The Sheikh's ASAP Bride

by Holly Rayner

  After several moments of silence, Ibrahim’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Falling from her reverie, Willow glanced at him.

  “You can check it,” she said, nodding.

  Ibrahim pulled his phone out, the screen displaying a notification from an online newspaper.

  “Ah. They’ve written about that post I wrote…the one about Jayne’s syndrome” he said, his eyes widening.

  “What have they said?” Willow asked, surprised.

  Ibrahim passed her the phone, gesturing. “They said that from that post alone, we’ve raised over ten million dollars for research. In only two weeks!”

  Willow’s eyes widened as she skimmed through the article.

  “It says that this could save thousands of lives,” she murmured, hardly able to comprehend the news. “Ibrahim, this is incredible!”

  She jumped into Ibrahim’s arms. He lifted her, whirling her in a circle in the graveyard. It was a moment of pure joy, with Willow knowing that Paul could feel this sunshine on his face, that he could feel what happiness this brought her.

  When he set her back on the grass, she brought herself to her knees in front of the gravestone and traced Paul’s name. Tears rushed down her face as she whispered to him, “It’s all in memory of you, little brother.”

  Willow and Ibrahim began their walk back from the gravestone as the sun dipped lower in the sky, revealing the lateness of the afternoon. Willow’s body continued to buzz with excitement. They’d only been back from Rebai for three days, and she hadn’t yet seen Summer to explain all that had happened.

  As they approached Ibrahim’s sports car, she was aware that they would soon have to part for several hours. Ibrahim had a business meeting downtown.

  Willow’s chin puckered with emotion. Laughing at herself, she said, “I can’t believe how attached I am to you. I don’t want to spend a single second away from you.”

  “I know what you mean,” Ibrahim replied, grinning. He wrapped his firm arms around her, guiding her into his embrace. They held the hug for a long moment, a small forever.

  “You’ll see me after?” she asked.

  “I have to meet this famous Summer. She’s the one who brought us together, after all,” Ibrahim said, giving Willow that heart-stopping grin.

  Willow watched as Ibrahim hopped into the driver’s seat of his sports car, zooming down the paved road and toward downtown. Willow was only a quarter-mile from her and Summer’s favorite taco truck. With a simple text, she knew she could lure Summer from her house.

  “Tacos?” she wrote with fast thumbs.

  “You’re back!?” Summer replied, mere seconds later. It was as if she’d been waiting, hovering over her cellphone. “You have been killing me with your silence, girl!”

  Willow chuckled to herself and shook her head. Time had moved so quickly for her. And now, she had to tell her story: the strangest one she’d ever known.

  Chapter 18

  Ibrahim

  Ibrahim shook hands with his new client, the elusive and very rich Martin O’Dowell, a developer who was due to build a series of hotels across the southern United States. Martin was slimy and confident, with a voice that boomed out over the hotel lobby.

  Throughout their meeting together, Ibrahim hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that, had he met with Martin only a month before, he would have handled it incredibly differently. Back then, during the time that he referred to, mentally, as “pre-Willow,” he’d have joked differently, operating with a “boys will be boys” mentality.

  But already, Willow had changed him.

  “I have to say, Ibrahim, you’re a bit different than I expected,” Martin said, releasing his handshake. His eyebrows dropped over his eyes in a thoughtful frown. “I was told that, often, you bring your clients to a certain…late-night lounge…”

  Ibrahim pressed his lips together. He couldn’t imagine himself doing anything like that again.

  With a shrug, he said, “I think the rumors about me are a bit off. I’m sorry if that disappoints you. I’m actually engaged.”

  “Huh.” Martin shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention toward the door of the hotel lobby.

  Two women appeared on the other side of the glass, propping open the door as they carried decorative flowers. Ibrahim immediately recognized them as his two favorite event planners: Carrie and Cindy, both in their mid-twenties with legs that went on for miles.

  Both had been featured at his raucous parties several times, and Carrie had always had a thing for him. Since Ibrahim hadn’t been around for several weeks, her eyes grew light with excitement.

