“You’re very good to have taken her in,” Robel said quietly, snapping her onesie. Once she was all set, Robel sat her up, holding her by the chest so she didn’t topple off the changing table. Nessa flapped her arms, looking between the two of them. “She’s a very sweet girl.”
“Yes, she is.” Sondra picked Nessa up just as a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Sondra wiped away a tear that had spilled. “That must be the nanny. She comes every morning at nine to watch her while I work.”
Robel gripped the bar of his crutches, his gaze like soldering steel. “Do you want to take her with you? You could, you know. Nobody would object.”
Sondra smiled, warmed by his consideration. “I appreciate that. However, I do need some time away to get my planning and organization done. I drop in often to see her, though.” She gave Nessa a squeeze before heading for the main door of her bedroom. She tugged it open to the middle-aged nanny waiting with a smile.
Robel greeted her in Arabic. The sound of his gruff voice sent a zip down her spine. She snuggled Nessa one last time before passing her off to the nanny, who had curiosity dancing in her gaze. Suddenly, Sondra realized the scene: she was alone with Robel in her bedroom. This early in the morning. It probably suggested much more than what was there.
Even if she wouldn’t mind at all taking it there.
Robel and Sondra left the room, and once the door was shut behind them, Sondra spun to address Robel.
“She won’t…say anything, will she?” she asked in a low voice.
“What do you mean?” Robel had pure innocence on his face.
She gave him look that said come on. “It looks kind of suspicious that you were in my room so early. Don’t you think?”
Robel grimaced, and she couldn’t tell if it was one of disgust. Like maybe the idea of spending the night in her bedroom was ridiculous. Her stomach pitched downward. “No. Our staff is discreet, and well-trained. She has seen much worse in this palace, trust me.”
His words left plenty of room for speculation. Worse things involving Robel? All at once, her mind kicked into overdrive. What were the secrets that royals kept? Even worse, the secrets of sexy thirty-something royals. She rolled her lips inward, already exhausted by the hamster wheel of anxieties and doubts and questions.
She wasn’t even seeing this guy. It wasn’t even an option. So she needed to become really uninterested in what his personal life looked like. Immediately.
“Awesome. Well, I think it’s time for me to head to the office.” Sondra sent him her best approximation of a breezy smile. “I’ll see you later for our meeting.”
She hurried off, grateful at least for the chance to outpace him. Something about Robel threw her out of orbit, careening into outer space. It was the mixture of the handsome steel of his face and his hard-ass exterior that had just enough cracks in it to let her see the softness beneath. He was distant yet warm, somehow. It was almost infuriating.
And even more infuriating was how much she wanted to be bathed in his hard-won warmth.
The work day passed quickly as she organized the remaining details for the letter-writing event. She picked up Nessa around four so they could get an early start at the orphanage. She was surprised to see Robel approaching the palace car as well.
“May I ride with you?” he asked, the ghost of a smile on his face.
“I can’t say no,” she joked, leaning in the car to settle Nessa in the car seat. “This is your car, after all.”
Robel and the chauffeur exchanged a few words, and then the chauffeur walked away. Robel waited patiently, propped on his crutches, until Sondra was done snapping in Nessa.
“Is he coming back?” Nessa asked, shutting the back door of the car. “We need to go now.”
“I’m driving,” Robel said, jerking his chin toward the car.
Sondra frowned, propping her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t. You’re injured.”
Robel shook his head. “My driving foot is fine. Just grab my crutches, and I’ll make it work.”
Sondra wasn’t sure what he was getting at with this, but she wasn’t entirely sad to have him alone in the car. “Has your doctor cleared this?”
“Screw the doctor,” Robel said, plopping into the driver’s seat. He handed her the crutches a moment later, then heaved his bad leg into the car. “Now get in the car. Let’s go.”
Sondra smiled to herself as she opened the back door to stick the crutches in. Maybe this was something like a date. It would be so easy to just have the driver take them downtown. But no. Robel wanted the alone time with her.
Or maybe he’s just going stir crazy and wants his independence back.
Sondra huffed as she sat in the passenger seat. “If you get in trouble for this, I want it to be clear that this was your idea.”
“Noted,” Robel said, easing the car into drive. “Though even if I do get in trouble, I just want you to know that the guided tour of downtown Ragdar is worth it.”
Sondra looked out the window as the car rolled down the long, winding driveway toward the palatial front gates. Lawns rolled away from them, so immaculately manicured that they looked fake, like something out of a video game.
“I suppose you’re right,” she murmured. Nessa babbled in the car seat. “You must be very expensive otherwise. I’m lucky you’re not charging me.”
“Who says I’m not charging you?” he asked, a dimple flashing in his cheek as he looked over at her.
She shouldn’t have glanced over, just in time to catch that heartbreaking smile. Dammit. Now it was impossible to look away, to stop the infatuation, to do anything other than gaze longingly at this man’s perfect profile. She’d have to cancel the entire event. Unable to get out of the car. Crown prince too beautiful.
Sondra stifled the ear-to-ear grin, dialing it back to simply wide. “Just invoice me, then. But do it in a week or so, so I forget it’s coming altogether.”
