by C. J. Miller
It was the first Harris had heard her speak of her education.
“A man may not like for his wife to be more educated than he is,” Iba said quietly. “Perhaps you should enjoy the learning, but not pursue the degree.”
Hurt shadowed Laila’s eyes. She’d wanted her mother’s support.
Though he felt strange saying anything, he interjected, “It’s wonderful for Laila to have a master’s degree in communication. So much she can do with that. My parents are pleased to know she’ll be helpful in the family business,” Harris said.
Laila beamed at him.
What were her plans with her degree? Before he’d offered a new life in America, had Laila planned to forget her education after she entered into an arranged marriage?
Laila took control of the conversation, telling her mother and uncle about her classes, and her options for the future. She walked just shy of stating she would not return to Qamsar, though her relationship with Harris implied it.
Making a note to ask her more about it when they were alone, Harris half listened, half scanned the room around him, trying to place names and faces. He’d been given a list of invited guests that were of interest to the CIA. That list ran over four hundred people long. The total invitee list was well over a thousand.
Harris had an encrypted, protected program on his phone that would allow him to check faces later, but for the present, it was safest to observe.
He felt eyes on him and noticed someone in his peripheral vision looking in his direction. Harris forced his gaze to his dinner and then back to the person watching him. Harris didn’t recognize the man, his dark hair and beard giving him a generic, unremarkable look. He wasn’t tall or short, broad or slim, no outstanding features. The type of person the CIA loved to have on their team.
The last Harris had heard, he was the only CIA or FBI resource assigned inside the compound. Then again, he hadn’t known another American spy was being placed inside the compound. Were more agents here to deliver a message to Harris or to support his mission? Or did other operatives have their own agendas?
The CIA operated differently than the FBI. The FBI shared information, and when he was working a case, Harris had access to everyone and everything about that case. The CIA liked to keep information compartmentalized. Perhaps they thought it would limit exposure. If one agent was captured and knew nothing about another, not even torture could drag the information from them, and a multipart mission could find some success.
Harris returned his attention to the conversation. Laila was speaking about her classes the next semester and the research project she was working on with one of her professors. When she was given a new identity, her life would change dramatically. Leaving her school and abandoning the ties she’d made would be difficult for her.
Harris took another look around the dining room and disappointment surged through him. No sign of Ahmad Al-Adel, and therefore nothing to report. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. But he had hoped.
* * *
Their first wedding event in the compound had gone well. At least Laila believed so. She could tell her mother wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Harris being German and interested in her daughter, but she wasn’t opposed to it enough to forbid it from happening. Harris mentioning his plans to convert to Islam had taken the edge off her disapproval. Laila had spoken to Saafir briefly, and he had expressed his happiness that she had met someone in America and appeared content with her life.
Harris had asked Laila to meet him somewhere private after dinner. With the number of people moving around the compound, and the eating and socializing going on well past midnight, she and Harris had agreed the courtyard gardens would suffice for a meeting. It was cold enough at night that not many people would venture outside, and the fountains, gazebos and palm trees gave them enough hiding places that she and Harris could speak without being seen.
Laila stepped into the gardens, the cold of the night sending a shiver up her spine, and she pulled her wool wrap tighter around her shoulders. Her excuse for being outside was to get fresh air. It sounded ridiculous even to her, but if she wanted to talk to Harris alone, this was the best option.
She had a thousand questions about the events of the night. Harris wasn’t obligated to tell her anything about what he’d learned, but Laila needed some salve for her nerves. She was worried about the American spy who Mikhail had captured and concerned what it would mean for her and Harris. Had other CIA spies gotten access to the compound? Was Harris aware of them and keeping her in the dark? If so, what did that mean for her role in bringing Harris to the compound? She hoped she hadn’t made a big mistake.
Harris appeared so suddenly, Laila bit back a scream. “You scared me,” she said.
“Sorry about that,” Harris said. “Are you cold?” He didn’t wait for her answer and took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. It smelled of him, the light scent of sandalwood and spices.
She couldn’t wait to ask her questions. “What did Mikhail mean by an American getting into the compound?”
As her eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the gardens, she read worry on his face.
“I don’t know. I found that odd, as well. Any Americans on the list were invited guests, at least to my knowledge. I’ll need to find out what happened. It could be a bluff to scare anyone thinking of snooping around. Or maybe it’s part of his plan to turn public opinion against Americans, painting them as spies trying to sabotage his wedding.”
Mind games were Mikhail’s specialty. She didn’t point out that Harris was a spy who would ruin the emir’s wedding if Al-Adel was found in the country. “My mom didn’t like that you weren’t from our country.”
Harris tucked his hands into his pants pockets.
She was struck by his boyish charm. As a former American military man and FBI agent, he had deadly talents, ones she wouldn’t test, but he had an honest and open way about him. He was easy to trust. But wasn’t that the point? Getting people to trust him was part of the job.
