Final Vow
Final Vow
The sixth book in the Bluegrass Brothers series
Kathleen Brooks
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
An original work of Kathleen Brooks.
Final Vow
copyright @ 2014 by Kathleen Brooks
Cover art provided by Calista Taylor.
http://www.calistataylor.com
Books by Kathleen Brooks
Bluegrass Series
Bluegrass State of Mind
Risky Shot
Dead Heat
Bluegrass Brothers
Bluegrass Undercover
Rising Storm
Secret Santa: A Bluegrass Series Novella
Acquiring Trouble
Relentless Pursuit
Secrets Collide
Final Vow
Women of Power Series
Chosen for Power
- coming April of 2014
Table of Contents
Rahmi, eighteen years ago…
Ahmed laughed as Mohtadi Ali Rahman, Sheik of Rahmi, smiled with gritted teeth as they made their way to the athletic complex. Screaming teenagers surrounded the palace gates for a chance to see the hot young royal.
Mohtadi was everything Ahmed wasn’t—tall, rich, and handsome. Ahmed sighed
. . . girls didn’t notice him. They only noticed his athletic older brother, Jamal. Ahmed weighed less than a wet dishrag and was still waiting on a much-needed growth spurt. Ahmed was not athletic at all, much to the disappointment of his father, who served as head of security for the royal family. He was artistic. He painted and enjoyed photography more than shooting guns or lifting weights.
However, Ahmed took great pleasure in his best friend’s discomfort with his role as the bachelor prince. Today was Mo’s eighteenth birthday, making him officially eligible for marriage. Ever since they were just ten years of age, they’d been dreading the day they came into their majority. Ahmed’s birthday was one week away and his father's constant disappointed looks worried him.
“You had better get used to it, Mohtadi. You are now the most eligible bachelor in all of Rahmi, probably the world.” Ahmed laughed and slapped his friend on the back.
They had been friends since birth. They grew up playing with each other and going to the tutor together. It wasn’t until they were seven that they realized they were each other’s
only
friend. Their parents had planned it that way. Their intention was for Ahmed to be Mohtadi’s bodyguard. However, it was often Mo who looked out for Ahmed, much to his father’s continued dismay.
“The king called for me this morning,” Mohtadi started as he quickly glanced back at the opulent five-story sandstone palace lined with palm trees and stone gardens as if his father might hear him.
“And?” Ahmed asked, knowing Mohtadi’s father rarely paid any attention to his son unless the boy was needed in an official capacity.
“He wants me to marry a woman from Bahrain.” The prince sighed and kicked a stone along the decorative gravel path.
“We knew this day was coming. When is the wedding?” Ahmed asked, resigned to his best friend’s fate.
“There is not going to be a wedding. I told him no. I convinced him to let me go to university first. After all, as a lowly third son, I am not expected to inherit the throne and I will need an occupation
—even if it is only for show.”
Ahmed stopped walking, stunned. He couldn’t believe the king would allow
that. “And he is letting you go?”
“He is. I told him if he did not, I would refuse the marriage and publicly embarrass the family at the wedding and in front of the camera every chance
I got,” Mohtadi said with a grin.
“He could not have been happy, but you just bought yourself four more years of freedom.” Ahmed was awed at his friend’s courage to stand up to the king
. Not many people could do that.
“That I have. I hope that is enough time to find someone to love. I wish that more than anything. My oldest brother was betrothed two years ago and he still has not met his future wife. That is not the kind of life I want.”
“Where will you go to university? Here?”
“No. I am going to Cambridge. I start this fall. Hopefully, you will, too.” Mohtadi broke into another smile as Ahmed pushed open the door to the athletic complex. Mohtadi had a fencing class and Ahmed had been ordered by his father to start weight training. According to his father, Ahmed was too small to be considered a bodyguard, resulting in embarrassment for the family.
“Really? That would be amazing. Has your father consented?”
“Not yet. But I requested that you go with me. He is meeting with your father now.”
