by Leslie North
An image flashed of her relaxing in the tub with Khalid.
Frowning, she turned on the water and cleared her mind of that distracting thought. This was about a story for her, and her somehow getting out of his dad’s plans for him.
Hot water washed away the sweat of the two days. The heat also loosened a few over tense muscles. It had not been fun being dragged out of the wedding, and she’d strained a few muscles. Her anxiety about maybe not getting out of this scrape faded, and she started thinking about the story.
What angle should she take? Sultan’s son reforms—changes his mind about arranged marriages? Or should she stick with Fadiyah’s story—how a woman found the courage to walk away from the Sheikh she’d been promised to?
Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed one of the huge white towels—sinfully thick—and wrapped it around her body. She walked into the bedroom and stood in front of the dress.
Okay—so the dress was amazing. That didn’t mean Khalid wasn’t raised in the traditions of his family—he’d been willing to marry a girl just because his father told him to. And, okay, so she didn’t know all his reasons, but still, she had to remember he was a guy who didn’t know a damn thing about women or the rights of women.
But he sure knew clothes.
Fingering the silk again, she wondered what she was going to wear underneath. She didn’t have anything that seemed suitable—sports bras and cotton boy briefs were going to show up like lumps under this fabric.
“Time to see if Khalid really has thought of everything—or had someone do it for him.”
Heading to the dresser, she pulled open the top drawer and found an array of beautiful silk underwear in a variety of sizes. She could have her pick.
She had to hand it to Khalid— he was on top of things. Or he had one killer staff working for him.
She was just struggling with the zipper in back when a knock came at the door.
4
Casey opened the door wearing the dress Khalid had hoped she would choose. She had been attractive before, but this—ah, this was a woman of beauty. The blue suited her perfectly, showing her dazzling eyes. While the high neckline and long sleeves covered her shoulders and cleavage, the dress conformed to the shape of her body—and a lovely body it was.
“Beautiful,” he told her.
She offered a nod as if she had been told such a thing before. “Thank you. You look…well handsome sounds a little lame. You’d think a journalist could come up with something more appropriate.
Khalid smoothed the lapels of his suit. Armani and custom and rather expensive, but he’d gone formal. His father would expect nothing less. Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him. “We need to go over a few things before you meet my father.”
She had stepped back and now she held up one hand. “I’ll warn you now, I want no part in outright lies.”
“Oh, that is not to be thought of. My father would know when you are lying to him.”
She groaned, headed to the couch and sat down.
Heading to the other side, Khalid sat down and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “He must recognize you—how can he not. So he will ask how this happened. It is very simple. After you were arrested, I went down to the police station. I had already admired your courage and your beauty…and we started talking.”
“And then he’s going to ask what we talked about.”
He frowned. “We tell him the truth. We spoke of my family—and the fact that I no longer was engaged. And then we will show him that despite how sudden this is, that we fell instantly in love..”
Casey laughed. “Seriously? He’s going to buy that?”
He straightened, then leaned toward her. Her eyes widened, but she did not move away. “The truth is I am attracted to you—will you deny that you feel the spark between us?”
Looking away, she cleared her throat. But she glanced back. She smelled of soap and nothing more. This, he decided, had to be the most direct woman he had ever met. She wore no makeup—or so little he could not see it. But she needed none. Sooty lashes swept down over her eyes, and then she looked directly at him. “Spark doesn’t mean forever love.”
“Ah, but we just need to worry my father enough that he releases me from my promise to marry. He does not dislike Americans, but you are a different story, given that you disrupted his plans.” Taking her hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring he had selected. He slipped it onto her finger.
Eyes huge, she pulled her hand away and held it up. The solitary diamond caught the light, reflecting back a rainbow of colors. “This has to be the biggest stone I’ve ever seen.” Her voice cracked slightly.
“This is your engagement ring—you must have one. And you can be truthful when you say I asked you to marry me right there in prison.”
Casey took a deep breath and settled both hands in her lap. “How do I get my part of the deal—the story—if he throws me straight out of the palace tonight?” Khalid smiled and stood. “Such poor manners would be a breach of honor to him. That will never happen. You are safe for tonight—and perhaps a few days more. But once he sees you will never give up your reporter habits, ah, then things will change.” He held out his hand. “And now we must not be late.”
She stood and took his hand. She had lovely hands, he decided, delicate with long, shapely fingers.
Heading down the stairs, Casey leaned close and asked, “Does your father know you’re bringing a new fiancée to dinner.”
Khalid shrugged. “Does it matter? He will know soon enough. But do not worry so much. My brothers will be there, as will a few relatives.”
“A few?”
Letting go of her hand, he opened the doors into the dining room. Casey gave a small gasp. He could hardly blame her.
The sultan preferred formal dinners—the more relatives gathered the better. Tonight both Ahmed and Zaid sat at the table—both sat up as they spotted Casey. Khalid had not told either of his brothers of his plans—it was best for them to be able to say they knew nothing of this if it all went wrong. It was also best if Casey knew nothing as well. Two of his uncles, three aunts, and several cousins also sat at the long table or stood nearby, which was good. It meant dinner had not formally begun.
