Gentleman Playboy

by Alam, Donna

  Mishael’s startled look lasts exactly one beat before she voices some harsh sentiment in Arabic over my head with an imperious glare. I turn around in response and realise I’ve gathered a following in my bare-legged trek to her house: Half a dozen men in green overalls stand on the other side of the road, one minute agog, the next as busy as all fuck, clipping shrubs indiscriminately and sweeping sand from the road.

  ‘Come inside.’ She meets me at the bottom of the steps, encouraging a quick ascent into the cool, dark entrance hall. ‘What on earth—’

  ‘We had trouble at the airport. I don’t have my bags. Then this morning—Kai wasn’t there. I slipped in the hall, nearly fell, then this woman—black hair, scary brows?’ She nods her understanding and my torrent of knotted and tangled sentences starts again. ‘My phone went flat and she wouldn’t listen and I chucked my laundry at her when she chased me with a bloody brush!’

  ‘Did Kai collect you from the airport, is that what you’re telling me?’ My hand in hers, she speaks slowly, each word heavy with meaning. It’s then I realise I have an audience. Not just Regina but a younger girl in a similar uniform and another in chefs whites, which aren’t really white at all, are standing about. ‘Your bags got lost?’

  ‘No—’ Her hand tightens on mine, her gaze intense. ‘Yes, that is . . . the house is empty. Maybe she thought I was a thief?’

  ‘Kai must have gone to collect your bags. Come and sit down, what a shock you must’ve had. He’ll be so annoyed to find his guest treated this way.’ She feigns a soft chuckle, instructing someone behind me to bring tea and another to bring me a dressing gown.

  Alone in her lovely drawing room, divested of my rubber footwear and swathed in a floor length silk robe, I begin to feel a little like I’ve stepped back in time. I must look like some delicate Regency miss, draped across the sofa. A thought reinforced as Mishael thanks me, a little circumspectly, I feel, presumably for not making a scene in front of the staff.

  ‘Now, tell me. What on earth has happened?’ Placing a cup and saucer on a side table, she leans forward, a little too eagerly. ‘Out with it. What has my darling son done?’

  ‘You’re not angry?’ Clearly, that would be a no as she releases a peal of soft laughter. ‘Kai has never had anyone to stay over, not in his house, at least. Nothing is secret on this compound, so no . . . sleepovers. And I know he doesn’t have the proclivities of a monk. Silly goose, don’t look so shocked. I’m not a fool. Someone of his age, not to mention as handsome as he is, would never be short of company. But I told you he loved you, didn’t I?’ Leaning back at once, she smiles, almost with satisfaction, her expression pink and pleased. ‘Am I about to gain a daughter-in-law?’

  ‘You know, she almost clocked me with the brush!’ Distraction. That’s what’s needed because I’m not answering that. How can I?

  ‘Martha? Yes, she is an odd creature, but very loyal. She’s been with Faris’ family for years. All her own children in India are married now, her financial responsibilities at an end, but still she remains. Kai has personally sent her back to India twice, and each time she comes back saying her daughters-in-law cause her headaches and that she’s too young and healthy to retire!’

  Young? Nah. But healthy enough to chase me around a table? For sure.

  ‘I’m sure she thinks Kai’s house would fall down without her presence.’

  ‘So she’s Kai’s maid?’ Seems almost cruel having someone that elderly cleaning your house.

  ‘Well, she was more like an ayah. Like a sort of nursemaid. She’s been with the family as long as we’ve been in Dubai. She’s very attached to Kais.’

  ‘Explains a lot, I suppose. She didn’t understand what I was saying, not speaking English, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, her English is fine. She just displays a decided lack of understanding whenever it suits. Like her cleaning. She’s not supposed to do anything other than a little light dusting and the like. There’s a maid service rostered to clean the house thoroughly. So she’s not supposed to do anything too strenuous. You’re surprised?’

  ‘No, I . . . I suppose I’m still getting used to the concept of not having to wash your own floors.’

  ‘Ah, I thought perhaps you were surprised that she isn’t worked to the bone.’ The humorous gleam in her eye is decidedly like Kai’s, or maybe that should be the other way around. Whatever, I recognise she’s winding me up.