“I cannot believe it—England. Away from my father and able to take classes that I want. This is the best birthday yet.” Ahmed stopped at the door to the weight room and shot a smile at his friend. “Thank you, Mohtadi.”
Moh
tadi returned the smile. “You are welcome, my friend.”
Ahmed paced the length of his father’s office inside the palace and waited for him to arrive. His father had finally summoned him after a week of waiting. Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday, and he hoped that his father was going to “surprise” him with permission to go with Mohtadi to England in two months’ time.
Ahmed glanced around the room at the large
, dark wooden desk, the various weapons, and several accolades hanging on the wall. There were no family pictures in the office. The only picture in the room was of his father standing slightly behind the king. Someday his brother would fill that role.
The overly tall double doors opened and his father marched into the room. His short
, salt-and-pepper hair matched his black suit and white dress shirt. “Son, I am glad you arrived early. I have someplace to go and can deliver the happy news quickly.”
Ahmed knew better than to smile, so he stood quietly in front of the desk with his hands clasped behind him as his father sat down and looked through some papers. Ahmed tried to contain his excitement at
the prospect of going to England while he waited for his father to address him again.
“Tomorrow is your eighteenth birthday. You will be a man and it is time for you to grow up,” his father said, never bothering to look up from the reports he was glancing over. “As such, I have a present for you.”
“Thank you, Father.” Ahmed clasped his hands tightly as to not show how pleased he was at the idea of leaving his father’s house.
“You are to be married tomorrow morning.”
“Thank—I am sorry, what did you say?” Ahmed felt his heart stop as he stared down at the top of his father’s head.
His father looked up slowly and met his son's eyes. “I said you will marry tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Now, go and find something suitable to wear. I will see you in the morning.” His father flicked his wrist and he was dismissed.
“No,” Ahmed said so quietly he wasn’t even sure his words had been heard until his father’s eyes, filled with anger, looked up at him.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no, Father. I have no wish to marry a woman whose name I do not even know. Prince Mohtadi will be attending Cambridge and has requested I go with him—as is my place as his bodyguard.” Ahmed didn’t breathe and he felt somewhat lightheaded as his father slowly stood up and placed his hands on his desk.
“Listen to me carefully, Ahmed. Your position as bodyguard has been revoked. Another man, more capable than you, has already been appointed. You are a disgrace to the family. You have no talent at shooting, no talent with a sword, and can hardly lift fifty kilograms. It is clear that you cannot stand with our family in protecting the royal family. Therefore, you will make up for your deficiencies with a marriage that pleases the king.
“Rahmi needs to make a political alliance with the Kremlin. Since you are unable to physically serve His Royal Highness, I suggested that you would be pleased to serve as bridegroom to the second daughter of the Prime Minister of Russia. It sets in motion a very lucrative oil deal between our countries and gives this young Russian Federation an ally who is in good standing with the United Nations. You should be honored, yet you dare to question me?”
Ahmed instinctively cringed as his father slammed his hands down on his desk. “Father, I have never even met this woman. How am I expected to marry her?”
“It’s easy. You say 'I do' and then you bed her. Now get out of here. Your brother will escort you home and stay with you until the ceremony. King Ali Rahman has been gracious enough to grant you one of the elite houses surrounding the palace as a wedding gift. You will need to thank him for it and for the marriage. Now go.”
Ahmed stood rooted to the floor, staring daggers at his father’s head. He didn’t even know the door opened until he felt his brother’s hand wrap tightly around his arm and pull him out of the room.
“I cannot believe Father would do this,” Ahmed murmured as Jamal led him out of the palace.
“Why are you surprised? You should be happy that he found a way for you to be of service to the king. Congratulations, brother. Tomorrow you will become a man.”
Ahmed stood in front of the
Russian Orthodox priest requested by his bride’s family and waited. Earlier that morning, he had learned that his bride was almost seventeen years old and had also been kept in the dark about this union until recently. Upon asking his father her feelings on the matter, his father had just laughed and told him that she was obedient.
