Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) Abby Green (primary phonics TXT) 📖

do indeed need a wife at this particular juncture. But tell me something...why did you offer yourself up in your sister’s place?’

The thought that he could be here right now with Samara and not her sent a dark shard of something very disturbing deep into Liyah’s gut. Jealousy?

Liyah felt prickly after that disturbing revelation. ‘Samara is only nineteen.’

‘Which, as you know, in Taraq and Al-Murja is a perfectly respectable age to get married.’

Liyah responded stiffly. ‘I just think it’s too young to throw away your independence.’

Sharif raised a brow. His mouth quirked. ‘I’ve married a feminist?’

‘Is that a problem?’

Sharif laid an arm across the back of the couch and it pulled the material of his shirt and waistcoat across his broad chest. Distracting Liyah. She cursed him, because he probably knew exactly what he was doing.

He answered, ‘Not at all. I don’t see how any woman can say she’s not a feminist.’

Liyah’s prickliness and scattered thoughts disappeared. She looked at him.

He said, ‘Don’t look so surprised. My mother was a strong woman, and if it hadn’t been for her I would have had to spend even more time with my father.’

‘How old were you when she died?’

Sharif didn’t move a muscle, but Liyah sensed his reticence.

‘Nine. It was a long time ago.’

Clearly they’d been close. Liyah felt a pang to think of how different her own life might have been if her mother hadn’t died so young.

‘So,’ he repeated, ‘why did you take your sister’s place?’

Liyah hesitated at the prospect of telling Sharif the truth, but then reminded herself that he hadn’t even cared which sister he married. ‘Because she’s in love with someone else and wants to marry him.’

‘But you just said you think she’s too young to give up her independence...isn’t it a contradiction to approve of her marrying someone else?’

Liyah’s conscience pricked. She had just contradicted herself—spectacularly. She felt like squirming. No one had ever questioned her this closely about anything. ‘I just want her to be happy... But I’m afraid she’ll be disappointed. Because love doesn’t exist—or, if it does, it’s a destructive force.’

‘That’s a very cynical view to have.’

‘Something tells me that a man who is prepared to seduce a stranger the night before his arranged marriage doesn’t exactly hold love in high esteem,’ Liyah observed drily.

Sharif acknowledged that with a dip of his head. ‘Touché.’

For a moment Liyah felt a heady rush of exhilaration. Here was a kindred spirit. Was that why she’d been so drawn to him on sight? Because she’d sensed an unconscious affinity? It would certainly help explain her uncharacteristic behaviour.

And yet, even though she recognised and welcomed the sense of affinity, the exhilaration faded to leave a hollow echo inside her to know he was as cynical as her.

‘So, who hurt you?’

Liyah’s breath stopped for a second at his question. She wondered if she’d heard correctly. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re not innocent, but you’re not experienced. So, whoever your lover was, he either hurt you badly enough to spark your cynicism or he merely confirmed it. And he didn’t ensure that you were satisfied.’

Liyah wanted to slide under the chair and into the floor. Had it been so obvious? No wonder he didn’t want to repeat the experience.

‘You think you see a lot.’

He practically smirked. ‘I know I do. It is a skill honed over many years.’

The need to know how and why he’d developed such a skill hovered on Liyah’s tongue, but before she could say a word there was a sound and they both blinked, as if taken by surprise at the way their conversation had engrossed them.

Liyah looked to the door, where a middle-aged gentleman stood. She hadn’t even known anyone else was in the place, but it was so vast she wasn’t surprised.

Sharif stood up. ‘Liyah, I’d like you to meet Thomas Burke, the house manager here.’

Liyah stood up and met the man halfway. Shaking his hand, she smiled, feeling suddenly shy.

‘Mrs Marchetti, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to New York.’

Sharif glanced at his watch and said, ‘I have to go downtown for some meetings and to catch up on my calls. Thomas will show you around and take note of any dietary requirements. You should settle in, Liyah, I’ll be back for dinner.’

‘Take note of any dietary requirements.’ As if she was literally an employee.

Which she pretty much was.

Sharif walked out, taking his jacket with him, and Liyah breathed out fully for the first time since they’d arrived at the apartment.

She dutifully followed Thomas around the different rooms and tried not to let her jaw drop too obviously. There were two dining rooms—informal and formal. A massive kitchen with its own elegant dining area. There was a gym, with a lap pool, and a media centre, complete with a cinema that could seat about fifty people.

There were numerous bedrooms.

She noticed that Thomas didn’t show her into Sharif’s, but she was given a room just across the hall and it was show-stopping. Decorated in dark blues and greys, with a shag pile carpet, it was decadent and glamorous.

It had its own terrace and a dressing room, and en suite bathroom that was about as big as the hammam back in Taraq.

Thomas stood in the doorway, not a hint of curiosity about the fact that the new Mrs Marchetti and her husband were obviously not traditional man and wife showing on his face.

‘As Mr Marchetti said, let me know if you have any specific dietary preferences and I’ll pass them on to the chef.’

The chef!

Liyah balked. ‘How many staff are here?’

Thomas calculated for a second. ‘Daily, about three—the housemaid, the chef and myself. Then weekly there’s a few more—the florist...people like that.’

Liyah had seen the gorgeous colourful blooms in the hall... Thomas was looking at her. She hadn’t answered. ‘Oh, sorry—nothing. No preferences. I eat anything.’

Thomas looked almost comically taken aback for a moment, and then he bowed ever so slightly and smiled. ‘Very good. Dinner will be served at seven, and Mr Marchetti will be in the