The tightness in her throat intensified. ‘I have not yet agreed to this marriage. Until today I had no idea that you were truly serious about it! And if this is how the Sheikh shows his concern...’
She tightened her lips, willing herself to say the words. To tell her father that the whole deal was off. She didn’t want this. Any of it.
King Fabian’s voice lowered in warning. ‘Olivia, these negotiations are months old—we have discussed why this is a necessary step.’
She blinked. Months old? ‘For the kingdom, yes. I understand what we stand to gain from a political union.’ She cleared her throat, her voice sounding all of a sudden smaller. ‘But what about for me?’
Her father’s brows rose imperiously. ‘You will be serving your kingdom.’
‘I don’t see why I must get married to a complete stranger in order to serve Monteverre. I am doing good work with Mimi’s Foundation—I am making a difference.’
‘Your grandmother and her damned charities...’ Fabian scowled darkly, draining the last of his whisky. ‘You think teaching a handful of scrawny kids to read will change anything about our situation?’
‘My grandmother taught me that charity is not always about money. It’s important to nourish the youth as well as to do our best to help those in need. She was beloved by this kingdom.’
‘Ah, yes, the eternally perfect Queen Miranda! My mother spent so much time on her charities she didn’t even notice her country’s economy crumbling beneath her feet.’ His mouth twisted cruelly. ‘Don’t you see, you silly girl? We are facing financial ruin without this union.’
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, only to have her father’s scowl stop her as he continued on his own personal rant.
‘The Kingdom of Zayyar is overflowing with wealth, thanks to this man. He is an economic genius. But the civic history of his country still stands in the way of true acceptance from the west. To put it bluntly, they need our political influence and we need their money.’
‘Money...’ Olivia bit her lip, wanting to ask just how much she was worth, considering he was essentially trading her body for cash.
‘Sheikh Khalil has the capabilities to take Monteverre back to its glory days—surely you want that for your people? What good is being able to read if they have no money to feed themselves?’
She had never heard her father speak so frankly, and his eyes were red-rimmed with half-madness. Olivia knew that Monteverre was in trouble. A series of bad
leadership decisions and banking crashes had left them neck-deep in debt and with many of the younger generation emigrating to greener pastures. They were bleeding, and it appeared that this Sheikh had come offering a magic bandage. At a particular cost...
‘Trusting an entire country’s economic future to one man’s hands? That seems a bit...reckless. Surely there is another way without the marriage—?’
‘No,’ he cut across her, his voice a dull bark in the silent room. ‘There is no going back on this. I won’t hear another word.’
Her father’s eyes were dark in a way she had never seen them before, as though he hadn’t truly slept in months.
‘Everything you have had since birth is thanks to your position. It’s not like you have an actual career to think of—you spend most of your time looking pretty and waving. None of that would even change. Your life would continue just as it has been—only as the Sheikha of Zayyar.’ He took a breath, smiling down at her as if he had just bestowed upon her some enormous gift. ‘This is your duty, Olivia. To Monteverre. It’s not about you.’
She felt his words sink into her skin like an icy breeze, setting off goose pimples down her bare arms. Did being born a Sandoval really mean surrendering every aspect of your life to the good of the kingdom?
As the second daughter she had naïvely believed that her life would be different from her older sister’s. She was not first in line to rule Monteverre—she didn’t bear that crushing weight of responsibility and she had always been infinitely glad of it.
‘The Sheikha of Zayyar...’
Her mother’s melodic voice intruded on her thoughts, sounding absurdly serene.
‘Sounds like something from a film...’
‘I don’t even know where Zayyar is,’ Olivia said numbly, almost unable to speak past the tickle of panic spreading across her throat.
‘Somewhere on the Persian Gulf,’ Queen Aurelia offered, twirling the liquid in her glass. ‘They have a hotel shaped like a boat sail.’
‘That’s Dubai.’ King Fabian rolled his eyes. ‘Zayyar is halfway between the desert and the Arabian Sea. Gorgeous scenery—you will love it.’
‘Thank you for the sales pitch, Father.’ Olivia sighed, looking across to her mother, who had once again turned to gaze into the empty fireplace.
It was customary for her mother to permanently nurse a glass of the finest cognac after midday. In Olivia’s memory no one had ever questioned it or raised any concern. There had always been an unspoken understanding among the Sandoval children that their mother and father each did whatever they pleased and things would always be that way. They did not welcome personal discussions.
She looked up to the ceiling, feeling the familiar sense of exhaustion that always accompanied any meeting with her parents. For that was all they ever were. Meetings.