The Sheikh’s Expectant Bride: Matchmaking the Sheikhs of Al-Fatha, #3

By Leslie North

A playboy Sheikh meets his match...

Sheikh Salah Oman is known throughout the kingdom of Al-Fatha as a partying playboy. Now, though, Salah's ready to leave behind his wild ways and agrees to let his matchmaking sister find him a wife. Why his sister chose his best friend, Rashida Asfour, is a mystery to him.

Since their one-night stand that left Rashida pregnant, they've been firmly in the friend zone. Although Rashida knows him better than anyone, he doesn't quite believe she can love the man behind his playboy mask, the man that Salah has always hidden away from everyone.

When Salah agreed to help Rashida financially after their one-night stand and be there for their child—nothing more—she was crushed. But she's a woman who fights for what she wants—and she knows her heart belongs with the Sheikh.

But Salah has his own plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relay Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201015152

Book preview

1

"S top looking like you’re going to faint any second, Yusef joked. It’s just marriage."

Don’t remind me. Salah gulped more champagne. Or, rather, sparkling apple juice. He honestly didn’t drink nearly as much as people gave him credit for, but there were appearances to keep up, so… He swallowed another mouthful of the sickly sweet stuff, then winced, wishing he were anywhere but in his family’s gardens at the palace right then. It didn’t matter that he’d never seen the grounds looking more magnificent, glowing with candlelight and crowded with flowers. The lavish attention to detail only made him feel worse about what he was about to do.

People milled about, casting curious glances his way, making him feel even more like a rat in a cage. Salah took a deep breath and focused on his older brother instead. They’d always been close. If anyone could make him feel better about his impending nuptials, it was Yusef. After all, the guy had just gotten married himself a few months prior.

Were you this nervous before your big day?

Zara, Yusef’s beautiful bride and Salah’s sister-in-law, laughed. I was terrified. It’s normal. You’ll be fine.

And since you were in the dressing room with me before my wedding, you know exactly how nervous I was, Yusef said, giving him a look. He and Salah looked so much alike, with their dark hair and eyes, they’d often been able to pass for twins growing up, even though Yusef was two years older than Salah’s twenty-four. For a second, Salah wished they could switch places now, except…no. That wouldn’t work at all. That would make Yusef a bigamist and get Salah in even deeper trouble than he already was. It wasn’t just the wedding weighing on his mind. Nope. He’d learned something much bigger a few weeks ago, something he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Distracted, he blinked at his brother, trying to concentrate on the conversation.

If I remember correctly, Yusef said, you took great pleasure in ribbing me about it. I’ll be the bigger man tonight, however, and not extend you the same treatment.

Salah rolled his eyes. He and Yusef had always been pranksters, Salah more so than Yusef recently. But if you couldn’t joke with your family, who could you have fun with? Then again, pranks sometimes had unintended consequences, as they had learned all too painfully the previous year. He glanced over at his younger sister, Naziha, who was talking with her former fiancé, Charles, and his heart pinched with guilt. Dammit. He’d ruined his sister’s engagement that night at the restaurant with his brothers and Charles, and though Kadir and Yusef had participated, he’d been the instigator. Atonement had come in the form of agreeing to let Naziha set him up with a mystery bride. Tonight, he would marry her. Whoever she was. He chugged more apple juice and tried to act more flippant than he felt. I’m forever in your debt, brother.

Son, Ibrahim, their father, called from nearby. Come meet my friends from Texas.

Forget his playboy image. Tonight, he felt every inch the dead-man walking. Especially now, with the former king of Al-Fatha calling him. He and his father had never been as close as Ibrahim and Kadir, the oldest Oman son, who’d taken over the kingdom last year after their father retired. Then again, Salah was a third son in the royal line, so not even a spare. A spare spare. Still, it gave him much more freedom than Kadir and Yusef, and he’d taken full advantage of it. Partying, traveling the world, doing pretty much whatever he wanted to do. He’d embraced his playboy lifestyle fully.

Yusef said, Go. I’m sure he has many words of wisdom to impart.