Conversations seemed to die. The sultan turned and his expression soured.
As usual, he had worn less formal tan robes to dinner, without the traditional keffiyeh. He still had most of his hair, but he preferred to cut it short. His temper looked equally short for his face reddened and he turned to face Khalid. “What is this woman doing here?”
Forcing a smile—it was best his father did not see the sweat starting to trickle down his spine—Khalid took Casey’s hand. He could feel her fingers tremble but he didn’t know if that was from anger at such an insult or fear. Striding across the vast room, he stopped in front of his father, smiled at his father and said, “She is gracing us with her beauty—and also with the joy of agreeing to be my bride.”
His father’s face reddened even more. Someone spit out a drink—Khalid heard the sputter—but he kept his stare on his father’s face, and the man’s darkening eyes. The Sultan glanced from Casey and back to Khalid. “When I said you must marry, I did not mean—”
“Mean what, Father? That I should not instantly fall in love. At the jail, we spoke. I had already admired Casey’s courage. I found even more to draw me to her.” Lifting the hand he held, he kissed her skin. Casey’s face flushed, which pleased him. Turning back to his father, he said, “I once would have mocked falling in love at just one sight or two. But I will tell you this, I intend to make this woman my bride. I am doing just as you ordered—I found a bride.”
The Sultan looked her up and down. He glanced again at Khalid. “Will she make you a dutiful wife?” Before Khalid could reply, Casey said, “One of the things Khalid has said he admires in me is my independence. But you can rest assured on one point, Sultan Al-Qasimi, when it comes to your son, I will do what is best for
both of us.”
It was a fair answer, Khalid decided. Shrewd as well, for he suspected it to be the utter truth.
Turning to stare at her, the sultan stroked his beard and at last turned away. With a wave of his hand, he ordered, “Dinner. Be seated.”
Khalid relaxed a fraction—until he caught Zaid shaking his head and Ahmed rolling his eyes. He might be able to fool his father with this idea of instant love, but he was not certain his brothers would ever believe such a thing. Putting a hand on the small of Casey’s back, he guided her to the far end of the table, well away from his father. He pulled a chair out for her, seating her next to an aunt who spoke no English, was terribly deaf, and who loved her food. Casey smiled up at him and gave him a wink. He couldn’t fight the surge of pride at having such a bold and beautiful woman at his side.
The dinner became essentially an interview.
His father sent some dishes back to the kitchen and ordered others—Khalid knew his father was out to test this potential bride. His family might well disapprove of her if she offended by turning down any dish. The shawarma was sent back, replaced with roast lamb’s head. Al Harees—a pasty dish of wheat and meat, traditional for weddings—came out to replace the salad and hummus. Al Machboos came out, but Khalid knew it would look odd to Western eyes for it seemed a mess of dark brown meat and white rice. Thankfully, there was no time for stuffed camel to be cooked and presented. And Casey seemed uncaring of anything pushed onto her plate.
But while Casey might have his deaf aunt on one side and himself on the other, Zaid sat across from her, and he asked, “How do you like Sharjah?” The implication was clear—she had gone from the jail to the palace and Zaid fixed Casey with a hard, questioning stare.
She returned the look and simply answered, “The land is very beautiful.”
Khalid’s mouth twitched—the land, not the people or the buildings.
From the end of the table the sultan spoke up. “Khalid must show you the sights of Sharjah. We are proud of our cities and our culture.” He fixed a hard look on Khalid, and Khalid caught a warning in his father’s eyes. Khalid fought back a smile. This was just what he had wanted—his father to be unhappy with this woman for a bride.
Leaning back, Khalid let the meal take its course.
More food came out and Zaid glanced at Khalid and then asked Casey, “You are a journalist, yes? What brought you to Sharjah, other than the opportunity to disrupt a wedding, that is?”
Casey almost choked on her water. Khalid patted her back and stared at his younger brother. “Must work be discussed at dinner?”
Zaid shrugged, and Casey simply said, “I’ve been covering arranged marriages and the impact of a growing international women’s right movement. I’d be interested in interviewing Fadiyah, in fact, to get her side of the story.”
The sultan almost choked on his food. He glanced from Khalid to Casey. “I understand you have your own opinions on the matter. I believe my son shares some of your views. He is more modern than I. But I have allowed him to choose his bride.”
Khalid saw Casey stiffen. While he wished his father to call off any wedding, he did not want a family war started. He turned to Zaid and asked after the business deal pending with two American companies bidding on offshore drilling rights.
The sultan overheard the question and it was enough to divert his attention—business usually did.
Frowning, Casey turned to pick at her food.
The rest of the meal passed quickly. Casey offered no other comments, and when conversation drifted back into Arabic it became clear she knew nothing of the local language. That left her isolated, making it clear how distant she was from any other woman at the table. Khalid almost wished he could do something to draw her back into the conversation, but this was what he wanted—to show his father that Casey was not a wise choice of bride so that his father would simply tell Khalid not to marry for a time.
