by Leslie North
“I’m guessing he didn’t speak English,” she commented, reaching for her napkin, but he beat her to it, again, shaking it with a flourish and setting it across her lap.
“This from a woman who speaks Arabic,” he murmured against her ear before walking to the other side of the table to sit down.
Ignoring his comment about her language skills, she pressed him. “He presented himself as picking me up for dinner with the tour,” she argued wanting to be angry but finding it increasingly difficult.
His dark features seemed infused with pride. “You still could have told him you hadn’t arranged for a private driver to your dinner,” he teased.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Either way, you’ve got me here, now.”
He laughed, a warm and hearty sound. “I’m pleased,” he said again, and she could see in his dark eyes that he meant it. He wasn’t simply teasing her as he had been at first.
“I am, too,” she admitted. “I’m pleased we’re finally getting to do this. I’m not happy about missing dinner with the tour group, but it’s not the first time we’ve skipped out on an important dinner together is it?” She felt herself blush at the memory of that night all those years ago, the last night they’d spent together.
“No, I guess it’s not,” Zaid agreed.
She looked out over the city from the rooftop terrace. The sun was setting, lighting the sky on fire and setting the city aglow with its golden light. It was easy to see why so much of the Sultan’s world was decorated in gold. It mirrored the beautiful radiance of the Arabian sun.
“So, what’s on the menu tonight?” Rebecca asked. She drank in his imposing physique in his tailored suit.
“Well,” he started, picking up his glass of red wine and raising it to her, “I thought we’d start off with a drink.”
She grabbed her glass. “Wine? I remember you telling me that your father didn’t allow alcohol at the palace,” she said.
“He doesn’t,” he answered with a wink. “Technically, we aren’t in the palace.”
She chuckled as she sipped her red wine.
“I’m surprised your father hasn’t already arranged a marriage for you, to preserve your wealth and status,” she said. If she were honest with herself, part of the reason she’d never contacted him after she’d learned she was pregnant was because she knew there was no chance of a future between them. At the time, she’d thought it was better to let their feelings for each other fade, than to risk the pain of being separated again. She hadn’t known then how often she would think of Zaid in the years that followed. How often she would see him in Calum.
“It’s a long story, and you would have enjoyed being here for it,” he told her, “but I’m allowed to choose my own wife.” His eyes leveled on her as he spoke, drawing the blush out in her fair cheeks.
“I see.” She cleared her throat. He couldn’t possibly be hinting…besides, there was no way she could uproot Calum, take him from everything he’d ever known for a man she hardly knew anymore. Hell, for a man she’d never really known well. She filled the awkward silence. “So, what’s the main course tonight?”
“Lamb with grilled vegetables and rice,” he answered. Her heart raced, but he seemed not to notice how she’d changed the subject, or the impact of his words. She was making too much of his revelation, clearly.
And yet, it hadn’t escaped her notice that it was the same dinner he’d arranged for them in the States five years ago on their last rendezvous. It also wasn’t lost on her that they were wearing the same clothes they’d worn on that fateful, magical night.
She sat quietly with Zaid as a maid brought out a mezzes platter with different flavored hummus, fresh pita, stuffed grape leaves and marinated olives. The silence between them felt awkward, as if neither one of them knew what to say to the other over their wine and the sunset.
“So, when you do finally marry and accept your inheritance, are you going to do more to help the people who are suffering in the Emirate?” she finally asked.
Zaid sipped his wine before answering. “You know, I don’t remember you being quite this political.”
“I wasn’t,” she agreed. “A lot has happened since we were together. I’ve always been interested in helping the less fortunate, of course, because that’s how you prevent some of the violence that has affected my family, but I used to know my place, so to speak.” She laughed nervously. “I forgot my place somewhere along the way, I guess.”
“Well, I can assure you, I will continue the work I’ve already been doing to help my father draw more wealth into the region to bring all our people out of poverty. It’s a complex problem here, though, and it’s going to take a lot of work to solve the issue.”
She was impressed by his answer. He always knew the right things to say even if he didn’t know exactly the reality of his words. At least his heart was in the right place, she reminded herself, even if there was no way he could understand poverty the way she did.
“I think one of the ways to help the problem will be to stop trying to hide it. Or maybe to stop trying to hide from it,” she suggested.
Zaid sighed. “I should have let you attend the tour dinner tonight. I can see our dinner is going to be plagued by this political talk. I get enough of it from my father and his advisor. And trust me, Rebecca, we’re working on it. There’s more to it than simply throwing money their way. There are other issues in play that must be resolved so we can start revitalizing our poorer areas and bring them up to par with the rest of the region.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. Let’s enjoy each other’s company.” She raised her wine glass to him and drank a little more from it before she reached to nibble on the appetizers.
From where they sat on the palace rooftop, she understood why poverty wasn’t a huge topic for the Sheikh or the rest of the royal family. She couldn’t pinpoint any of the poor sections of Sharjah from where they were. As the sun melted into the horizon, it revealed a lush, golden paradise in the middle of the desert, reminding the viewer why people had been drawn to the region for centuries. Whereas Europeans had believed that the streets were paved with gold in the New World, the Arabian sun seemed to spin gold from thin air. And judging by the wealth held in the region, there must have been some truth to it.