The only words Salah wanted to hear at the moment were that this was all a bad dream and he’d wake up to a bright sunny morning and a bit of a headache after a late night. Then again, a late night had gotten him into his other mess.

He handed Yusef his glass, then straightened the jacket of his tux before starting across the courtyard toward his father. While his older brothers had worn more traditional garb in their ceremonies, resplendent in gold-embroidered thobes, Salah was all about modern Western formal wear. He’d spent years in the States, first for private school, then for his freshman year of college before he’d dropped out. Sometimes he felt more comfortable with Western traditions than he did Al-Fatha’s. He’d agreed to the old Al-Fatha custom of an arranged marriage with no contact with his intended bride beforehand only because Naziha asked him to. He owed her, after all, since she was alone because of him and his prank.

As he weaved through the crowd of well-wishers toward his parents, Salah couldn’t help thinking about Rashida Asfour. She was his best friend. They’d known each other since that one year of college and had stayed close since. Well, if you didn’t count the time they’d fallen out over something he couldn’t even remember now. He wished Rashida were here to give him moral support. She’d originally planned to be, but then told him it wouldn’t be appropriate, given…everything. Just too awkward, she’d said. So, he was facing the proverbial firing squad alone.

He reached his father’s side and flashed what he hoped was a pleasant smile as he was introduced to people he doubted he’d remember the next day—business titans his father had had dealings with over the years and celebrities from Hollywood his mother worked with in her film career. The names and faces blurred into one as he shook hands. He could play the charming party boy everyone expected in his sleep.

If it had just been the wedding to deal with, he’d have been okay. But there was more. Way more. More than a union with a stranger. There was a baby on the way. With Rashida. She’d come to the palace to work a catering job a few months ago. They’d both been feeling vulnerable in their own ways, and they’d taken comfort in each other’s arms for one blissful night.

He liked kids. Always thought he’d be a father himself someday, just not now. Not when everything around him was changing far too fast for his liking and the earth seemed like quicksand beneath his feet. He wasn’t used to the sensation of being off kilter in such a public setting. Salah snagged a glass off a passing server’s tray, real champagne this time, and downed it in one long swallow before looking up to see everyone in his parents’ little group staring at him expectantly.

Dammit.

Salah resisted the urge to turn on his heel and instead said, I’m sorry?

His father laughed and clapped him on the back. Bit distracted, eh, son? Don’t worry, that’s usual. I remember how nervous I was when I married your mother, and I knew who my bride would be.

They all laughed, including Salah, because what else was he going to do? He’d agreed to this marriage before finding out about Rashida’s pregnancy, and he wouldn’t go back on his word now, though he would have if Rashida had accepted his proposal. This marriage was as much to rehabilitate his image as anything else. It wasn’t a love match. It was a strategic move. Most likely there would be some sort of political benefit to the country of Al-Fatha too, given that royal weddings were important not just to the couple involved but the nation as well.

My son, Aziza Oman, his mother said, cupping his face, then kissing his cheeks. My baby. Such a big day for you, and I’m so proud. She beamed up at him, glowing like the movie star she was. Even in late middle age, the woman was dazzling in an emerald-green kaftan with intricate embroidery along the neckline. You will make a wonderful husband.

Salah nodded, his smile feeling tighter by the second, more constricting, like a noose around the neck. God, this whole thing was such a mess.

I’m sure your sister has found you a perfect match. Look how well she did for your brothers, Ibrahim said. As long as you answered her questions honestly.

Salah swallowed hard and stared down at his shiny black shoes. Had he answered honestly? With his mind whirling, he couldn’t even remember what he’d said now. He remembered going to her offices in downtown Jazid, Al-Fatha’s capital. He remembered filling out endless forms, then going through endless interviews with Naziha. His dreams. Yes. He remembered talking about those. And his future. Where he wanted to be in twenty years. At the time, he’d snorted. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with himself next week, let alone two decades onward. But Naziha had finally worn him down, and he’d confessed that he wanted kids. A lot of them. Like five, maybe six. And he wanted to do his duty as a member of the royal family, too. Maybe doing charity work in Al-Fatha, bettering the lives of their citizens.

