Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

by Barbara McMahon

  “And Quraim Wadi Samil?”

  “Once we return, you’ll have to find your own way there.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t worry, I shall!” She turned to enter the villa.

  Rashid stood standing beside his car. The door closed. She was gone.

  For endless minutes he stood staring at the door, feeling numb. One moment she says she loves him. The next she’s talking about leaving. The images of them together over the last few days danced in his mind. He could almost hear her laughter, see the sparkle in her eyes. For the first time since Marguerite he’d let himself consider—No, he was not going there.

  He clenched a fist and hit the top of the car. He’d been thinking of ways to keep her in Quishari, and she’d been playing him. At least she had no idea he’d been halfway falling in love with her.

  It was a small solace.

  Bethanne reached her bedroom and shut the door. Sinking on her bed, she blinked her eyes. She would not cry. But the heartbreak she’d feared was closing in. Rashid had been so annoyed. Why? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known from the beginning she was searching for her father. She should not have confessed her feelings. He hadn’t wanted any emotional entanglements. He was probably laughing all the way back to the city about her claim. Her throat ached with keeping back the tears.

  His reaction was unexpected. How could he feel so strongly about his own family and not recognize the same bond she had for hers?

  She loved him. She hadn’t meant to tell him, not without some indication he might be feeling something for her. But she had blurted it out. And he threw it back in her face. She did not want to go to Morocco or ever be around him again. How embarrassing that would be. Oh, if only she could go back in time a few hours and change everything.

  She jumped up and began to pace the spacious area between her bed and the French doors. Rubbing her chest, she tried to erase the ache that was growing in her heart. She had warned herself repeatedly. But no matter—she’d fallen in love with a man who had never given any hint he returned her feelings. If he thought she was as dishonorable as he thought her father, he never would. Despite the kisses they’d shared.

  Her father had been an honorable man. She resented the fact people thought he’d stolen a valuable plane and disappeared. She wanted the world to know the truth.

  And she wanted Rashid to fall in love with her—daughter of a thief or not.

  She might as well wish for the moon.

  Minnah came into the room some time later with a message the sheikh had moved up the departure for Morocco to the next morning. They would depart at six.

  Bethanne accepted her visit to Quishari was over. She’d fly the sheikh to sign his important contract, return to Quishari and be on the next commercial flight to the United States.

  Packing, she took only those clothes she’d brought. She fingered the beautiful dresses that hung in the closet. She had felt like a princess wearing them. Who would wear them next? Would he donate to a charity or dump in the trash?

  Taking advantage of her last afternoon, she went to the beach. Walking eased some of her distress. She was still trying to figure out a way to get to Quraim Wadi Samil when she looked up and saw Rashid.

  Her traitorous heart gave a leap of happiness when she saw him, even though his face was grave. When would she get over this feeling of delight in his presence?

  “Is something wrong?” she asked when he got closer.

  “My mother is having a small dinner party tonight and insists we attend.” The muscles in his cheeks clenched with anger.

  Bethanne hadn’t expected that. She searched his face for a clue he also wanted to attend. He glared at her. No hope there.

  “Surely you can tell her about the charade. She wouldn’t expect us to attend after finding out about that,” she said.

  “The minister and his wife will be there. The contracts are not yet signed. I will do nothing to jeopardize this deal. Not having come this far.”

  “Of course. The deal. No matter what.”

  “Nothing’s changed. Except my perception of your cooperation. If you do anything tonight to enlighten anyone, you’ll be sorry.”

  “Gee, what will you do? Send me back to the U.S.? Banish me from the country I’m leaving anyway?” An imp of mischief goaded her. She wanted him to want her. As she’d thought his kisses had indicated. So be it that he had not fallen in love with her as she had with him. She would not go off like some quiet, docile child. He was a wonderful man. Her love was not returned, but it didn’t make it wrong, just sad that the one man she’d found she’d want to build a life with had no similar feelings for her.

  “Don’t push me, Bethanne.”

  “You have something I want. I have something you want. Let’s make a deal.”

  “You have nothing I want.”

  “My silence. My continued acting like a love-struck woman clinging to your every word—especially if the minister is present.”

  He looked out to the sea.

  “And in return, I want a plane ride to Quraim Wadi Samil. We swap.”

  He was silent for so long she knew he was going to refuse. She had no other leverage. She would have to find the grave herself—if in fact it was there.

  “Deal.”

  His answer surprised her. Before he could change his mind, she held out her hand, but when he turned back, it was to grab her shoulders and draw her close enough to kiss. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, but one full of anger. His mouth pressed hard against hers. His fingers gripped tightly. She scarcely caught a breath before he released her a second later. No matter, her heart pounded.

  “Consider the deal sealed,” he said and turned to head toward the villa.

  “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty,” he called over his shoulder.

  She brushed her fingertips across her lips. Tears filled her eyes. She wanted kisses, but not punishing ones. Could she ever forget the passionate ones they’d shared? She was afraid she never would. All men in the future would come short when compared with Sheikh Rashid al Harum.

  “I hope your deal brings you joy. Nothing else seems to,” she said to the empty beach.