The rest of the car ride was lighthearted and easy. They chatted as if they’d been friends for years, changing topics easily, none of the stone-faced business talk Robel had led with over the past week. By the time they pulled into the small parking lot of the orphanage, she was sad that the ride was over.
She could have lingered in this sweet bubble so much longer.
But there was work to be done. Sondra helped Robel onto his crutches, then she unhooked Nessa from the car seat. The three of them headed for the main doors of the orphanage, a large, black, gothic-looking entrance that could have served as the set of a horror movie. The doors creaked open as they approached. A shiny face with ruddy cheeks stared back at them—it was headmistress Talah. The stout, bubbly woman welcomed them inside the cathedral-like space. Children’s laughter echoed down the halls, both haunting and relieving.
Talah showed them the room where they’d be doing the letter-writing, pointed out the space for catering, and demonstrated where the band would need to plug in for their short set. Most of the instructions were given in Arabic, which made Sondra grateful Robel had decided to tag along.
Once they were left alone to begin the event preparation, Sondra appraised the large room with a nod.
“Well then. Here we go.”
Robel sat down in an overstuffed chair and offered to take Nessa while Sondra got started. No more than ten minutes into her setup, a text came through to her phone.
It was the restaurant owner who’d agreed to cater the event. He sent a simple but devastating message: “The kitchen has caught fire!!!!! We cannot come tonight. I am sorry for inconvenience.”
Sondra’s stomach pitched to her feet, but instead of bemoaning, she leapt into high gear.
“Robel,” she said, noticing the tightness in her own voice. “The restaurant we booked has cancelled. They had a kitchen fire.”
His eyes went wide, and he didn’t say anything for a moment. She scrolled through her phone, pulling up the document of contingency plans.
“Shit,” he murmured. “A kitchen fire? That�
�s…”
“Unfortunate. Poorly timed.” She snorted, locating her emergency document. She did this for every event—made two or three backup plans, in case every single detail went awry. “What do you think about Khan Murjan?” She showed him her screen. The popular deli’s website shone out at him. He nodded.
“It’s a good place,” he said. “Great food.”
“Awesome.” She swiped to call, pacing as she waited for the owner to pick up. She’d alerted them earlier that week about being Plan B.
“What are you…” Robel began, but the restaurant owner picked up the phone and Sondra shushed him. She greeted the owner, explained the conundrum, and asked if they could come on short notice. In a matter of minutes, she had the backup catering in place.
When she hung up, Robel was watching her with lifted brows.
“That’s was efficient,” he commented.
“Yes. It comes with the occupation.” She sighed, giving Nessa an exaggerated smile. “But that’s what happens when you’re a professional event planner, right? Everything goes wrong, and you learn how to fix it!”
6
Everything goes wrong, and you learn how to fix it.
Sondra’s words echoed in Robel’s head the rest of the evening. Everything did go wrong. Not only the ill-timed kitchen fire, but the band Robel had recommended to play had called a half hour before the event, claiming a horrible highway crash had them in backed-up traffic and unable to make it in time to play.
Robel wasn’t sure if it was bad luck or just bad recommendations on his part.
Either way, Sondra was completely unfazed. She procured a replacement band almost as easily as she replaced the catering.
And somehow, everything came together even better than he’d imagined.
By the time seven p.m. rolled around, children filled the large space while flutes played in the background and papers and crayons were doled out on card tables for the children to fill with their letters. They were instructed to write letters to anyone they wished, but the theme was asking Papa Noël for something special. Some reporters showed up and interviewed Robel about the flawless event. All he could do was give credit to Sondra, who barely missed a step with Nessa perched almost continuously on her hip.
Robel mostly stayed put in his large overstuffed chair throughout the event. But with its placement in the center front of the room, most of the children mistook him for Papa Noël. Some claimed it was his very nice tunic; others said that they knew he watched over them. And in a way it was true—Robel watched over the country. It was his God-given duty.
So child after child filed through the line to hand letters to Robel. He collected them in a basket, reading some aloud, doling out as many kisses and hugs as he could. At one point during the event, he caught Sondra’s eyes from the across the room. She had a private smile on her face, one he wouldn’t mind seeing on her face a lot more often. He used the hand of the little girl in his lap to wave at her. That made her burst out in laughter.
Once the event was winding down and the band was packing up, Robel noticed Sesuna and Winta still hadn’t approached him with their letters. Still in the jolly spirit, he called out to them.
“Girls! Come over here!”
They approached reluctantly, frowning a little.
“What’s with the sadness on such a fun evening?” He gripped their shoulders, one in each hand. “Come now. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sesuna mumbled.
“Didn’t you like the event?” Robel leaned closer. “This was your idea after all. And what a good one it was.”
Winta shrugged.
“Let’s read your letters,” Robel said.
Both girls dodged him when he reached out. He furrowed a brow.
“Girls,” he chided.
“We don’t want you to see them,” Winta insisted.
Robel searched the room for Sondra, found her heading his way while chatting with the headmistress. He signaled for her, and she came over, beaming.