  Strutting toward him, she shifted the flowers in her hand toward her waist and lifted her hand toward his. Ibrahim gripped it, shaking it with an air of professionalism—quite a different greeting than usual.

  “Hi there, Carrie. Cindy,” Ibrahim said, giving them a smile. He released Carrie’s hand and shook Cindy’s, meeting her eyes.

  Carrie took a step toward him and gestured at the flowers.

  “We’ve arranged these for the upcoming benefit. Everyone’s talking about how much you’ve done for Jayne’s syndrome. To think, Cindy and I had no idea you had any interests like that!”

  “Neither did I, for a long time,” Ibrahim said quietly.

  “Well, maybe we could meet up later and you could tell me more about your mission?” Carrie asked, lifting a single eyebrow. “Cindy and I would love to tell the donors just how you found this unique cause…”

  Ibrahim knew what Carrie was hinting at, but as he listened to her speak, he could only think of Willow. He remembered the way her hand had snuck into his as they’d walked through the graveyard, only an hour before. They hadn’t been apart for more than two hours, and already, his heart strained for her.

  “Actually, Carrie. Cindy.” Ibrahim cleared his throat. “This is going around in a press release as we speak. I’ve met someone, and I’m engaged. Jayne’s syndrome is a cause close to her heart, and I’ve pledged myself to helping her. She’s really the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met in my life. I can’t imagine being happier.”

  Carrie glanced toward Cindy, her eyebrows rising to her hairline. But as the seconds ticked along, the women realized the depth of this truth—not a sham, this time. Cindy clucked her tongue, finding the words to fill the silence.

  “Well, well. It looks like the Playboy Sheikh is finally growing up,” she said.

  “I am about to turn thirty,” Ibrahim replied. “I suppose it’s about time.”

  Carrie and Cindy sauntered away toward the back room of the hotel lobby. Martin turned toward Ibrahim, his hands planted firmly on his hips. He almost stuttered as he spoke, seemingly so surprised by the Sheikh’s behavior.

  “You could have had either of them,” he said, aghast.

  “Having them doesn’t mean anything to me anymore,” Ibrahim said simply.

  He strode toward the door, his feet suddenly burning with desire to move. To go to Willow.

  “I have my fiancée. I have her heart, and she has mine. I’ve known Carrie and Cindy for years, and yet I couldn’t tell you a single thing about them. Their hopes? Their dreams? All lost on me.”

  “You’re a true romantic, Ibrahim,” Martin said, chuckling.

  “I hope so,” Ibrahim said, shrugging his shoulders. “I think it might be the only way to live that means anything at all.”

  And with that, he stepped from the lobby of his hotel, his mind already miles ahead of his feet, somewhere in the future with his perfect fiancée. Nothing else mattered.

  Chapter 19

  Willow

  Willow beat Summer to La Lucha by ten minutes, just long enough for her to slurp down half a margarita alone, feeling oddly nervous about telling Summer what had happened. For most of her life, Summer had been the one with the stories: telling her about the chaotic dates she’d been on, the heartbreaks, the romantic nights beneath the stars.

  Now, Willow was prepared to tell Summer an entire lifetime’s wort
h of stories, all of which she’d experienced in the past few weeks. She felt skittish, almost as if this reality she’d crafted with the Sheikh wasn’t actually true. As if, when Summer walked in, the bubble would burst and she’d fall back into her old life. The call center would call her and inform her that she hadn’t actually quit a week ago—they needed her at work as soon as possible.

  This was her fear. It was silly and irrational. But it still existed.

  Seconds later, Summer appeared at the side of the taco truck. Her dark hair fell in longer curls around her shoulders, and her tan had deepened since the last time they’d met up. Willow grabbed her friend tightly and hugged her, familiarizing herself with her smell, her laugh. Suddenly, she felt like she hadn’t seen her in years.

