LITMIR.BIZ

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      “That’s too bad,” he said.

      “Not for me, it isn’t.” Her head was beginning to throb from too much adrenaline, too much anger.

      He pushed a hand through his hair. “It changes nothing,” he said. “Though it might make it more difficult.”

      Sydney blinked. “Make what more difficult?”

      “Our marriage, habibti.”

      He was a cruel, cruel man. “There is no marriage, Malik. Sign the papers and it’s done.”

      His smile was not quite a smile. “Ah, but it’s not so easy as that. I am a Jahfaran prince. There is a protocol to follow.”

      Sydney reached for the door frame to steady herself. A bad feeling settled into her stomach, making the tension in her body spool tighter and tighter. Her knees felt weak, making her suddenly unstable on her tall designer pumps. “What protocol?”

      He speared her with a long look. A pitying look?

      By the time he spoke, her nerves were at the snapping point.

      “We must go to Jahfar—”

      “What?”

      “And we must live as man and wife for a period of forty days …”

      Dying. She was dying inside. And he was so controlled, as always. “No,” she whispered, but he didn’t hear—or he didn’t care. His eyes were flat, unfeeling.

      “Only then can we apply to my brother the king for a divorce.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      SYDNEY slipped out the door and sank heavily onto a nearby deck chair. Beyond, the Pacific Ocean rolled relentlessly to shore. The surf roiled and foamed, the sound a muted roar as the power of the water hit the beach.

      That was Malik’s power, she thought wildly. The power to rush over her, to drag her with him, to obliterate what she wanted. That had been part of the reason she’d left, because she’d somehow let her sense of self be pulled under the wave that was Malik. It had frightened her.

      That and hearing what his true feelings for her had been. Sydney shuddered.

      Finally, she pulled her gaze from the water, which was now turning orange with the sun’s setting rays. Malik stood beside her chair. His jaw seemed hard in the waning light, as if he, too, were trapped and trying to make the best of it.

      “Tell me it’s a joke,” she finally said, squeezing her hands together over her stomach.

      His gaze flickered to her. His handsome face was so serious, so stark. Even now she felt a twinge of something, some deep feeling, as she looked at him. She refused to examine what that feeling might be; she simply didn’t want to know. She wanted to be done with him, finished.

      Forever.

      “It is not a joke. I am bound by Jahfaran law.”

      “But we weren’t married there!” She laughed wildly. “I’ve never even seen Jahfar, except on a map. How can I possibly be bound by some crazy foreign law?”

      He stiffened, but she didn’t really care if she’d insulted him. How dare he show up here after all this time and tell her they would remain married until she lived with him for forty days—in the desert, no less! It was like something only Hollywood could think up.

      The irony made her laugh. Malik looked at her curiously, but didn’t seem to mistake the laugh for real humor. At least he could tell that much. Maybe forty days wouldn’t be so bad after all.

      Who was she kidding?

      “I won’t do it,” she said, drawing in a deep breath heavy with salt and sea. “I’m not bound by Jahfaran law. Sign the papers and as far as I’m concerned, we’re through.”

      He shifted beside her chair. “You might think it’s that easy, but I assure you it is not. You married a foreign prince, habibti.”

      “We were married in Paris.” Quickly, by an official at the Jahfaran embassy. As if Malik were afraid he might change his mind if it didn’t happen fast. Bitterness ate at her.

      That was precisely what he’d been thinking.

      “Where we were married matters not,” Malik said in that smooth, deep voice of his that still had the power to make her shudder deep inside. “But it does matter by whom. We were married under Jahfaran law, Sydney. If you ever wish to be free of me, you will come to Jahfar and follow the protocol.”

      Sydney tilted her head up to look at him. He was gazing down at her, his expression indecipherable. Anger surged in her veins. “Surely we can find a way to fake it. Your brother is the king!”

      “Which is precisely why we cannot fake it, as you so charmingly say. My brother takes his duty as king very seriously. He will hold me to the letter of the law. If you wish to be divorced, you will do this.”

      Sydney closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushion. Dear God. It was a nightmare. A giant, ironic joke from the cosmos. She’d married Malik hurriedly, secretly. There’d been no royal wedding, no fairy tale day with music and beautiful clothes and pageantry.

      There’d been the two of them in a registry office at the embassy. A fawning official who called Malik Your Royal Highness and bowed a lot. A wide-eyed woman, Sydney remembered, who’d registered the marriage and asked them to sign.

      She’d almost felt as if it weren’t real, but then the newspapers had picked up on it and suddenly she and Malik were splashed across the tabloids. The attention hadn’t died by the time she’d left. And then it followed her back to L.A., finally disappearing a few weeks later when she’d refused to talk to anyone.

      Oh, she knew her picture had appeared a few times over the last year, but the paparazzi were far more interested in Malik than they were in her. He was the news. She was a casualty.

      And not even a very interesting one.

      The last thing she wanted was to remain tied to him, to have the media take a renewed interest in her down the road because Malik caused an international stir of some sort and they wanted to know how his poor wife was handling it. Or, worse, what happened when Malik found someone else he wanted to marry, and he needed her to go to Jahfar for a divorce when he had a current lover in tow?

      No. Way. In. Hell.

      “Fine,” Sydney sniffed. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll go.”

      A shiver dripped into her veins. She could get through forty days, if that’s what it took to officially end this. Because there was nothing left between them, no danger to her heart any longer. The damage had already been done. There was an iron cage where her heart had once been.

      “We can leave tonight. My plane is ready.”

      Goose bumps crawled across her skin. What had she just agreed to? Panic spread inside until she was quivering with it. “I can’t be ready that fast. I need time to put things in order.”

      The last time she’d dashed off with Malik she’d left her life in disarray. This time, she was putting everything in order before going anywhere. Because this time she would be stepping back into her life without the pain and disorientation of last time.

      She’d gone without much thought, because he’d asked her to, and then when he’d asked her to stay, to marry him, she’d impulsively agreed. She’d given no thought to her life back in Los Angeles. A fact that her family never mentioned, but that she knew was very much on their minds whenever they looked at her. She was the impulsive one, the artistic one—the one who could leap without looking but then paid the price later.

      And what a price it had been. She’d been a wreck. She’d asked herself in the early days after her return home if she’d been too hasty, if she should have

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