As dinner came out and they began eating, she couldn’t help but ask. “So how is it that you get to choose your own wife? That’s awfully modern, isn’t it?”
Zaid gave her a rueful smile. “My father may be traditional, but he’s not stupid, and after my brothers…” He told her about the mess his brothers had made of their arranged marriages, abandoning the women their father had chosen for women they’d met in America. She tried not to let herself feel anything as he recounted the story, but there seemed to be a definite trend in his family.
Sipping her wine, she couldn’t resist speaking up, “Well, from everything you’ve said, the three of you definitely seem to have a thing for American women,” she teased.
Shrugging his shoulders, he mimicked her movements with his own wine as he looked at her across the top of his glass. “My brothers are more progressive and as Sharjah continues to modernize, they want to see changes in our culture as well.”
“And you don’t?” She didn’t know why she was prodding him.
Taking another drink, he continued to look at her, “There has only ever been one American woman of interest to me and she has made a point of resisting me at every turn.”
Rebecca flushed and quickly gulped her wine, coughing slightly as she swallowed too much too fast. This was not going how she had planned. She had thought she would be the one making him flustered. She set the empty glass down and Zaid refilled it for her as she concentrated on her meal. They ate in silence before he broke it asking her about her recent work.
She told him about some of the places she’d visited for work and how having to leave her son at home made her regret her career choice from time to time.
�
�Who does he stay with when you’re gone?” he questioned.
“My sister, Amy. He adores his aunty.”
“So, there’s no male father-figure in his life?”
“No, there isn’t. It didn’t seem...appropriate.” She wasn’t sure how to answer the question. She wanted to tell him about how often she dreamed about him. She wanted to let him know that every time she looked into Calum’s eyes, she saw Zaid staring back at her and she simply couldn’t bring herself to date someone else.
But, she didn’t know how to drop the walls she’d built up over the years. Her career and family had kept her from being able to stick with the only man she’d ever really had feelings for, and she didn’t want to lose anyone else to the life she’d chosen for herself. So she walled herself away from the rest of the world, shutting everyone out to the point that she didn’t even know how to let Zaid back in. The one person she wanted to let in.
By the end of dinner, their awkwardness was gone. All the political talk, the nostalgic hindsight, and the stilted small talk gave way to two friends being able to reconnect after five years apart.
“You know, there are times when Calum makes me want to call my parents and apologize for all the things I did as a kid,” Rebecca said, shaking her head, resting her hand on the table. More than anything, she wanted him to take it, to wrap her fingers in his warmth.
Zaid chuckled. “I can’t imagine raising a little version of me,” he added.
“That’s exactly what he is, too,” she told him, glancing away, unable to meet his eyes. “Every time I look at him, I see you. He likes to be on top of things the way you do, too. He is definitely the take-charge type.”
“I would like very much to meet him,” Zaid said, his voice quiet. “I would like to be part of his life; of your life.” He took her hand then, and just as before, an electric jolt went through her, electrifying her, as if she’d been waiting all these years for his touch.
She brought her eyes to his. “I’d love for you to meet him, at some point. I’m not sure about bringing him to Sharjah where it seems like the remaining pockets of poverty are beginning to turn violent,” she admitted.
“It isn’t that bad,” Zaid practically growled in frustration, pulling his hand away from hers.
“How would you know?” she shot back. “You’re always protected by armed security. He’s just a little boy.”
“He’s also my son. He will have all the protection necessary. Far more than what he has now.”
Rebecca stood up from the table as the maids came to clear it. Stalking toward the edge of the terrace, she kept her back to him as she stared out toward the horizon, watching the sky darken. She stiffened when she felt his hands on her waist.
Sighing, she leaned back against him. “It’s incredibly beautiful here.”
Pushing her hair aside, he nuzzled her neck before kissing a line from her ear down to her shoulder. As she started to pull away from him, he tightened his hold on her, as he continued to kiss her.
“It is indeed,” he murmured, the sound of his voice causing goose bumps to pop up on her arms as she shivered in his arms.
“We aren’t finished talking about this, Zaid,” she admonished as she felt her resolve cracking away with each kiss.
Switching to the other side of her neck, he repeated the kisses on that side. “Agreed.”
Knowing she needed to put a stop to this, she tried again, “We also can’t do this in your father’s home.”
“It’s my home too and as I pointed out earlier, we aren’t in it, we’re on it.”
She chuckled before moaning, as he resumed kissing her. Standing here like this reminded her of that night they had stood on the balcony of her hotel room, the same way they stood on the palace terrace tonight, the culmination of a whirlwind romance that had developed over the course of his visit to the States.
She had been young and impressionable; or so she told herself to make missing him sting a little less. He was a blend of confidence and kindness, a gentle giant who knew all the right ways to touch a woman but could still use his body to keep her safe; the way he had at the bridge today.