Standing next to him, Mohtadi wore a grim smile as pictures were taken. Having a prince in the wedding had pleased the prime minister greatly
, and Ahmed was sure pictures would be in the Russian papers by tonight. Music started and the doors opened. His bride appeared on her father’s arm and Ahmed felt a little piece of himself die.
After the reception, Ahmed led his new wife to their house. She still had not said a word to him nor had she smiled. He’d learned during the ceremony that her name was Paulina, but that was it.
He unlocked the door and let her walk into their new house. It was a gracious gift from the king and came with a small
yard in both the front and back. “We never got to meet before. I am Ahmed. Today is my eighteenth birthday,” he said with a shy grin. He may not know his wife, but he might as well try to get to know her.
“I’m Paulina,” she said in a heavily accented voice. “And I wish I had never met you. I’ll sleep with you tonight, but only tonight and only because I would not put it past my father to ask for an exam tomorrow. Then I will move into the extra bedroom.”
“But we are married. Shall we not make the best of it?” Ahmed asked. He could feel her freezing glare and decided he shouldn’t have asked the question.
“No. My heart belongs to another
. . . my dearest Mikhail. My father threatened to have him killed if I didn’t marry you and cut off all my communication with him. But that doesn’t mean I have to play the dutiful wife. It’s your fault my heart has been ripped from my chest,” Paulina yanked off her heavy veil and threw it on the couch. “Come, let’s get this over with. Then you can continue your life as if I weren’t even here.”
Ahmed slowly followed her up the stairs to the large master bedroom. His bride was already disrobing when he entered. She pulled at her pins and her long brown hair fell in waves down her naked back. She was beautiful and he couldn’t stop his erection upon seeing her bare bottom as she stepped out of her dress.
Paulina pulled back the covers and gave a hiss of displeasure as she saw an extra white sheet covering the mattress. Apparently her father wanted to ensure this union more than Ahmed realized.
She lay slowly down on the bed, her hair spread out on the pillowcase. Her small breasts were pert
, and Ahmed wished she would change her mind about marriage. Maybe if he were gentle enough, she would realize he would be a good husband to her.
Ahmed stripped down and started toward her only to be stopped by her lip curling in disgust at the
sight of him. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t mind waiting until we get to know each other better.”
“No. Do it now.”
*
* *
Ahmed smiled and looked down into the large brown eyes of his newborn son. Paulina had conceived the one and only time he’d lain with her. True to her word, she had moved into the extra bedroom. They didn’t eat together; they didn’t watch television together—they lived separately under the single roof.
The first two weeks of marriage were the worst. She frantically wrote letters and received just as many. But then they suddenly stopped. For a while, Paulina was even more withdrawn, never even leaving her room.
Ahmed let her be. He cooked dinner every night and left a tray by her door. Two months after their wedding, she actually came to him to talk. Paulina was pregnant. She wanted an abortion but Ahmed refused. He struck a bargain with her: she would have the child and treat the baby well. Upon her father’s death, he would consent to a divorce. The child would stay in Rahmi and be raised by Ahmed. Her father was older with ongoing heart issues, so she eagerly agreed to the deal.
Mohtadi left for Cambridge and Ahmed was given a desk job in the Russian embassy. He had been at the office when the doctor called to let him know Paulina was in labor. She gave birth to their son at home, just as Ahmed reached her. The doctor walked into the sitting room and informed Ahmed he now had a son. Paulina had requested time to herself while the nurse bottle-fed the hungry newborn. Ahmed was kept in the living room for hours until the nurse came for him.
“He is amazing. Thank you for this gift, Paulina. What would you like to name him?” Ahmed asked as the baby boy grabbed his finger.
“I don’t care. Whatever you would like. He is your son.”
“He is our son. How about Kedar Valkov Mueez? It means
powerful wolf who protects
, which is suitable for my family’s devotion to the royal family. I thought you would appreciate the middle name as homage to his mother’s homeland.” When he looked up, he saw Paulina’s face had turned white. “Is everything okay? The doctor assured me you were well.”