“What’s up, girls?” She flipped Sesuna’s hair as she came up.
“The twins don’t want me to read their letters,” he said, eyeing his sisters. To them, he said, “Now would you let Sondra read them?”
Sesuna and Winta recoiled, hiding their letters behind their backs.
“It’s okay, girls,” Sondra said quickly. “We don’t have to read them. Would you rather just take them home?”
Both girls nodded vigorously. Sondra turned to Robel. “That’s fine. Their letters might just be for them.” She offered a warm smile while Nessa clapped her hands. “Now are we all ready to go home?”
Sondra helped corral the twins through the door as Robel limped behind. He felt the familiar twang of frustration returning but tried to keep it at bay. He’d had a wonderful evening and didn’t want to ruin it with negativity.
But on the drive home, his ankle started throbbing. He needed to be horizontal, and fast. Sondra must have noticed him despairing because once the twins ran ahead toward the palace, she didn’t give him his crutches right away.
“You didn’t take your pain pills again, right?” she asked.
Robel huffed. “No.”
“And why wouldn’t you? With all this driving you insisted on doing on top of it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need them. I’m strong.”
“You may be strong, but you still need to heal.” She handed him his crutches, a wry smile on her face. “Trust me, you’re practically made of steel. There’s no question how strong you are.”
Her little addendum made him pause, his gaze following her as she went to the backseat to unhook Nessa. He straightened, balancing on his good leg for a moment to find his full height. He took an appreciative drink of her slightly bent figure from behind.
When she stood, she startled. Maybe he was standing too close. Maybe he just couldn’t rip himself away.
“You’ve been on your feet a lot,” Sondra said after looking him up and down. “Are you sure you don’t want a massage or something?”
His pulse kicked up a notch at the suggestion. He squeezed the bars of his crutches, willing himself to say something smart. Reasonable. Something to shut down the desire strumming through his veins.
“I would love that,” he replied. She smiled, like maybe she was relieved, and the three of them made their way toward the palace from the garage.
“Let me get Nessa down to sleep first,” Sondra said. “She’ll have a bottle then fall asleep pretty quickly. Do you want to rest in my room while you wait?”
Robel could have lounged in her space for the next week. As soon as they stepped inside her room, he was overcome with the scent of lavender again. But it had a different undertone to it—something distinctly Sondra, he’d come to realize. A husky note, almost spicy. He eased into the armchair, mulling over this conundrum, as she carried Nessa into the adjoining room.
He overheard occasional words, followed by some shushing. After twenty minutes of blessed relaxation with his foot propped up, Sondra finally slid out of Nessa’s room.
“She’s asleep,” she said with a sigh. She unhooked her earrings as she came his way, depositing them on a side table. There was something so honest about this moment. It felt like coming home. Even though that was the most absurd idea in the world.
He’d always been home, and this was as far from home as Sondra could get. But here, with her, bathed in her scent—it was home in a way that had nothing to do with the palace.
“That was fast,” he remarked, the heavy haze of lust descending over him as she neared. She unhooked her watch, dropped that alongside her earrings. Then she tugged off her sweater, revealing just a flimsy tank top beneath.
“This is going to be the best massage of your life,” she promised, toeing out of her flats. Robel couldn’t rip his gaze off her. He had half a mind to tell her, Keep going. Undress more.
“I’m sure,” he said, his voice a croak. She came nearer, stretching her wrists, watchi
ng him with that toothy grin that promised both pleasure and relief.
“You might never want another masseuse again,” she warned, taking her place behind the chair. She smoothed her palms over the tops of his shoulders, which sent a shiver down his spine. He was in trouble.
“I guess we’ll see about that,” he said, his cock perking up as her fingers dragged over his collarbone. She gave a low hum, then dug into his shoulders.
His eyes instantly fluttered shut, and his head hung forward. He wasn’t one for regular massages, but he could at least imagine that the stress since his accident had taken an unpleasant toll on his body. Sondra murmured about knots and tightness and too much stress as her magical fingers worked him, rhythmic movements that at one point elicited a moan from him.
She laughed, sultry and throaty. “Good, huh?”
“Almost as good as watching you salvage the event today.”
He could hear the smile in her voice as she responded. “It’s what I’m best at. Recovering from disasters. My favorite quote is, ‘We plan. God laughs.’”
He grunted a little as she worked her thumb over a spot on his neck. “How did you get so good?”
“At massaging? Or wrangling events together?”
“Both.”
“Well, I wasn’t always an event planner. For a little while, I thought I wanted to be a physical therapist. I started schooling and everything. But then I thought I didn’t want the hospital end of it so much, and maybe I just wanted to make people feel good. So I started learning massage. But then I realized I couldn’t do any of that long term. And I turned to event planning.”
He chuckled weakly. “A natural progression.”
“I planned my sister’s every single birthday party from the time I was six,” she went on. “I was the younger sister, too. She wasn’t always thrilled. But by the time I was sixteen, she had learned to trust me. I think that’s probably when I knew I wanted to make a career out of it. I just didn’t realize it was actually an option until much later.”
Christmas with the Yared Sheikhs: The Complete Series Page 24