Well, son, Ibrahim said, squeezing Salah’s shoulder again, jarring him. Regardless of what you told her, you’ll have a new wife by the end of the evening. That deserves a toast.

He accepted congratulations from his parents’ friends, then excused himself to find a quiet bench in the gardens to sit on, maybe get a little peace and quiet before the big moment arrived. Every inch of the gardens seemed to be dressed in his honor, with landscaping so sumptuous that it was impossible to believe that there was desert just beyond the palace walls. A light breeze carried the sweet scents of frangipani and jasmine on the air. The sun was slowly setting now, and in its wake, the first stars glittered in the deepening indigo sky. He stared up at them, wondering how in the world he was going to get out of the snarl he currently found himself in.

His father was right. He would have a new wife tonight. But that didn’t negate his responsibilities to Rashida and their baby. He intended to help raise his child, no matter what. Not just providing financially, but actually physically being there—unlike his mother, who had left them when they were all so young to pursue her dreams of acting. No. Salah would not be an absent parent. He knew the pain of that existence, and he would never wish that on his own child.

Trouble was, he had no idea how to balance his new marriage with the secret baby on the way. Nor had he discussed future arrangements with Rashida. That was another reason he wished she was here. Of course, discussing the raising of a child with one woman while getting ready to marry another wasn’t exactly normal, but then Salah’s life had never been conventional.

Right. Well, there was nothing for it but to forge ahead. If living in the spotlight as a tabloid party boy had taught him anything, it was to just keep going. Even when you had no idea where you were headed, at least you were moving, and sometimes that was the best thing you could do.

Just then, the orchestra his father had hired struck up the traditional Al-Fatha music that signaled the ceremony was about to start. His moment of calm evaporated in a fresh haze of distress. He wished he could bolt over the garden wall and run into the desert surrounding the palace complex, but his duty to his family came first, no matter how badly he wanted something different for himself. His mother appeared out of nowhere to walk him to the front of the aisle, as if she’d been summoned to remind him of his many responsibilities.

Come, my son. It’s time. She gave him a kind smile and waited while he stood and collected himself before she slipped her arm through his. Perhaps he’d not hidden his nerves as well as he’d thought, because she leaned over to whisper, Don’t worry, Salah. I’m sure everything will be fine.

He wasn’t convinced. His pulse pounded loud in his ears, and every footstep brought him closer to his destiny. He scanned the faces as he passed by, trying to commit them to memory, trying to settle his nerves, trying to accept his obligations. Still, the knowledge that he was going into this marriage with a secret, knowing he had a child on the way with someone else, ate at him. He might be a rich playboy, but he was an honest one. He didn’t like lying.

Finally, they reached the front of the aisle, where a temporary altar had been set up for the imam to use, covered in roses and lilies. A slight commotion reached him from the temporary dressing rooms that had been set up in the far corner for his bride and her attendants, and a flash of curiosity warred with the turmoil inside him. Who was she? What did she look like? Would they get along from the start? Naziha was a talented matchmaker, no doubt, but he’d never expected her to find anyone willing to put up with him.

He looked over to find his sister smiling at him from the front row, Charles beside her. The rest of his family was there too—his parents, Yusef and Zara, his brother Kadir and his glowing wife Stella, cradling her baby bump. Kadir whispered something to Yusef, whose unreadable attorney expression remained unchanged. Salah could only imagine what they were talking about. Maybe how it was beyond time for him to grow up and take on a more active role in the royal family. He knew that. Deep down, honestly, he wanted that too. He just had no clue how to go about it. Maybe if he had more time to think about things, he could find a plan to move himself forward. Would anyone notice if he ducked out of here?

No. He couldn’t leave. He owed this to Naziha. He owed this to his family. This was his duty, even if it meant closing the door on any possible future with Rashida and their baby.

Then again, Rashida had never asked him for anything. She’d made it clear after telling Salah about her pregnancy that she wanted nothing from him, expected nothing, despite his offers. He’d felt…disappointed by that. Couldn’t say exactly why, but he wanted her to hold him accountable. Wanted her to make him responsible for his actions. They were friends, she’d said, and that was the way she wanted to keep things.

Given that he had precious few true confidants