The Sheikh's Purchased Bride

by Holly Rayner

  ***

  Amie gritted her teeth as she walked alongside Malik, into the gala. She wasn’t sure whether she should scold her new boss, or crawl back to the limo with her tail between her legs. It was so like her to pick up the world’s strangest role.

  Taking a deep breath, she told herself that as long as she was here, she would be game for anything. She walked further inside and was shocked again by the grandeur of the gallery. Ancient statues stood behind velvet ropes next to intricate, abstract paintings all among a crowd of important-looking people.

  An older gentleman suddenly shouted something at Malik from across the gallery and started making his way over. He was elderly, perhaps 70 or older, and wore a black and gold robe with a black and white keffiyeh on his head. He may have been a little older, but he sure had style.

  “My apologies, Azim, Amie doesn’t speak Arabic!” Malik shouted back with a laugh.

  “My dear, my dear,” the man began in his best English. His smile was bright and genuine as he nodded towards Amie. “Beautiful, just as you said,” he continued, looking at Malik.

  “My love, this is Azim, one of my family’s oldest and dearest friends, as well as a very busy diplomat,” Malik explained, and she smiled towards the man. “Azim, this is Amie Shaw.”

  “Soon to be Bin Malehdi,” Azim corrected. “Sheikh Malik’s American fiancée,” the man mused. “So tell me, Ms. Shaw, what is it that you do? Where in the States do you come from? Have you set a date for the big day? Malik has been so tight-lipped about you; you’ve been his little secret!”

  “One question at a time, Azim!” Malik chuckled. “Amie is an heiress, who happens to own a theater. The most historic theater in all of Chicago, actually.”

  “Ah… the theater,” Azim said wistfully; his eyes suddenly elsewhere. “Don’t you just love the theater?”

  “Oh, who doesn’t,” Amie said nervously.

  “How are you liking Rabayat? And our gallery! What do you think of our gallery? Tell me Malik is taking you on a tour of the theater. You’ll adore it. Not quite American in style—even more beautiful, in fact!”

  “Azim!” Malik laughed, setting his hand gently on the older man’s shoulder. “Don’t overwhelm her, we’ve only just arrived!”

  Amie let out an elegant laugh and gently batted Malik on the arm. “Oh don’t be silly, darling! Azim, I may have only just arrived, but I am absolutely charmed by Rabayat. It’s so beautiful here, and I have no doubt that if Malik intends to charm me further, he’ll be showing me all the sights.” She laughed once more. “Forgive me if I turn into a stomach-turning American tourist, but I cannot wait to see more of your country.”

  “Oh!” Azim’s mouth went wide in an ‘O’ shape; his expression quickly turning to one of delight. “That American charm,” he said in a sing-song voice, addressing Malik. “You’re in for trouble.”

  A moment later, a lady that Amie guessed to be Azim’s wife had made her way over. She wore a matching black and gold gown, with a beautifully embroidered hijab covering her head. Though older, her eyes were done up with black liner and she looked every bit the polished and elegant older lady. She grabbed Azim’s hand and whispered something into his ear.

  Azim smiled at the woman and touched her cheek lightly, whispering back in Arabic. The connection between them was so electric, Amie almost started to feel jealous. The last relationship she’d had was more than two years ago, before she moved. She’d actually ended it, not because he was a cheating jerk or because their goals were different; simply because she was moving and his job didn’t allow him to follow her. Since neither of them thought they could handle a long-distance relationship, it ended. Since then, she’d had a brief two-month stint with an extra she’d met on an independent film, but that hardly counted. They only kissed a few times; not exactly “lifers”.

  Amie refocused her attention on the magnetic couple before her, offering a broad smile to the woman at the center of the group.

  “Amie, this is Azim’s wife, Galina.”

  “What a beautiful name,” Amie said, and gave a small curtsey to the woman. “Your husband is full of questions.”

  “Aren’t we all?” the woman said with ease; her voice soft and young. “Malik has been a window of secrets about you. We were so worried when he decided to stay in America. If we’d known he was going to meet someone as lovely as you, perhaps we all would have slept better.”

  “It sounds like Malik has some wonderful people looking out for him,” Amie laughed. “Thankfully, there’s no more need for worries. My love is right where he should be.”

  “It’s good you’re so confident,” Azim said with a chuckle. “Because you’re about to meet some very important people in Sheikh Malik’s life.”

  Amie’s eyes felt like saucers as she laughed with surprise. She turned to Malik for guidance and in return he only offered her a playful wink.

  “They’re harmless,” he whispered with a smile. While he sounded as confident as could be, she couldn’t help but notice his grip got a little tighter around her arm.

  The man who approached was also elderly. He was short—shorter than Amie—and wore a green robe and gold chains around his neck. He regarded Amie briefly before speaking to Malik in Arabic; a huge grin forming on his lips.

  The young woman standing next to him was absolutely breathtaking. She wore a red gown with quarter sleeves and deep-plum eyeshadow with smoky black, winged liner. She had brown eyes and perfectly-arched brows.

  “Father, this is Amie.” Malik turned to his faux-fiancée then gestured towards the man. “Amie, this is my father, Mahumet.”

  Mahumet looked her over carefully; with purpose. He turned back to Malik and narrowed his eyes before finally giving him an approving nod. “As-salaam ‘alaykum,” he said smoothly, then took his leave from them both.