Dinner ended when the sultan rose and left the room. Ahmed and Zaid gave Khalid long looks, promising questions would be coming soon, but Khalid had every intention of ducking that ordeal for as long as he could. He escorted Casey back to her room and when he had the door closed behind him, he told her, “That went well.”
She stared at him. “Really? I had the impression your father would like to put me on the next plane out of here, and what is with your brothers? I could swear they know this is a fake.”
Khalid shrugged. “Zaid always asks too many questions. But he and Ahmed will not make trouble for me.”
“And what about my interviews? The sooner I can get them in, the better. This isn’t going to last all that long.”
He held up his hand to keep her from saying more. “In due time. Tomorrow, we have another event hosted by my father for his American business partners. You and I will attend—the whole family will be there. I would just as soon have that event go well for my father, but I will see about arranging your interviews as soon as I can.”
Casey shook her head. “I need a date. My editor has a deadline, and I’ve got to tell him more than…soon.”
Coming over to her, Khalid took her hand in his. “Tomorrow we will schedule things? For tonight, sleep well.” The impulse rose and he did not question it—she was a lovely woman and he found her attractive. Leaning down, he kissed the corner of her mouth. She stiffened, and he wondered if she was alarmed or interested. Pulling back, he could see confusion in her eyes—as if she did not know what to do about this attraction between them. He did.
He put his arm around her and started to pull her close, but her cell phone rang.
She pulled away. “That’s probably my editor. I’ve got to take his call. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Turning, she headed for the bedroom and her phone call.
He was more than tempted to follow her, but he also knew the danger of letting this attraction grow out of hand. He wanted her to be a woman his father would dismiss as unworthy of any man of the family—he did not want a wife. Turning, he headed out of her room—and he kept trying not to picture the allure of her hips as she had walked away from him.
No, she was a woman meant to do away with the idea of Khalid having to marry. He was not going to give into the allure of her charms and make this romance into something real.
The next day, Khalid intentionally avoided Casey. He buried himself in business calls and paperwork and email. However, he could not avoid thinking of her. Was she bored in the palace? Was she writing? Or pacing her room? Five different times he almost asked one of the servants what she was doing. Four times he caught himself heading toward her room and had to turn his steps back to his office. He thought of taking lunch with her in the gardens, but instead took his meal in his office.
Such a plan backfired on him, however, when his father stopped by and gave an approving nod. “If this is the influence an American girl has on you to work harder, I approve.” His father smiled, turned and walked out.
And Khalid knew he was going to have to not be so consumed by business—he wanted his father to get the idea of marriage out of his mind. Not to think that Casey was reforming Khalid’s playboy ways.
The event that evening was to take place in the gardens. The sultan had asked for traditional dress. Khalid intentionally chose a black suit and white shirt, leaving off even the formality of a tie. He sent to Casey a request for her to wear the red gown he had chosen for her. It was not the least traditional. Oh, it covered her skin, but when she stepped from her room, he saw it did just what he had hoped.
The long, red dress showed off her curves. The skirt flowed loosely around her legs, but the top hugged her thin waist and the swell of her breasts. Khalid smiled—she looked very American with her golden hair loose and her pale skin.
With his hand resting at the small of her back, he escorted her down the stairs. “Did you have a good day?” he asked.
She lifted one shoulder. “More like a long call last night giving excuses to my editor about not having a deadline or an interview li
ned up—and then a long day of writer’s block. Khalid, it’s hard to write a story if you don’t know what the story is. I need some interviews.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow, I promise, I will arrange all.”
They stepped into the gardens.
Small, white lights had been strung in the trees. Candles in lanterns floated in the three different fountains. Food had been set out in one area, a band played traditional instruments in another, and the air smelled of scented flowers—jasmine and honeysuckle.
“There she is,” the sultan said coming to meet them. He glanced at Khalid’s casual dress and frowned, but Casey stepped forward and said, “Masaa el kheer.”
For a moment, the sultan seemed taken aback that she had spoken Arabic, but his mustache twitched and he gave a nod. “Good evening. It is good to see you learn a few words.” He waved impatiently for Khalid. “Come, I have told everyone they are to meet my son’s bride-to-be.”
Khalid took Casey’s hand and escorted her around the gardens. He lost track of the number of hands shaken. Most of the guests he knew already—the crowd was mostly men, and mostly American. Casey seemed to become more a reporter than a person. She could not, it seemed, resist asking questions.
“What do you think of Sharjah’s stance on women’s rights? Do you think Sharjah should be sanctioned until it does away with forced marriages? Have you ever thought of using your business ties to Sharjah to enforce a change in how women are treated?” The questions would have pleased him—if his father had been close enough to overhear.
Instead, he got startled glances from the businessmen—some excused themselves with the protest this was an evening off, others just glanced at Khalid and walked away, and some frowned and told Casey a blunt, “No comment.”
Grabbing Casey’s hand, he pulled her over to one of the refreshment tables—one laden with sparkling water and a punch bowl. “This would be wonderful if you were doing all of this within my father’s hearing.” He handed her a glass of punch.