  “I see you’re already halfway through a margarita. Couldn’t wait for me?” Summer said, chuckling. She winked, lifting a finger toward the chef. “I’ll take one. Trying to catch up!”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Willow said. Unable to sit, she began to pace back and forth, feeling the Houston sun blasting across her shoulders. “A lot has happened, and I’m not quite sure where to start…”

  The server arrived with the margarita, handing it to Summer. He gestured toward Willow, an eyebrow raised. “I’ve never seen the two of you so anxious.”

  Willow grabbed her margarita and sucked down the rest of it, pointing toward the glass. “I’m going to need one more, please, Jorge. My life is pure and lovely chaos right now. I can barely keep up with it!”

  “Wait. What’s that on your finger?” Summer asked suddenly. She leaped up from the plastic table and gripped Willow’s left hand, staring down at the diamond. The ring was a family heirloom, much like the tiara. Amira had given it to her as a replacement for the ‘fake’ engagement ring, telling Willow that it had belonged to her husband’s great-great grandmother.

  “It’s absolutely stunning,” Summer continued, wide-eyed. “But I figured you’d have taken it off when you got back?”

  “That’s the thing, Summer,” Willow said, toying with the ring. “When I arrived in Rebai, I fell in love with the city. The culture. The food. And, most importantly, I fell in love with the Sheikh himself.”

  Summer’s lips parted in shock. Her eyes glittered, taking in this information.

  “As in…you fell for his charms?”

  “It’s not like that,” Willow said, knowing that Ibrahim’s reputation as the “Playboy Sheikh” would make it difficult for her to explain. “He’s really misunderstood, I think. He didn’t think he wanted to settle down. But he just hadn’t met the right person.”

  “And that person is…you?” Summer asked, her smile widening.

  “Apparently so. You should see the way we are together. It’s like, I don’t know where I end and he begins. I know how sappy that sounds, but it’s true.”

  “Well, well. I never thought I’d see the day that Willow Hart fell in love,” Summer said. “But this—I’m going to have to see this for myself.”

  “Just wait.” Willow leaned in closer, staring into her best friend’s eyes.

  Between them were years of stories, of memories. Willow could see the past stretched out behind them, while being fully aware that Summer had a big place in her future. No matter how much time she and Ibrahim spent in Houston—or in Rebai, with Amira.

  “Be my maid of honor, Summer,” she said suddenly, clinging to her hand. “I can’t imagine anyone else being up there with me.”

  Summer jumped up from her seat, clapping her hand over her mouth. After a long moment, she wrapped her arms around Willow and hugged her close, whispering, “I couldn’t imagine not being your maid of honor. Thinking I was missing out on your sham marriage, all this time, nearly destroyed me!”

  “You wanted to be in on the lie, too?” Willow asked, teasing her.

  “I just want to be a part of your life, no matter what,” Summer squeaked. Her voice was edged with emotion, showing how close her happy tears were.

  After a pause, Summer waved over Jorge, ordering them a plate of their favorite tacos, along with chips and guacamole and two more margaritas. “Extra cheese on everything,” she instructed. “We’re celebrating.”

  To this, Willow giggled, feeling her heart soar with joy. It’s said that your heart just grows bigger with the number of people you love. She had the space for Paul and his memory, for her parents, and for Summer. And now, she’d built new rooms for Ibrahim and Amira: her new family, without whom she couldn’t imagine her life.

  Mid-way through the girls’ feast, Ibrahim appeared at the taco truck, still wearing an expensive suit from his meeting, his hair swept back. He looked devilishly handsome, though he’d looked just as good when he’d rolled out of bed that morning, groaning about his commitments and his desire to remain beneath the sheets with Willow.

  Stepping forward, he kissed Willow on the lips, then shook Summer’s hand. After a long pause, he said, “This is far too formal for family,” and wrapped her in a hug.

  Summer squealed, her eyes widening toward Willow as this famous, gorgeous man hugged her. In Willow’s eyes, it was just two of her favorite humans getting acquainted.

  All felt right, as if the world was finally centered. Centered, and perfect.

