Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Adnan
Prince Adnan Ahmed Ali glanced at his new bride and thought miserably, What have I done?
Yes, Lady Olive Whitmore was breathtakingly beautiful with her curly blonde hair pulled back in fine ribbons beneath a lace veil.
Yes, her blue eyes shimmered with a kind of passion that might have been infectious if Adnan were the sort prone to the influence of others.
If. He was not. The shade of blue, however, was interesting.
Darker than the sky on a sunny day—if Adnan were the sort to waste his time staring at the sky. He was not.
And, yes, Olive Whitmore had the sort of full, pink lips that any man whose blood ran hot might enjoy kissing. Adnan’s blood was certainly heated, but he’d also seen the pout of those lips. Heard the insolence of the words that came from them.
He certainly did not want to kiss them.
Olive Whitmore was a spoilt young woman, and witnessing her disrespectful attitude towards her father over the last few weeks certainly didn’t bode well for the kind of wife Adnan always pictured himself having.
One who was soft-hearted. Kind. A good homemaker. Bint balladoo.
Not only was Olive not his countrywoman, but she was none of the other things as well. She was too rash and reckless. And what was the likelihood of a pampered noble English lady knowing how to keep a good house?
He thought again, What have I done?
The sheikh at his mosque would say that Allah’s destiny overrides people’s wills. Adnan believed it, but destiny had beaten his will too many times and sometimes too harshly over the years.
Learning his father was actually the khedive of Egypt at the formative age of fifteen had confused him, and the subsequent anger he’d bottled up towards both his parents for the deception was only dampened by the kinship he’d gained with his siblings, especially his younger half-brother, Saleem, and older half-sister, Nawal, during his regular visits to the palace.
It was good that he didn’t come to live here full-time, that he didn’t leave his mother entirely and that they’d all agreed that the khedive wouldn’t publicize the fact that Adnan was his son.
It was not a secret among those in the know here, but outside of the palace and noble circles, there were only rumors around the fact he was a Prince of Egypt, rumors that Adnan didn’t feel a pressing need to confirm or deny.
He was glad to move about relatively freely, unrecognized in public spaces, and maintain minimal guards in those places where scrutiny was higher. Saleem was the heir and had learned from Adnan’s ways enough to seal himself and his new wife off at the Lodge in Alexandria.
Yet he knew that when it was time to step into the role of khedive, his brother would be ready to serve Egypt.
As for himself, he was grateful to not have such a responsibility.
Adnan was content to be at his brother’s side, helping wherever and whenever he needed—but having the option to return to his own home at the end of each day.
His was a home he’d built not with the funds from any inheritance but from his own hard work.
When Adnan had learned he was a Prince of Egypt at fifteen, that was also when he decided that he’d never call upon his title to forge his life’s path.
He’d believed it the right decision for the most part, wavering only when his mother got sick.
The khedive’s reach was such that he could bring in specialists from top European hospitals.
But illness doesn’t distinguish between the mother of a prince or a pauper.
The doctors said her leukemia was incurable and that she would not live much longer.
Adnan had been overcome with regret about all the time he’d wasted being angry at her. He’d learned then that if he could not escape Allah’s destiny, at least he would try to not accumulate regrets. And a hasty proposal and marriage to Lady Olive Whitmore?
That, he feared, would end up being his biggest regret.
Adnan prided himself on being measured, deliberate, thoughtful. He weighed risks before deciding on actions. The strategy worked for him in the job he’d taken with his father’s office and in the business ventures he’d begun that now gave him monetary freedom from that job.
And though he’d not made any decisions on when to marry or start his own family, he’d planned to do so once Saleem was settled.
His brother was heir, after all, and the pressure was on him from their father.
But when Saleem put his foot down, marrying Elise Clifton—for love—rather than her best friend, Olive Whitmore, whom the khedive planned for, Adnan found himself foolishly proposing to be Olive’s groom instead.
He remembered that proposal now. Olive had been slumped in the leather chair in the study at the Raseltin Palace, looking utterly dejected and embarrassed because she’d not known about Elise and Saleem’s love.
It seemed her pale blue gown was drowning her, her blonde hair a mess, her eyes wide and wild.