  Amie smiled and returned the nod; completely unaware as to whether doing so was an acceptable custom or not. After all, if Malik was a sheikh, wouldn’t that make his father some kind of king or something? She gave an awkward smile to the young woman still standing in front of them and the woman also gave her the once-over; her final expression not at all approving.

  “He said ‘Peace be upon you,’” she said harshly. “Assuming you don’t speak Arabic?”

  “No, but thank you. Now I know who to turn to for a fantastic translation.”

  Azim and Galina both offered a polite chuckle, but the woman before them just looked bored.

  “Oh, Zafina, please!” came Galina’s hearty laugh. “Give the poor girl a chance. She’s his fiancée, after all!”

  “You remember my sister,” Malik said quickly.

  Sister… Check.

  “Well, we’ve never had the pleasure,” Amie winced.

  “Yes,” Malik said through gritted teeth. “But I’ve told you all about her, haven’t I?”

  Zafina laughed at that. “So nice to meet you, Amie. I’m sorry to say that while Malik has told you all about me, he’s hardly said a word about you.” She continued sizing Amie up, adjusting her head covering slightly as she did. “In fact, the subject of your engagement came up at quite the opportune time.” Zafina raised her hand to her mouth as if to say Oops! and laughed once more. “Pardon me. I mean, came up quite suddenly.”

  Amie tilted her head to the side and smiled, rubbing Malik’s arm gently. “I’m sorry to hear that. He must have been worried I wasn’t going to make this trip. I had a… work-related emergency that I wasn’t sure I could get away from. He probably didn’t want to disappoint any of you.”

  “And what a disappointment that would have been,” Zafina smirked.

  With that, Azim and Galina politely excused themselves to a nearby painting and warmly expressed their delight in meeting Amie, as if to subtly scold Zafina for her behavior.

  “So…” Zafina frowned, and gave a knowing smile to Malik. “How was it you two met, again?

  “We met at a bar,” Amie said with a dazed smile, taking her best gue
ss at it. She could tell she’d made the wrong guess, however, when Malik’s face suddenly fell.

  “Hmm,” Zafina enunciated. “Malik said you met through his work in real estate.”

  “Right, right… I had made an appointment with him about buying a new condo, but I run a theater in Chicago and we had a wrap party that night at a local restaurant. I had an early meeting so he kindly agreed to meet me there.” Amie grinned. Take that, Zafina!

  The sister nodded and gave an arrogant smile. “The theater… how fascinating.”

  It was time for Amie to reassess her situation; she was now dealing with a culture she had no clue about, and a mean, jealous sister who clearly had beef with Malik.

  The strange thing was, while she was standing there, mortified, Malik actually seemed jovial; an endless chatter of conversation and a contagiously playful laughter spilling forth from him.

  “You Americans, you love games, yes?” Zafina asked, grabbing Amie’s arm and walking her further into the gallery.

  They walked past three paintings, the designs on each canvas combining to make a single image of a fallen soldier. The details within the thick brush strokes were left to interpretation, but to Amie, the hero looked decidedly happy to have fallen.

  “So,” the sister continued, “who said ‘I love you’ first?”

  “Malik did,” Amie smiled her best adoring smile. “In the rain, after seeing our first play together.”

  “Looks like my big brother has some class after all!” Zafina said playfully, smacking Malik lightly on the shoulder. “And how did he propose?”

  “It was just last week, actually,” Amie said proudly, offering Zafina her ring finger for inspection. “At my place. He set up a trail of candles leading from the entry to the ring box.”

  “My, my,” Zafina said with some surprise. “And how long had you been together before he proposed?”

  Amie went to speak but Malik cut her off. “Five months, Zafina. I told you that already.”

  “I know,” she smiled, sliding her tongue across her teeth. “It’s just a little fast, I suppose.”

  “Well, when you know, you know,” Amie confirmed, looking up into Malik’s eyes and brushing her hand against his cheek. “What about you, Zafina, are you with anyone?”

  “So Amie,” the sister went on, ignoring her question. “Tell me, when is Malik’s birthday?”

  Amie fought the urge to frown. Low blow, Zafina, low blow. She laughed nervously and looked to Malik for some guidance, trying to think of any plausible reason why she wouldn’t have learned his birthdate in the course of five months together.

  “Oh, Zafina, she knows it’s in October,” Malik said, sounding bored. “You know how she knows?”

  “How?”

  “Because hers is in October, too!” he lied.

  Zafina stared between the two of them before finally relenting to a laugh. Her demeanor seemed to soften from that point on, and the Newlywed Game came to a halt. The three were practically inseparable for the rest of the afternoon. The gala turned to dinner and dinner turned to cocktails, and before long the pair had been socializing well into the evening, with no shortage of important patrons and well-dressed figures for Amie to meet. Many of the guests spoke English, which boded well for her. She frequently heard the term, ‘Sheikh Malik’s American fiancée’ floating around the room.

  There were a few more bumps and blips throughout the night, including an incorrect pronunciation of Malik’s last name to the gallery owners, as well as not even being able to fathom a guess at his mother’s name while talking to some of his childhood friends.

  To Amie’s exhausted relief, the night slowly drew to a close. The gallery owners cut the ribbon on their new art wing, as well as announcing a large donation to the local hospital, and finally, around midnight, Amie and Malik left the gallery.