  “Has she asked you yet?” Ibrahim asked, breaking the hug.

  “She said she’d do it,” Willow said, beaming toward Summer.

  “Just tell me what to wear, and I’ll do it. Heck, I’ll do whatever you say,” Summer said, laughing.

  Ibrahim ordered himself a margarita and clinked their glasses, proposing a toast.

  “To the two most beautiful women in the world: my future wife, and her maid of honor. To October twenty-fifth—the day of our wedding.”

  “It can’t come quickly enough!” Summer cried.

  But Willow was happy waiting. She wanted to savor each and every second, leading up to the wedding with the man of her dreams. She could have sat at that picnic table with the two of them for days: exchanging jokes and anecdotes, with Summer telling Ibrahim the deepest, darkest, and most embarrassing secrets of Willow’s life.

  She didn’t care. All she wanted was to live fully in this fairy-tale reality.

  Chapter 20

  Willow

  On the morning of October twenty-fifth, Summer assisted Willow in donning her wedding dress: buttoning up the back, deftly sliding her fingers across the soft fabric. Willow sighed at herself in the mirror, watching as Summer’s head bobbed around her back, her brown locks shining in the sunlight. She’d had to pinch herself continuously since returning to Rebai—with Summer herself on the airplane with them.

  This was reality. She was getting married—for real!

  Summer finished with the last button and straightened up, smoothing her own deep purple gown. It featured an off-the-shoulder neckline and a trumpet skirt, and she looked positively gorgeous, her curves accentuated in all the right places.

  “I can’t imagine you’ll leave Rebai without a boyfriend, or at least several hundred offers,” Willow said, laughing.

  “Don’t. You’re the blushing bride, here. I’m just the maid of honor,” Summer giggled. “Come on. We only have—what? Twenty-five minutes before the ceremony!”

  Willow leaned against a marble pillar in the small preparation room. Sunlight streamed in through the window, the gorgeous city visible in the distance. The previous few days, Willow and Summer had raced through the streets, enjoying the fabric of the place: the bustling marketplaces, the scrumptious street food, the tiny dive bars, and the friendly, helpful nature of the people.

  “Even more friendly than Texans!” Summer had said, amazed. “But don’t tell Texans that.”

  Just the day before, Willow’s parents had arrived from Houston and taken up a room within the palace. They were wide-eyed, with nervous smiles and not a small number of fears.

  “You’re going to live in Houston, aren’t you, Willow?” her mother had asked several times, as if she were convinced
her daughter would move across the globe and never come back.

  “Of course we are, Mom,” Willow had said. “Rebai is beautiful, and we’ll spend some time here throughout the year. But Ibrahim’s business is in Houston. And with everything going on with the fundraising, I can’t imagine being anywhere else but Texas.”

  “I’m so happy, my love.” These were the last words Ibrahim had told her the night before, after the rehearsal dinner. Then, he’d kissed the top of her head and stepped off with a few of his friends from childhood and work, staying at the penthouse hotel, sipping whiskey, and talking of old times.

  “We won’t be having a typical bachelor’s party, you can be sure of that,” he’d promised. “Those days are through.”

  Now, suddenly, Willow and Summer heard the organist begin to play. Summer squeezed Willow’s hand.

  “I’ve imagined this day my entire life,” Summer said. “The day I’d be there beside you as you married your other best friend.”

  “He could never replace you,” Willow said. “Nobody can match me taco for taco like you. Or sit through more romantic comedies than any sane person should watch in a day. Or countless other things that only you can do.”

  “Good,” Summer grinned, sniffling. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Moments later, Willow walked into the foyer area, where the large wooden doors of the ceremony room were wide open. There, at the end of the pathway, was Ibrahim. He wore a tuxedo, his shoulders broad and his hands clasped over his stomach. His dark hair shone beneath the lights.

  He glanced around nervously, having not yet spotted the bride. Willow reached up and adjusted her heirloom tiara, grateful that Summer had assisted her in positioning it on her blond curls.