that. I gave you the power to hurt me—and you did.’

The words hung in the air between them. Sharif didn’t move. He didn’t turn and get back into the car and disappear as fast as the wind could carry him. He stood there, looking at her with those dark unfathomable eyes.

Liyah couldn’t take it any more. She moved to turn away, find somewhere in this vast place where she could lick her wounds, but Sharif said, ‘Wait.’

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He said from behind her, ‘Would you forgive me if I said that all those things you mentioned... I want them too? With you. And,’ he continued, ‘if it’s any consolation, I gave you the power to hurt me too. By accusing you of something you didn’t do, I pushed you away before you could hurt me. Except it didn’t work. Because I hurt myself. And you. And I will never forgive myself for that.’

She turned around. His face was starker than she’d ever seen it.

He said, ‘I love you, Liyah. I fell for you as soon as I laid eyes on you that night at the oasis, and I thank whatever serendipitous forces aligned to make you my mystery lover and my bride—because I know that if I had never met you again my life wouldn’t have been worth living. I’ve had nightmares for the past month, and in each one it’s our wedding day, and when your face is revealed it’s not you. It’s a stranger.’

Liyah looked at Sharif. She saw the truth written on his face and in his eyes. Saw the ravages of the past month. She saw them because she felt them too.

She took a step towards him, feeling the fragile, tentative beginnings of something like joy unfurling inside her. ‘You really love me?’

He lifted a hand towards her. She saw that it was trembling. But he let it drop, as if he was still afraid to touch her.

‘More than you could ever know,’ he said. ‘And now I know why I avoided it for so long. It’s terrifying.’

Liyah took another step closer. Reached for his hand. Intertwined her fingers with his. For the first time in weeks she felt a sense of peace move through her, and also something much more profound. A sense of homecoming.

‘I love you, Sharif. And I love this place. But I’ll only agree to accept it on one condition.’

‘Anything.’

‘That you share it with me.’

He reached out, touched her hair reverently. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t want that.’

‘I do,’ Liyah said fervently, moving closer until their bodies touched. ‘But I have a question.’

‘Anything,’ Sharif said again, and smiled.

‘If you’re no longer Sharif Marchetti, then what does that make me?’

‘If you consent to stay my wife then you will revert to your family name—Sheikha Aaliyah Binte Rashad Mansour.’

Liyah bit her lip, feeling emotional. ‘Of course I consent. But I think I’d like to take my mother’s name and yours—Aaliyah Binte Yasmeena al Nazar.’

Sharif’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny. ‘I think that is a very fine name.’

Liyah twined her arms around his neck. Desire rose, thick and urgent. ‘I have one more very important question...’

Sharif framed her face with his hands. ‘Anything,’ he said, for a third time.

‘Where are the bedrooms?’

‘There are about twelve.’

‘We only need one.’

He said, ‘We should probably check them all, then, to make sure we pick the best one.’

Joy bubbled up and spilled out of Liyah’s mouth in a spontaneous laugh as Sharif led her into the building. He turned to her and she could see the fragility of this moment written on his face.

He stopped and cupped her face. ‘Is this real? Are you real? Or have I dreamt you up since that night at the oasis?’

If Liyah had had any lingering doubt it was eradicated in that instant. And, just as Sharif had put her hand over his heart that night, to prove he was real, she took his hand now and put it over her heart. ‘I’m real. This is real. I love you, Sharif.’

He lowered his head and kissed her with a tenderness and a passion that left her trembling.

When he broke away, Liyah said breathlessly, ‘I don’t know if I can