Prologue The Marriage Addendum #2
That is unexpected. Arranged marriages are not uncommon but for the bride to be kept in the dark about the arrangement is not something I have ever heard of.
Not that I would put it past my father to arrange something similar for my younger sister once he hears of this man's rather ingenious way of handling his modern daughter's sensibilities.
"Why?" I can guess, but I want the man to spell it out.
"Juliana is stubborn. She would never agree to an arranged marriage, despite the fact she'll probably never attract a husband on her own. She's never had a serious relationship and doesn't even date."
"Why not?" I ask.
"She's shy. Plain." He sighs. "Let's be honest, my youngest daughter is…dumpy. She's got none of her mother or sister's natural grace and beauty."
Dumpy? What the hell does that mean?
"You have prepared a dossier on her?" I ask expectantly.
"Naturally." He hands me the manila file folder he'd been tapping on earlier.
I open it.
The top photograph is a professional portrait of a young woman wearing light makeup, her long brown hair a smooth curtain framing an unremarkable heart shaped face with full cheeks.
However, her eyes are anything but. Prominent and wide set, their aquamarine irises are the color of the Azraq Sea in full sun.
Those eyes tell me she is destined to belong to my country. To me.
I immediately dismiss the voice that whispers in the back of my head as poetic indulgence bred into me by men who left behind verses as enduring as their rule.
Next, is a candid picture of the same young woman standing beside a chestnut horse. One hand on the animal’s neck, her hair is braided back in a simple French plait. She’s laughing, head tipped slightly to the side, eyes half-squinted so I cannot see their color.
But her softly rounded, voluptuous body is discernable despite the oversized top that drops to midthigh on her tan riding tights.
There are several more pictures. One of her sitting beside an outdoor pool, fully clothed, a warm and natural smile directed at whoever is behind the camera.
Jealousy sparks in me toward the person taking the picture.
Those smiles should be mine.
Where that thought comes from, I do not know, but I quickly relegate it to the same dungeon I tossed the earlier nonsensical thought.
The next photo is of her sitting atop a horse, twisted slightly sideways so the generous curves of her breasts are outlined.
A hard thump of lust hits me.
At such a tame image.
I will blame all this talk of marriage. For marriage results in conjugal relations. The thought of a faceless man exercising such rights on Juliana's body has my teeth grinding again.
Forcing the unacceptable reaction away, I flip to the next image. It is of Juliana in a high-visibility vest and hard hat, standing in front of a rocky outcrop, her head dipped slightly and her gaze turned shyly from the camera.
The last one shows Juliana sitting cross-legged on a carpeted floor with a small boy on her lap, and picture books scattered around them. Presumably included to show what a natural mother she would be. They both look happy.
Juliana wears no makeup in any of the photos except the formal portrait. Her clothing is not designed to show off her figure to its best advantage and shows a distinct lack of variance of color. Dumpy? No.
But frumpy would not be a stretch.
"Basic stats are on the sheet behind the photos," Caldwell says. "Except one. My daughter is still a virgin. I know that is important in marriages like this with your family."
He is right, in theory.
In practicality? Not all brides make it to their marriage bed without experience. I do not care if the woman I am eventually contracted to marry is a virgin. I may have well-developed atavistic instincts in business, but I am no throwback.
And yet.
Juliana is untouched.
A virgin.
Something dark and old shifts inside me, instincts more primal than progressive.
My mind supplies an image to add to the ones I just perused: that soft, curvy body arching beneath mine, those aquamarine eyes going wide as I press past her virginal bar—
I shut the folder.
"I’m prepared to accept the license terms you offered," Caldwell says flatly. "With the condition that my daughter marry a suitable member of your royal family. I want my daughter wed, but I also require a stronger tie than a business contract for the type of permanent partnership your king wants."
"And you want the arrangement disguised as romance?" I confirm.
Caldwell shrugs. "It's the only way she's going to agree to this." He sighs. "And when all is said and done, she deserves to feel chosen."
But not to be chosen? This man's views are a strange mix of romance and pragmatism.
"And if she declines, even after courtship?" Not that I will let that happen.
Whoever takes up the mantle of this duty will be provided with sufficient leverage to convince Juliana if the courtship fails.
"Juliana will make a good wife to the right man. It is up to your family to offer a candidate that can be that right man."
It is not a direct answer to my question, but it implies one. If Juliana doesn't agree to the marriage, the deal doesn't happen.
May the earth be swallowed beneath this obstinate man.
"If I reject the personal condition?" I ask, forcing him to spell it out.
"Then Zahriya can seek treatment access elsewhere," he says without remorse.
Unacceptable. But at present, it is prudent not to say so. While his daughter is being investigated for points of leverage, so will Franklin Caldwell be.
"Who decides what is ‘acceptable’ in a husband?" I ask.
"My wife and I," he says without hesitation. "In consultation with your father’s office, obviously. Extended family to the throne is acceptable, distant relations are not. Beyond that, he must be a man of good character."
"And your definition of good character is?" I prompt.
I learned long ago that not all men defined duty, honor or integrity the same, much less the broader concept of good character.
"An honest man."
"Who you expect to deceive your daughter."
"Not deceive. He will treat her as a daughter of mine deserves to be treated. What interpretations Juliana chooses to put on that treatment are my daughter's responsibility."
It is a convenient attitude to take, but not one I take issue with. I am far too ruthless to concern myself with the way others choose to deceive themselves.
"And?"
"A man who would never raise a hand in violence toward her or their children."
"I can assure you, our house would put no such man forth as a candidate." Such behavior is entirely abhorrent.
"Her husband will have to remain sexually faithful to my daughter," Caldwell says firmly. "I don't want my daughter's heart broken by a philandering husband or my family embarrassed by the scandal it would bring."
Why do I think potential scandal is more important to this man than his daughter's heart? Again, it is of no matter.
"I will need to consult with my father." I stand. "Only he can agree to an arranged marriage on behalf of my house."
"Of course." Caldwell inclines his head.
I had hoped to leave Franklin Caldwell's office with a signed contract today. Our offer for the patent licensing and partnership is more than generous.
I certainly did not expect to walk out of it carrying the dossier of a woman he wants a man in the royal family to romance into an alliance marriage either.