Free Forged in the Desert Heat by Maisey Yates

Sabah and Shakar. We could have dinner together after Tariq and I marry.”
    “There. Vision for the future.”
    “Yes.” Except it would be awkward. And terrible, really. Could she ever tell Tariq about this? Would they have to start their marriage out with a lie?
    She just didn’t like any of it.
    There was always the phone. She could always call.
    She looked up at Zafar, at his eyes, and she knew she couldn’t yet. Not just yet.
    She couldn’t just leave him. She couldn’t just leave him and his people the way things were. He had ransomed her. He could have left her. He could have used her. But he wasn’t that man. He was the man who saved girls from being kidnapped. The man who had blood on his hands from saving those who couldn’t save themselves.
    And that was when she knew she would do it. She could do this. And she wouldn’t feel so useless. So at loose ends. If she was going to stay here, then she would accomplish something.
    And civilizing Zafar would be no small accomplishment.
    “So, do you have a...plan for how you want this to go?”
    “I had thought that you might...give me tips?”
    “Well, you can’t go to a royal dinner wearing only pants.”
    He laughed, and she felt it all through her body. “Probably true.”
    “How long has it been since you had a Western-style dinner? At a tall table? And really with a salad fork?”
    “A long time.”
    “Of course, when you entertain here, then it will be up to those visiting you to observe your customs.”
    “You truly are royally trained.” He leaned back against the wall, his shoulders flexing, abs shifting. The man didn’t have an ounce of spare flesh on his body.
    “It didn’t start with Tariq. My mother left when I was really small. And it was just me and my father. My father is a very important businessman. Oil tycoon, actually.”
    “Ah, and your connection to Tariq and Shakar begins to make sense.”
    Her face heated. She didn’t like the implication. That it was all oil. She knew it was mostly oil, but there were feelings. There were. The fact that she was important on more than one level strengthened things, but it was more than that.
    “Anyway, as I got older I used to help him coordinate dinners. Parties. I was hostess a lot of the time. It was hard for him to be a single dad, and he was as involved as he could be with me, and it was...it was nice to be able to help him that way. So you could say that hostessing is one of my talents. As is diplomacy. I went to the kinds of schools people think of as ‘finishing schools,’ but it’s so much more than that. It’s a very real education along with intense training for dealing with social situations. I’m versed in handling all kinds of scenarios. Any time you mix a lot of people, some of them competing for jobs or oil rights or money of any kind, things can be tense.”
    “I assume you have tricks for defusing those situations.”
    “The art of conversation. Or, more to the point, the art of bland inoffensive conversation. In your case, you’ll be dealing with politicians of all different world views, and that will be...”
    “A nest of vipers.”
    “Something like that.”
    She was starting to feel a little energized now. Starting to feel a renewed sense of purpose. This was giving her something to focus on. A plan, a goal. She liked feeling like she was being useful. Like she was accomplishing things.
    This suddenly felt bigger than she was. Fixing a country, changing the shape of things for people. Making a positive impact. Zafar was going to make things better. Zafar wouldn’t let the Bedouin people’s daughters be taken from their homes to serve some sadistic ruler’s fantasies.
    And she could be a part of that new beginning. But not if she called Tariq. Not if she let fear push her into running.
    No, she wasn’t going to run.
    She could do this. She might not ever claim credit, but she could start her role as Sheikha of Shakar by doing something valuable.
    She