As they’d watched the sun melt into the horizon from her hotel room, she had turned to kiss him, and found him waiting for her, eager as she planted her lips gently against his. Their mouths opened together, allowing their tongues to meet between them. Their kiss filled her body with the golden rays of the setting sun.
She had wrapped her arms around him and pulled him against her as her desire grew for him, burning deep within.
She pulled back from the kiss to find that they weren’t standing on the balcony of her American hotel room. They were standing on the rooftop terrace. No matter how much she had missed him, no matter how many dreams she’d had over the years, she wasn’t ready to do this again. She couldn’t believe that she was allowing her emotions to get the best of her.
She was in Sharjah to do a job, not to rekindle her long lost love.
“I, uh, I need to go,” she said quietly, and pulled herself away from Zaid, stumbling as she hurried from the terrace.
8
After Rebecca left, Zaid spent a restless night going over everything that had happened at dinner. Unable to sleep, he ended up in the palace gym and spent the next forty minutes pounding out his pent up energy on the treadmill. When he finally stopped, he was thinking more clearly. Rebecca had been right to leave. He still had no idea what Alacabak was up to and it wasn’t a smart idea to provide him with whatever fuel he was after right under his nose.
Thankfully, Candace didn’t say anything about the attack on the bridge to any of the investors and they were eager to continue their tour today.
He stood in the lobby of the brand new sports complex and business conference center with Alacabak Noozu beside him. They welcomed the members of the tour as they arrived from the hotel, escorted by a small security detail unit.
The front of the building was all glass. Inside, the lobby was wide-open, taking up the whole front of the building. As the guests walked in through the glass door, Zaid approached with his arms spread wide to welcome them, stepping away from Alacabak, who would have been content to wait for them to walk up to him.
“Welcome to the new Sharjah Sports Complex and Conference Center. I apologize for being unable to accompany you yesterday afternoon. An urgent matter came up, but I trust the representatives from the palace were able to keep everything on track,” Zaid began.
As the last few guests entered the building and joined the group, including Rebecca, bringing up the rear just as she had when they first arrived, Zaid continued. “This modern building was recently built by the Tadros Twins. Its amenities include state of the art athletic facilities and a modern conference center. It also offers shuttle services to and from all the major hotels in Sharjah so that visitors don’t have to worry about securing their own transportation. This represents another step forward for the region as we strive to keep up with our neighbors and bring the Emirate into the twenty-first century.”
There was one sour face in the group, one person who didn’t seem overly impressed with the conference center. Rebecca.
“I have some questions,” she announced from the back of the group.
“Yes, Ms. Reid,” Zaid answered, keeping his voice pleasant though inwardly he groaned. “I’ll be happy to answer your questions.” After she’d run away from him last night, he’d resolved to keep things strictly professional. At least while they were with the investors.
“First, how much were the workers paid?” she asked.
This again? Zaid thought, as he gritted his teeth and pasted a smile on his face. Whatever warmth there might have been between them the night before, whatever he’d managed to hold onto after she’d bolted, vanished. Why couldn’t Rebecca ever simply let it rest?
“Now, as far as the details of worker compensation, hours, and benefits, all of that is handled by the national labor board. Their job is to ensure that companies hirin
g in any of the United Arab Emirates pay fair wages, provide acceptable benefits, and provide work hours in accordance with our labor laws. Alacabak might know a little more about the specific details of this particular project, but if you want concrete answers, you’ll have to go to the labor board.” He had prepared for these types of questions. He was not going to let her blindside him. Besides, he was rather proud of the labor laws.
“But aren’t those regulations in place only for registered Emirati citizens, leaving little to no protection for migrant workers?” she countered.
Why she had to make it her purpose to find flaws with everything in Sharjah, to constantly bring up the workers and poverty, he didn’t know, but he’d be damned if she got him to lose his cool. It was like she wanted some sort of vengeance against him personally, when it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been there for her. For their son. She hadn’t even told him. If he hadn’t found that picture, maybe she never even would have.
“I believe that is true. There are very few protections for migrant workers. We’re trying to discourage the use of migrant workers, as we have plenty of able-bodied citizens here who can do this work. The labor board has restrictions on when migrant workers can be used and how many can be employed at a time,” Zaid explained.
“Yes, I know about the restrictions, but estimates show that as much as seventy percent of the workforce in Sharjah is made up of migrant workers, many of whom are undocumented, allowing employers to keep their reporting numbers low so that they remain within the legal limits. These workers are not guaranteed living wages, reasonable hours, or benefits by the labor board. Furthermore, there is no national minimum wage that would protect all workers. The labor board assigns or approves wages based on the job itself. That works out great for registered citizens, but again, those regulations don’t apply to migrant workers.”
Zaid stammered. “I don’t know about those estimates,” he said, looking at Alacabak. “We’ve been striving to enact better regulations for all of our workers. If that many people are falling through the cracks then it will be up to the royal family to investigate the situation.”