  ‘I don’t believe everything I read.’ Tales of domestic staff sleeping on kitchen floors, working seven days a week for sporadic pay. Newspaper articles recounting tragic stories of maids being beaten. Once or twice, to death. ‘I’m sure for every heartbreaking story of abuse, there’s another of—’

  ‘Yes, yes, but has he proposed?’

  Subtle. Like a sledgehammer. My mouth works soundlessly. Should I tell her the truth? Turns out, thankfully, there’s no need as Kai strides into the room, looking deliciously sweaty in black running shorts and a muscle shirt.

  ‘My two favourite girls.’ Leaning over the sofa, he kisses my cheek, moving to his mother to do the same as she stands.

  ‘Well, child?’ She clasps his forearm as he turns to move away.

  ‘Parent?’ One eyebrow arches, and though his tone is almost bland, I can see he’s struggling to keep a straight face.

  ‘Have you something to say?’

  ‘That Martha is sorry?’ He glances at me, his smile threatening to escape a little more.

  ‘Sod Martha. Out with it, Kais, or I won’t be held responsible!’

  ‘Driven to profanity?’ he says, now half laughing. ‘We can’t have that.’ Pulling back, his hands curl around her shoulders and he asks, ‘Have you met my wife?’

  ‘Wife?’ she repeats, almost dazed. Blinking rapidly, she stares up into his face, struggling to keep hurt from her voice and face. ‘You’ve . . . you’re already married?’ Her head turns to mine, seeking a denial, perhaps, or confirmation of a joke.

  My heart aches at the mixture of hurt and confusion that threatens her tone. I know it’s not that she doesn’t want us to be married, but rather that she’d prefer us not to have already done so.

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak for a beat before adding another tangle of words. ‘But we’ve come back to do it properly. Here.’

  Kai is embraced again in the midst of muttered congratulations and, ‘Oh, my lovely dears!’ Then she lifts her head and asks, ‘When?’

  ‘One month.’

  ‘A month!’ We repeat at the same time, Mishael’s gaze making a darting triangle between my face and my waistline, darting back to Kai’s.

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ he answers, amused. ‘History isn’t repeating itself.’

  ‘I didn’t mean . . .’ Her words trail off, her face still pink, her expression now discomforted. ‘But so soon,’ she says, her voice gaining strength. ‘It’s very short notice.’

  ‘Does that mean you aren’t up to the challenge?’

  This time she swats his shoulder, telling him she’d have done better throttling him at birth. She leaves him then and I stand as she approaches the sofa, stepping into her open arms.

  She envelops me in her embrace with words of love and congratulations before pulling back and looking over her shoulder. She exclaims, ‘Kai! You must call Phillippe, beg him to help.’ He groans, bringing a hand to his head as she adds, ‘Of course, he’ll be heartbroken not to be the bride. He always did promise you he’d look exquisite in white.’

  My bare legs and I make it home unmolested, at least by the gardening team’s gaze, catching a ride with Mishael’s driver with a sweaty Kai accompanying me in the backseat.

  Our conversation is bland, and when I venture to bring up last night’s visa issues, Kai quietens me with a light squeeze of my hand. I try to bring up the topic again once we’re out of the car and away from the ears of the driver, but before the front door is even closed, we’re met in the hallway by Martha.

  This should be interesting.


  Kai introduces me, in English, don’t you know, as his wife. And Martha looks like she’s just swallowed a great bitter pill. One approximately the size of a goose egg.

  ‘Most sorry, madam, for brush.’ Her words are halting and disjointed and I hope she’s also sorry for spitting, but I leave it at that. A vain hope, because the look on her face isn’t one of contrition. Nope. She looks decidedly pissed off. ‘But I am seeing you with my own eyes and I am fearing in my heart!’ At this, she pounds the corresponding muscle with her fist. ‘Paining most hurtfully!’

  It will if you thump it, drama llama. ‘Oh.’ It’s all I can think of to say that isn’t inflammatory. Like piss off. ‘I gave you a shock?’ Not quite as bad as the one she gave me, I’ll bet. Did I come at her with a broom and a demonic gleam? No, just an armful of dirty laundry.

