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Rasha’s laughter quieted, and her mouth fell open. “You’re not serious.”
“I am. And I don’t know what to do.”
“How long have you two been dating?”
“We haven’t been dating,” Calla said in a hushed tone, as if someone might be able to overhear. “That’s the thing. It’s because of some stupid law that he needs to get around. So I’m just, like, a hired wife for him.”
Her eyes went wide. “So that’s what the headline was all about.”
Calla’s brow skyrocketed to the ceiling. “Headline?”
“Yeah, it came out in the papers today. I only half read it, but now it makes more sense…” Ra
sha trailed off. “So, will you do it?”
Calla expelled a burst of air past her lips. She picked up the last project she’d been working on and started sewing. Beading was an acceptable form of stress relief for her. In fact, the more emotional distress, the better. At this rate, she’d be producing the most amazing things of her life.
“I don’t know. I feel like I shouldn’t. But also, the money would be nice. Hey, what are you working on?”
“Nothing important, why?”
“Sort me all the gold and iridescent seeds.” Calla didn’t even look up from her stitches as she continued the beadwork on her current caftan project. “I can’t lose this momentum.”
Rasha got to work sorting as Calla sewed furiously. “So why wouldn’t you accept his offer?”
“Because, I don’t know. I thought if I got married, it’d be for love. Not an arranged thing like this. And besides, I came here to work—not get married. I’d never be able to show my face at home again if I got married within the first three months I was here.”
Rasha fell quiet for a few moments and then said, “So you’ll tell him no?”
It seemed like the only way. She was decided. “Yes.”
“Well, once the king picks his actual wife, it might put your job at risk,” Rasha said.
“What do you mean?” Calla paused in her stitches, looking over at her friend.
“Whoever he picks as his wife will probably not want the woman he first offered marriage to sticking around.” Rasha shook her head.
“Why would anyone know about his offer to me?” Calla resumed stitching. “It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Right,” Rasha said. “But, well, I forget how new you are around here.” She hefted with a laugh. “We’re a tribal people. Secrets don’t stay secret for long. Somehow, some way, this information about you will leak. I promise.”
Calla frowned, sewing even quicker. “And you really think I’d lose my job over it?”
“Maybe not right away. But I’ll tell you something—a million women would give their left arm to be in your position. And most tribal women are possessive—and would be of the king, especially, whether it’s an arranged thing or not. So I’d say you could expect to lose your job.”
Calla lowered her head, focusing on her stitches. “He said it would be temporary. And he’d pay me well.”
“Honestly sounds perfect to me. Even if all I got to do was stand next to the king, I’d be in heaven.”
Calla dropped the topic after that, choosing instead to immerse herself in her work while the clock ticked on. But the topic continued boiling in the back of her mind, even as she finished up her project, trekked back to the palace, and met the kids in the foyer after school.
Losing her job—she certainly didn’t want that. After all, there was no better route to her future than via the help the royal family could provide.
And if that’s the case, why don’t you just accept all the help you can?
This thought stuck with her as she accompanied the children to their study for homework and then onward to a brief play time. As she walked the children to dinner with the king, she felt resolved in her decision: she would marry the king. The exact opposite of what she’d resolved six hours before. If she could do absolutely anything to achieve her goals, wouldn’t she?
In the private dining room, Fatim gestured for her to join the royal trio for dinner, just as he had from the beginning of her nannying job. When Calla started to dodge his request, as she had the previous two nights, Fatim waved her closer.