“I know she wasn’t thrilled with me. I expected that. I’ll have to win her over. I think telling her I was converting helped.”
Did he care about her mother liking him? They weren’t a real couple. It shouldn’t matter what her mother thought. As long as she didn’t hate him, openly oppose the relationship or have Khalid protest their involvement, she and Harris could struggle through this assignment without her objections becoming another obstacle.
“How are you doing? Has it been difficult for you to be here?” Harris asked.
The question caught her off guard. Since arriving in Qamsar, she’d had an eerie sense of impending doom. So far the dropped bombs hadn’t been what she’d expected. Mikhail hadn’t announced her engagement to one of his lackeys. Mikhail hadn’t refused to allow her to return to America, though he had suggested it would be better for her to stay in Qamsar following the car bombing outside the café.
An American in custody was unsettling, as was Mikhail’s warning to his guests. Foreign governments had taken an interest in the Emir of Qamsar, and his announcement made it clear his wedding wouldn’t distract him from his vigilance.
“I’m fine. Worried about whoever Mikhail has in custody,” Laila said. Though they weren’t in her room, Harris was behaving differently toward her than he had in the company of her family. He was standing closer, and his focus was more intensely on her. Her conservative childhood beliefs battled with her new perspective on relationships. Leaning in and touching him was natural. Only knowing their relationship was make-believe stopped her.
“I am, too. I’ll see what I can find out about it.”
The sound of footsteps approached, and Harris pulled Laila behind a gazebo and against him. She could feel his breath on the top of her head and his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Wrapped in the band of his arms, she was warmer, safer. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Laila wanted and accepted the comfort of his arms around her.
She had never
touched a man this way. She’d never been hugged by anyone except her family, and even then shows of affection were infrequent. Her body stirred, and she rested her head against his chest and fisted his shirt in her hands, holding him to her. How would it feel to kiss him? To feel the press of his mouth hot against her, the way she had imagined a kiss would be? Curiosity and desire created a heady mix, which confused her and made her light-headed.
Harris wasn’t her boyfriend or a man she was promised to marry, and yet being in his arms felt right. She felt alight with excitement.
“I think they’re gone,” Harris said. He stepped away and straightened. “My apologies. I wasn’t making an advance. I was trying to hide you. I forgot myself for a moment.”
Why did it sting that his actions were based only on protecting her? Being alone with a man was unfamiliar to her. What could she say to let him know she wasn’t offended without sounding forward? “I’m not upset. I’m glad you’re here. Being alone with a man is new to me, but it’s nothing like I’d imagined it to be.” It came with more powerful emotions. Desire. Happiness.
Harris looked at her. Watched her and didn’t say anything. His gaze drilled into her.
Finally he spoke. “Are you telling me you’ve never been alone with a man?”
Laila shifted under his scrutiny. She wasn’t ashamed of how she had chosen to live. It was, after all, a deliberate choice. Her aunt and uncle were trusting, and she could have secretly dated men in America. She’d been asked out a few times by customers in the coffeehouse and had declined their invitations. “Aside from members of my family, I have not been alone with a man. Not in the way you mean.” She had never before experienced the attraction or the connection she had with Harris.
Harris stepped closer. “How is that possible? Have you seen yourself? You’re gorgeous. How do you keep men away from you?”
Laila blushed. The compliment heated her insides. “It’s well understood in Qamsar that an unmarried woman of a certain age isn’t left alone with her suitors. My father or mother chaperoned dinners, and my father was planning to select someone for my marriage. He died before he’d made the final arrangements.” With the power and influence her father had held, he should have arranged a match when she was young, as he had done for her brothers. But his relationship with Laila had been different. Her father had admitted he was having trouble letting go of his daughter, and had wanted to find a good man with honesty and integrity who would treat her well.
“The first man you want to be with is your husband.” He spoke it as a statement, not a question. His voice lacked incredulity. He sounded as if he was trying to understand.
“My parents’ plan was that I only ever be alone with my husband. In America, I wondered about that choice and if it was right for me.” The darkness hid the redness that burned on her face. She’d been too direct.
“Now that your future is more open, how do you feel about that?”
She hadn’t entirely processed what would change for her when she started a new life in America. She was concentrating on the part of the arrangement that would keep her family safe and her from being married to someone Mikhail had chosen, likely someone she would find awful. She put the conversation back on comfortable ground. “I want to be happy. In America, I will learn to date how other modern women do.” Though she had worried about an arranged marriage with someone Mikhail would choose for her, she hadn’t had the same fears when her father was alive. He would have seen to it she married someone good and kind.
“You no longer want an arranged marriage?” he asked.
Once she was living in America, she wouldn’t have the means to arrange a marriage. She’d need to break ties with her past life and find someone on her own. “It might not be an option without a male in my life to arrange it or the connections to find someone. I suppose my mother or Saafir could help, but we’ll all have to find new lives and build relationships. I could find my own suitors.” Couldn’t she? Could Harris be one of them?