  ‘Yes, madam,’ she continues, her voice gaining in force and volume. ‘You are paining my heart. Also my foot-finger!’ And at this, she thrusts out a massively bandaged foot.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ My bemused gaze catches Kai’s amused one before sliding to, what must be, by the amount of bandages, a partially severed foot. ‘What happened to your . . . foot?’

  ‘Madam is paining my foot-finger!’ she adds, adamant and aggrieved. And stamping her supposedly damaged foot.

  ‘She told me you caught her foot-fin—her toes, in the door. Upon your escape.’ Kai’s clarification of her grievance is made with a masterly effort at not laughing his head off.

  ‘Did I?’ Did I fuck. The door was definitely shut. Her toes would’ve been sliced off, the way I’d slammed it closed, and I see no bloody footprints on the floor. Or toe stumps.

  ‘Never mind,’ Kai slickly interjects as Martha begins to huff and puff. Resting his arms on her shoulders, he turns her. ‘You should go and rest. You know, if you hadn’t been cleaning the floors, you wouldn’t have been in the house. And therefore, none of this would’ve happened.’

  She hisses something low and Kai chokes on a laugh.

  ‘Martha would like to know if you’d like some tea before she goes.’ Which is strange because I know chai is pretty much universal for tea. Pretty sure I didn’t recognise the word from the ones spat from the side of her mouth.

  ‘Did she?’ I ask dryly. ‘Tell her no thanks.’

  ‘Nonsense! Martha is famous on the compound for her chai, aren’t you?’

  She responds with one of those head-wobble things, where her head appears to move independently of her neck. It’s one of those social clues that leaves me, well, clueless. What does it mean? Yes? No? Maybe? I just farted silently? Though in this instance, I bet I could guess. Oh, Mister Kai, you are too kind. Certainly I will make the chai for you, my favourite one. Hers I will certainly gob in.

  ‘Yeah, no. Think I’ll give it a miss, thanks anyway.’

  Martha shuffles away, leaving us in the hall.

  ‘I hear you’ve been entertaining the gardeners.’ His voice is low, his tone almost chiding as he turns to face me.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘For a run.’

  His answer is accompanied by a dangerous looking smile as he moves toward me, though stalk might be a better description. He’s the big cat and I’m the breakfast gazelle.

  A shaft of light from the mezzanine above gives him a halo, touching his dark locks with amber and gold. But it isn’t an angelic look by any stretch. It just highlights the animal.

  Wasn’t he the one who said a little pussy never hurt anyone?

  ‘I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?’ he purrs, eyes alight. ‘You’re like a magnet for trouble.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave me then?’ The words sound like a challenge, even as I begin to back away. ‘It’s hardly my fault your maid’s a psycho.’

  ‘I was referring to the gardeners, habibti. The show you gave and how the whole estate now knows.’

  My butt hits the table as his hands reach for my hips.

  ‘Knows what?’

  ‘That my wife has gorgeous legs.’ One hand dips under the shirt. ‘And fabulous—’

  I squeak as his fingers find my nipple, trailing off into a hum as he begins to pinch. ‘Ohhh,’ I breathe, leaning into him. ‘The fan dance I did with the palm fronds?’

  His chest rumbles against my own as he pulls me towards him, kissing me. Pulling away, the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with musk and sweat—yes sweat!—makes me want to crawl into his chest.

  ‘Minx,’ he rasps, his mouth hovering above mine, just out of reach.

  ‘Tease,’ I counter, leaning into him and trying to make our mouths meet.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ His lips ghosts my cheek, briefly grasping the soft flesh of my ear between his teeth, that small twinge making my stomach heat and my knees weak. His fingers begin pulling at the buttons of my, or rather his, shirt. ‘You’ve only touched the surface.’

  ‘Are you hiding things from me?’ I ask breathlessly.

  ‘I prefer revealing my dark secrets in increments.’

  ‘What about Martha?’ I lay my hand over his, stilling his progress. He looks momentarily confused.

  ‘What?’ Kai lifts his hand and mine falls away.

  ‘What happens if she comes back in?’

  ‘Then I expect she’ll be so shocked at the depths of our depravity, she’ll be forced to move back to India. Finally.’

  ‘Depths of depravity?’ I repeat, the pulse between my legs ignited by the obvious presence of his hard shaft.