And maybe because of all that had happened with his mother, Adnan could not help but look at a lone woman in distress with empathy.
In any case, his faculties took a leave of absence.
Although Olive agreed to Adnan’s proposal at the time, he consoled himself by thinking that the wedding would never happen. But now that it was happening, Adnan could only believe that the marriage was a farce that could not last.
Olive made no qualms about the reason why she wanted to marry him.
She did not want to go back to England with her father, Lord Whitmore, but rather to stay in Egypt.
And for that, she needed a husband. Maybe once Lord Whitmore left, Olive would realize her mistake and ask Adnan for a divorce.
Fickle as Olive was, it was the most likely outcome.
It serves me right! It had been a foolishly hasty proposal that he was too damn gracious to back out of. At least, I need not put in the effort to play her husband. He would spare himself the inconvenience.
Nawal grabbed his elbow and shook, drawing his attention. His sister hissed, ‘Are you physically unable to stop frowning, even on your wedding day?’
He grunted in response, but she was undeterred.
‘The wedding festivities have yet to begin, but you’re sure to frighten the guests in the ballroom who’ve agreed to attend on such short notice.
Not to mention your bride, the miskeena poor girl who’ll be on your arm—imagine the fright you’ll cause her when she sees you looking like such a brute! ’
Adnan avoided looking at Olive, sitting across from him but out of earshot.
‘We have signed the papers, made the marriage official. What more is necessary? I do not know what we are sitting here for, simply waiting for the festivities in order to make a grand entrance. I dislike entrances, grand or otherwise. As for the guests—who could refuse an invite to the khedive’s palace with all its finery, the chance to show off their best costumes and rub elbows with the country’s elite?
I do not feel sorry for them, sister. Still, I am here, am I not?
’ He scowled. ‘I am ready to be paraded as befits a Prince of Egypt. Can we not go in now and get the party over with? Who are we waiting for?’
It sounded less grateful than Adnan would’ve liked considering his sister was the party planner, but Nawal knew him and she did not take offense.
‘It is a wedding, you goat. I only have two brothers and since I was denied arranging Saleem’s altogether and yours happened so quickly, you will suffer me.
This is minuscule in comparison to what I would have done had there been more time.
’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Or are you that eager to steal Lady Olive away? You understand women like to be romanced before…’ She cleared her throat suggestively.
‘You’ve no shyness whatsoever? Where is that husband of yours to rein you in?’
Nawal winked. ‘My husband understands that watching the children whilst I am busy is the best way to romance me.’
Adnan shook his head, then smiled, despite himself. His half-siblings had a way of catching him off guard; he was used to that. But when, across the room, Olive’s gaze locked on his after noticing the change in his demeanor, Adnan dropped his smile.
He was not used to her.
She frowned, and whatever curiosity was in her face disappeared as Olive turned to say something to her best friend, Elise.
Which prompted Adnan to ask, ‘Where has Saleem gone? What could possibly separate him from his new bride?’
Nawal gestured with her chin in the direction of the foyer’s doors. ‘He was bringing who we are waiting for to get the party started.’
There his brother, dressed to match Adnan—black trousers, white jacket and the blue-and-gold insignia accessories that marked the regalia of the Princes of Egypt—was hunched over a wheeled bath chair. One which contained Adnan’s mother.
She sat in it, looking frailer than she’d been this morning when he kissed her goodbye.
‘She did not tell me.’
‘Elham knew you would not agree,’ Nawal said.
Adnan’s voice rose. ‘She is not supposed to be out of bed! The trip to the palace and then back home? All the people in the ballroom? What if one has a cough or something worse? Her condition means she cannot handle catching anything.’
Nawal’s expression softened. ‘Your mother insisted, Adnan. She contacted us and said you are her only child. Her own words were that even if she was guaranteed to die this very night, she would still want to be here.’
Adnan exhaled, forced his frustration to calm, then strode towards them. He thanked Saleem, relieving him of his chair-pushing duties.
‘It is my honour to escort umm al ’arees to her son’s wedding.’ Saleem spoke with a flourish, crouching respectfully to touch Elham’s knees.