  Bethanne took extra care getting ready for her farewell performance, as she termed it. She had Minnah style her hair and selected the prettiest of the gowns hanging in the closet. It was a deep burgundy, long and sleek. Her makeup was donned for impact, making her eyes look larger and mysterious. She matched the gown color with lipstick and studied the dramatic effect in the mirror.

  “Eat your heart out, Rashid,” she whispered.

  She went downstairs to await her escort. When he arrived, she met him at the door. “I’m ready,” she said, walking past, head held high. She planned to deliver exactly what he wanted: a woman infatuated with him—when in public.

  Teaz stood at the back door of the limo. Once she was seated, Rashid joined her on the bench seat. The ride was conducted in total silence.

  Once at his mother’s, Rashid morphed into a charming host. He greeted the other guests, introducing Bethanne to those she hadn’t met before. She was gracious and friendly. She was never going to give him a single reason to think of her as less than professional in all her dealings. Her greeting to Madame al Harum was warm, as she felt suitable to a prospective mother-in-law. The older woman did not thaw at her overtures. Bethanne merely smiled. She would never please her. And tonight she had no reason to even pretend.

  She greeted the minister again. Tonight she met his wife. The woman did not speak English, so Rashid translated. When they moved on, she breathed a sigh of relief. So far so good.

  Conversation was a mixture of Arabic, French and English. She had a nice chat with a young diplomatic couple, on their way to a post in Egypt. The minister of finance was no more friendly than he’d been at the polo event. She wondered if he were perpetually grumpy. She wished Walt had been invited. It would have been nice to have one friendly face in the group.

  Dinner was traditional Arabic fare—from an av
ocado appetizer to the delicious lamb to the sweets at the conclusion. Bethanne enjoyed every bite. She especially liked the sugared walnuts that Rashid insisted be brought for her enjoyment. She smiled her appreciation, wishing he’d meant the gesture for more than show to the people present. To the rest of them, she was sure they looked like a couple who enjoyed each other’s company. Maybe were in love.

  Only the two of them knew the lie behind the facade. It was bittersweet to have him so attentive, when she knew by the look in his eyes how false it was. She met him gaze for gaze, tilting her chin up to convey she had no qualms of standing up for herself. Or defending her stance. He’d asked her to stay to foil the attempts of the opposition to bring an end to negotiations. She’d done just that. He had not asked for more. It was her own foolish heart that betrayed her—not him.

  The company moved to the salon and terrace after dinner. Soft music played in the background. The view from the terrace was beautiful; the entire city of Alkaahdar spread out before them, lighted in the darkness. In the distance, the Persian Gulf, where a lone ship gleamed with lights as it slid silently along on the horizon.

  She would miss this place, she realized. In the short time she’d been here, she’d fallen in love with Quishari and one very special person. Her father had loved this country and she felt the same.

  She realized she was alone on the terrace when Madame al Harum came to stand beside her.

  “You are leaving,” she said.

  “Yes. We fly to Morocco tomorrow. When we return to Quishari, I will fly home.”

  “It is good.”

  “I’m sure you think so. What if Rashid loved me? Do you think a broken heart is good?” she asked.

  “He would never be so foolish to marry someone so unsuitable. It’s obvious you have fallen for him, but my son knows his duty. He will marry to suit his family. It is the duty of children to honor their parents.”

  “It is a bit old-fashioned,” Bethanne said gently. “We honor our parents, but don’t marry to please them.”

  “We are a traditional country. We have the modern conveniences necessary to enjoy life, but our values are time-honored. My son does not need you.”

  Bethanne nodded, the thought piercing. “You are right. I’m leaving and you will be happier for it, right?”

  The older woman stared at her for a long time, then looked out toward the sea. “I will be content. It is what I want.”

  Bethanne longed to ask her if she missed her husband. Hadn’t they been love? If not when first married, had love come? No matter what the custom, it had to be awkward to marry if not in love. Yet the union had produced two dynamic men. Had she longed for a daughter? For grandchildren?

  Bethanne had once thought she’d never marry. She’d been fooling herself. If Rashid asked her, she’d say yes in a heartbeat. Her declarations of independence had been made before falling in love. The world changed when that happened.

  Even if the ending wasn’t happy.

  “Mother, one of your guests is leaving,” Rashid said from the doorway.

  She turned and smiled politely at Bethanne. “If I do not see you again, have a pleasant flight home.”

  “Goodbye, Madame,” Bethanne replied.

  Rashid stepped onto the terrace. “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Anytime. Your mother can’t wait for me to be gone. I’m glad this pretense will end soon. I’m thinking it never should have begun.”

  But then she would not have spent but ten minutes with Rashid while he signed the papers for the new jet. She’d have missed these days which, despite the circumstances, would remain some of the happiest of her life.

  “The past can never be changed,” Rashid said.

  The future could. But she refused to cling to false hope.

  Bethanne arrived at the airport before the sheikh the next morning. She checked with the ground crew and had visually inspected the aircraft before he arrived. Her flight bag was already stowed. Teaz loaded a small suitcase for Rashid and then drove away. Rashid brought a briefcase and was soon seated on the sofa, papers already pulled out to review.