  ‘I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll be feeling me all week.’ Pulling the shirt from my shoulders, he slips his index fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs—the boxer briefs I’m currently wearing.

  ‘Really?’

  He doesn’t look up, sliding the material to my feet. ‘Hmm?’

  I step from the pool of material and use my index finger to tip his chin. Hello, up here! ‘You want me to be out of action all week?’ And for once, I sound passably coquettish.

  Kai’s expression morphs from confused to cunning, then worryingly, settles on hesitant.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, curling my fingers in his half-open shirt.

  ‘I’ve got to travel again.’

  All of a sudden I feel stupidly exposed, which of course, I am, as I’m standing naked in the entrance hall. I feel vulnerable, disappointed, and very close to tears. But I knew this would happen, of course I did. Kai travels for business frequently, but the knowing and the experiencing aren’t the same.

  ‘Sweetheart.’ Just one quiet word as he pulls me into his arms. ‘I’m sorry it’s so soon. And that it’s going to be for so long.’

  One lone tear trickles down my face as I lift my gaze to his. ‘When? How long?’ I’m sad and feel pathetic. I must look so, too, if Kai’s expression is anything to go by.

  ‘A few weeks,’ he answers sadly. ‘I’m not sure exactly. A couple of our bigger projects are under threat and I won’t know how big the issues are until I’m on the ground.’ Taking my face in both his hands, he wipes my tears with his thumbs. ‘And I have to leave today. I’m so sorry.’

  My lips tremble under the effort of supressing how I feel, of keeping it all in. This is shit and it just isn’t fair. Words, when I’m finally able to form them, come out in a teary bubble. ‘Where are you going? Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘South America, to begin with,’ he answers solemnly. ‘A whole host of countries after that. And I’ve only just found out. I saw Faris while I was out on my run.’

  If this news didn’t douse our ardour, this revelation surely will . . . I feel like I’ve been drenched in cold water as I begin rubbing my arms. ‘What did he say?’

  Kai doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulls the shirt from the table and drapes it across my shoulders before he kisses my temple. ‘Come on, we’ll talk about it upstairs.’

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Heading straight for the bathroom, Kai flicks on the shower as I follo
w him in. Having threaded my arms through my shirt sleeves, I fold them across my chest.

  ‘What did he say?’ I repeat.

  ‘That it wasn’t him.’ Kai’s back is still to me as he says this. I’m not sure if his position is conscious; to hide his expression. Turning, his gaze is on mine as he grasps the hem of his black T-shirt, pulling it over his head. This could be a tactical move, but I’m not swayed.

  ‘And you believed him?’ Incredulous, I already know the answer. ‘What, all of it?’

  As he speaks, he runs a tell-tale hand across his scalp. ‘I must give him the benefit of the doubt, habibti. We spoke of what happened at the hotel—your reasons for leaving,’ he adds quickly. ‘And I’m sure that wasn’t his doing.’

  ‘So it was her?’ I can’t bring myself to say her name, preferring to grind my molars into dust. ‘And Essam?’

  ‘It wasn’t Faris. Of that I’m sure.’

  ‘What about the rest?’

  He blinks slowly, his gaze intent on my own. ‘The reason your visa was cancelled. That was him.’

  ‘Why, the conniving . . . butt-hole!’ Bastard. Arsehole. Twat!

  ‘He admitted to offering you money.’ I feel my face twist, my body turning from him. ‘He said it was a test, which is bullshit, of course. It was his strong hope.’ Stepping closer, he threads his arms around me, pulling me closer, so we’re skin to skin. ‘He doesn’t know you like I do, but he will.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Obviously, he discovered you’d left the country quickly, and cancelled your visa.’

  Just as quick, the opportunistic bastard.

  ‘And the Riyadh bullshit?’ Kai’s supposed arranged marriage to a Saudi princess, no less. Well, that was the plan in Faris’ head, at least. He’d told me Kai was stringing me along. That I could never be more to him that just a piece of ass. Then later the same evening—to top the experience—I’d gone to Kai’s hotel, where a naked Sofia sat on her knees. That she was sitting before Essam rather than Kai, I couldn’t comprehend. Not with Faris’ words ringing in my ears. And utterly crushed, I’d ran.