“I’m responsible for your health and well-being. I put you on this track, and if it goes off the skids, I’ll know I had a hand in that. If you end up married to a jerk you meet in America, I’ll hold myself accountable.”
She wasn’t planning to let her life veer off course, and she wouldn’t marry a jerk. She might be inexperienced, but she had good instincts. “You seem to believe I’ll make bad choices. I’m capable of finding a good man.” She wasn’t sure what qualities she would look for. Those things had been in the hands of her family.
He called her out of her worry. “How will you know the good guys from the bad? You don’t have experience seeing through someone’s lies,” Harris said. “The world is full of liars.”
He was included on that list. Their entire relationship was a deception. “Perhaps your line of work has made you jaded. Not everyone prides themselves on being a liar or needs to lie every day to get their job done.”
He winced. “Low blow. But truthful. Believe it or not, outside my work, I am an honest man.”
She challenged him right back. “Is that what your ex-girlfriends would tell me?”
His shoulders lifted. “They might. They would probably tell you I’m too busy and too involved in my work to be a decent boyfriend.”
Disappointment fluttered through her, and she got the sense he hadn’t finished his thought. Everyone had flaws, but his sounded like he’d rather spend time working than with his woman. “Would they be right?”
“Maybe. I always thought, for the right woman, I’d work less and find a balance.”
“I had hoped for the same. That is, to find a man who would allow me to work.”
“What do you plan to do with your degree?” Harris asked.
“I’d like to work for a small company. Help with PR and marketing. Flex my creativity but still get home by dinnertime to be with my family.”
“Those dreams are possibilities now. Find the right man and the right job, and nothing will stop you.”
Laila shivered. Possibilities. Her life had been defined by the opposite. By boundaries and distance and following directions given by others. Her first venture into making her own decisions was attending the University of Colorado. She had loved the freedom and being away from the watchful eye of her family in Qamsar.
Another sound of footsteps and Harris grabbed her again. She didn’t move or speak, afraid they would be discovered. She inhaled slowly, and the masculine scent of him tickled her senses. She wanted to kiss him. Everything in her clamored for it. She would be miles behind her peers in dating skills and at a disadvantage. Everything she knew about dating came from friends’ stories, books and movies.
Wasn’t Harris the perfect man for a test run? Good-looking, probably a great kisser and temporarily in her life. If she made a mistake with him or made a fool of herself, in a few weeks, it wouldn’t matter.
When the footsteps faded, she didn’t draw herself away. She lifted her head to see what he would do.
“Sorry, again. Instinct took over,” he said. His arms remained locked around her.
“This isn’t so bad,” she said. How did she encourage him to kiss her? In movies, it seemed as if an invisible force drew two people together, as if both knew when it was the right moment. Her skin tingled, and her stomach tightened.
Indecision wavered on his face. “You don’t want this.”
“Sure I do.” Her cheeks heated at the bold words and their implication.
Harris searched her eyes. “These are a lot of changes for you in a short time. I don’t want to put pressure on you or make you do something you’re uncomfortable with.”
In this moment, she didn’t feel pressure. She felt desire and longing. She couldn’t put into words exactly why she was encouraging him to kiss her. “I’m not uncomfortable.” Maybe anxious. Curious. Questioning her life and her decisions. Open to new experiences.
Didn’t he want to kiss her? She was out of her element. Unsure. And she yearned. That was the only
word she could accurately apply to the situation. He was touching her, and she wanted more. What harm could one kiss do? She wouldn’t sleep with Harris or let it go further than a kiss.
Decisions about men and relationships had always been made for her by other men. This time she was making the decision. She wanted this to happen. She was ready.
Harris lowered his mouth and brushed his lips to hers. Heat shimmered from the contact across her entire body. The tip of his tongue outlined her mouth. He was playing with her, exciting her, and she loved every moment.
Laila put her hand on the back of his head and brought his mouth full against hers. She melted into the kiss. Surrendered. Her lips burned with white-hot awareness. It felt natural, and her body felt primed and ready. His kiss affected her in ways she hadn’t considered. Her prior plans to wait for her husband before touching a man had meant a lifetime of physical loneliness.
Until she had kissed Harris, she hadn’t cared about chemistry. Feeling the blaze of passion, she suddenly understood it wasn’t something she could pretend to feel with a stranger or manufacture in a marriage.
With perfect clarity, she knew her life had veered off the well-worn path beaten by her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother. Her doubts cemented into fact. A companionable, arranged marriage wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Deserved more.
His mouth drifted to her cheek. “We have amazing chemistry.”
“You’ve said that all along.” And now she got it. Truly understood the difference between liking a man and feeling a soul-deep pull toward him.
He moved his hands to her elbows. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”
She couldn’t define a precise emotion. She felt light-headed and excited, hungry for more and anxious for another kiss. She couldn’t take it back or return to a place where she’d accept a loveless arrangement because tradition demanded it.
