His lips twisted. As the future queen of Layla, she could do anything she wanted, and no one would dare disagree.
Mik’hail: Come back tomorrow. It is time we set a date for our wedding.
Aretha: This again, Michael? What’s wrong with you?
A loaded question, considering they both knew the answer to it.
The sheikh was no fool. Neither of them had been virgins when they first became intimate, and he knew that Aretha continued to see other men even now. But Aretha also knew that once they spoke their vows, Mik’hail meant for both of them to honor it, and between the two of them, it appeared Aretha was less prepared to handle a monogamous future.
The sheikh was about to command Aretha to come back to the palace first thing tomorrow when he heard Aurora cry out.
“What is it?” Mik’hail was by her side in a second.
Aurora shook her head quickly when the sheikh started to kneel. “No, don’t, you’ll get yourself dirty—”
A silly protest, which the sheikh naturally ignored as he crouched down and gently reached for her hand. “What happened?”
“It’s my fault,” she confessed sheepishly, “for being an idiot. I thought I had cut off all the thorns when I pulled the rose out.” She pointed to her index finger, which had a speck of blood on it.
He loathed the sight—there was something about knowing she was hurt that did not sit well with the sheikh at all. Without thinking, he reached for her finger and brought it to his lips.
Aurora said faintly, “Your Highness?”
The taste of her skin, the intimacy of having any part of her this close—
He released her hand right away and bit out an apology.
“It’s fine.” Aurora’s tone was a little too cheerful, her cheeks a flaming shade of red. “You thought to kiss it better because you still think of me as a child.” She made a face. “But just to be clear, akh: I’m not a child.”
No, she damn well wasn’t, and that was the problem. She was eighteen, an adult in the eyes of law, and that meant she was old enough to make her own choices.
And he wanted her to choose him.
But she couldn’t. She never could.
Aurora was staring at him oddly. “Why do you look so angry?”
Because I want you, and I can’t have you.
But since he couldn’t say that, he racked his mind for a way to distract her. “Briar,” Mik’hail heard himself say finally.
She blinked up at him in bemusement. “Briar?”
“You remind me of the fairy tale,” the sheikh heard himself say, “the girl who pricked her finger with a needle. That Briar.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Sleeping Beauty.”
He watched her absently touch her wounded finger as she spoke, and the sight had his thoughts drifting to dangerous places.
She was so close. So temptingly close that he had to clench his fists against the urge to reach for her.
“I like it,” Aurora said after a moment.
When she made a move to stand, the sheikh swiftly rose to his feet and offered his hand to help her up. “You are done for the day then?” Mik’hail asked.
“If you don’t mind me leaving first?”
“Of course.”