  “The weather outlook is good the entire way,” she said. “We’ll have a refueling stop in Cairo.”

  He nodded and Bethanne went to the cockpit to begin her preflight checklist. They were soon airborne. She watched as the land moved beneath her. She was not familiar enough with it to recognize landmarks. Somewhere below them soon would be the oasis in the desert where her father lay. She was not going home without stopping there. Maybe she’d ask Khalid to find out from Hasid where exactly her father was buried. If he knew she were leaving, he might be amenable to helping her.

  As the hours slipped by, the topography changed. The hills and valleys gave way to mountains. Crossing over a while later, the blue of the Mediterranean Sea could be seen in the distance.

  It was late afternoon Morocco time when she approached the runway of Menara Airport, serving Marrakech.

  It had been a long day. They’d refueled in Cairo where Bethanne had stretched her legs for a while. The flight had not brought the usual delight. She dwelled on the vanished hope the two of them might come to mean more to each other. It was also a bit lonely without someone to share the cockpit with. She would love to talk about the beauty of the earth below or the freedom flying usually gave her.

  Rashid remained in the cabin. He’d declined to get off in Cairo. She had hoped for some kind of truce, but he obviously wasn’t of the same mind.

  She followed the directions from the tower and pulled the jet to a stop near a private hangar on the edge of the vast airport. Cutting the engines, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes for a moment. She was tired—not just from the long flight but from the emotional toll of the last two days.

  Garnering what energy she could, she finished her checklist, signed it and left the clipboard on the copilot’s seat. Going to the door, she opened it and stood aside, waiting for Rashid to leave.

  He carried his briefcase and headed down the stairs, where there was already a chauffeured limousine for his use. She wondered how all the details of such precision were conveyed. She knew his staff was efficient, but this seemed almost miraculous.

  When the uniformed chauffeur saw him into the back of the car, he came to the plane to retrieve the sheikh’s suitcase. He nodded briefly to Bethanne, but didn’t say a word. She stood back and watched as the limo pulled away.

  If she had not told him about her feelings, or if he had believed her, she would be going with him, meeting the man whose daughter caused the charade. There was no need to keep up the pretense here where no one from his country could see. Once the contracts were signed, it would no longer matter.

  She sighed and turned to check the cabin. It was as neat and tidy as if she’d flown it empty.

  A maintenance worker came aboard, saying something in Arabic.

  She replied in English. He shook his head, so she tried French. That he understood and explained he’d come to clean the interior. She told him to go ahead, but she’d wait until he was done. In fact, Bethanne wasn’t sure what she would do. Stay with the plane was her inclination. She had no hotel reservations, hadn’t a clue how to get a cab to this isolated area of the airport, didn’t know how to find a place to stay since she couldn’t speak the language. She could sleep on the sofa. Food and beverages stocked the refrigerator.

  “And as the ranking crew member present on the plane, what I say goes,” she murmured. When the maintenance worker left, she activated the door, retracting the steps and closing it. Cocooned in the aircraft, she hunted up a magazine and went to flop down on the sofa. In less than ten minutes she was asleep.

  Rashid registered at the hotel, paid for a second room for Bethanne’s use and sent the limo driver back to get her. It was petty to leave her like that, but he was still angry—more with himself than her. She had things to do when a plane landed, so the timing would probably be perfect.

  He checked out his suite, found i
t satisfactory. Truth be told it could have been a hovel and he wouldn’t have cared. Leaving it behind, he went to find a decent restaurant for an early dinner and to finalize his strategy for tomorrow’s meeting.

  When Rashid returned to the hotel, it was after ten. He’d had a leisurely meal, then gone to a small coffeehouse to work on the final details of the deal he and al Benqura would sign the next day. Walking back to the hotel, he enjoyed the atmosphere of Marrakech. He’d visited as a younger man on holiday one summer. The walk brought back memories.

  He crossed the lobby heading for the elevators when the desk clerk called him.

  “Yes?”

  “Message for you, sir,” he said.

  Rashid went to the counter and took the folded paper. Scanning it as he started for the elevators, he stopped.

  “When was this delivered?” he asked, turning back.

  “A bit before six. It’s written on the back.”

  He murmured an expletive. The note explained Bethanne had not been at the plane when the chauffeur arrived. The door was closed and no one had seen her since the arrival. Crossing to the house phone discreetly located in a quiet corner, Rashid dialed the number on the note. The car service was closed for the day. Crushing the paper in his hand, he went outside and asked the doorman to hail a cab.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHERE could she have gone? She didn’t know anyone in Marrakech. Not that he knew of. Of course she had a life apart from the few days she’d spent in Quishari. Maybe she had a host of friends here.

  But she’d said nothing about that when they’d first discussed the flight.

  The cabdriver was reluctant to go to the section of the airport Rashid directed. An extra handful of coins changed his mind. The hangar had a light on inside, scarcely enough illumination to see the door. The jet was parked nearby, where it had been that afternoon. It was dark inside. The door was closed. How had she managed that from the ground?

  A lone guard came out of a small office, alert with hand poised on a gun worn at his side.