Maybe looking for a sign of weakness, said Bonnie.
Crack! A buzzing sound filled the room.
Hoist the sail! Raiders off the starboard bow! Bonnie ordered.
Or maybe it's just the TV coming on, Noelle suggested.
In fact, the seventy-two-inch screen was lurching toward life. It displayed a Windows startup screen with a mouse moving around, settling on an icon, and double-clicking something called "Adobe Connect."
The door opened, and for a moment, a shadowy, broad-shouldered figure filled the entranceway, blocking the streaming white light from the hall.
"You are sitting in the darkness," Walid pointed out.
She shrugged. He flicked a switch. Soft overhead lights came on.
"Did my people not give you time to change?" Walid's gold-rimmed eyes flicked to her legs.
Yes, she refrained from telling him. They do go all the way up.
He came toward her, his shoes tapping on the tile floor with each step. Buttoned up tight in his three-piece suit again. Those shoes. Ferragamos, but not the latest style. And she was sure she recognized it from the Dolce & Gabbana spring collection. Three years ago. Odd, for a billionaire.
He'd looked so damn good half-naked in those pajamas three days ago. The last time she'd seen him. For a second, she saw the silky gold bottoms superimposed over the suit, molding to his thighs, leaving just enough to the imagination...
She shrugged again, to answer his question. She'd refused to change her outfit, and didn't want to get her guards in trouble. They'd found her by the pool and given her the chance to make herself presentable for whatever this was, but she'd felt belligerent. They were just doing what they were paid for, after all.
I'll feel bad about that when we knock one of them out and take his uniform, Bonnie put in.
Why would we take a guy's uniform when there are plenty of women... Oh, never mind, Noelle shot back.
She could hardly wait to get back home and get Bonnie out of her head. She'd have to sneak out of the house to therapy, but she was getting a lot of practice sneaking around these days.
But before she got home, she had to get through this weird... what? Meeting or something?
"You refuse to ask me what we are doing here," Walid pointed out. He'd taken the swivel chair next to hers. He examined her profile with open interest.
"I thought maybe you were going to torture me with Two and a Half Men until my brain dribbles out my ears."
A smile touched his lips. "Even I am not so cruel."
"Sir," said a disembodied voice from the vicinity of the ceiling, "I have the attendees online."
"Go."
A whirly circle spun in the black computer window for a few seconds. Adobe Connect? Who were they connecting to?
A fuzzy pic resolved itself into something even worse than Charlie Sheen.
Her parents. And then they began to move and talk.
"I think it's running now," her father said.
Daddy? asked Bonnie, in the kind of pathetic voice only an eleven-year-old could pull off.
Noelle bit her lip to keep that very word from spilling out.
A crack opened under Noelle's ribs. Her daddy and stepmom. Her family. If only he would talk to her, to tell her it would be okay. Maybe he would get her out of this after all. Maybe he'd see how much she wanted to be home and would pay. Not a ransom, but the debt he actually owed.
He had to. He was her father.
At sixty-plus, Winston Oldrich was still an attractive man, with taut skin and a wrinkle-free forehead. Both of which he'd paid a great deal of money for. The thick salt-and-pepper mustache was all his own, though. He wore a fashionable army-green cardigan with a pressed beige shirt underneath. So it must be Saturday morning in San Fran, she realized. The cardigans always came out on Saturday morning.
Yes. So she'd been trapped in Askar for twelve days. No, thirteen. Depressing thought.
Winston's much younger... not wife, actually, but more than mistress, Angelique rocked a formfitting white sheath with spaghetti straps. Even to sit at home. Impressive.
"Your Majesty, I present Mr. Winston Oldrich and Ms. Angelique Duvall," announced the disembodied voice, just like a uniformed man had when the four of them had arrived at the palace.
One difference. No one announced Noelle.
"Excuse yourself," the sheikh ordered the voice. She didn't hear it again.
"Your Majesty." Her father nodded to Walid, a blank expression on his face. But that might have been the Botox. "It's Saturday morning. Cayman doesn't do business on Saturdays in any case. I've been on the phone with them every day about allocating the funds. I don't know what else--"
Walid raised a hand. To Noelle's surprise, her father actually took the hint and snapped into silence. "I did not request this call to speak with you, Mr. Oldrich. It is for your daughter. It is she who requires your reassurance, not I."
"Oh," her father said, and almost managed to look confused. "You're okay, though, aren't you, Noelle?"
Okay? Of course. Of course she was okay. Her dad needed her to be okay. Seemed to think it would be weird if she wasn't.
"I'm okay," she said, sitting a little straighter.
"Winston," admonished Angelique, in her winsome Parisian accent. "Noelle is not of course okay. You are being ridiculous. She has always been special, always needed someone to take care of her. Ever since she was a little child."
"My dear, you are always right." Her dad patted his longtime partner's exposed knee and kept his hand there while he turned back to the screen and looked to Noelle. "How are you holding up, baby? Try not to worry. I'm doing everything I can for you. I'll take care of you, just like always."
"Yeah, Dad," she said. "I--"
"I'm not joking, baby. Anything you need, I'll get it for you. You don't have to lift a finger. I'll be there for you. I'll catch you when you fall. You know that's the way it's always been. No reason to change now."
"That's true." Her many, many life's failures came pouring into her brain, too many to count.
"Who hired you a tutor so you didn't have to go to school when you fell out of that tree and broke your wrist in two places?"
"You did, Dad," she admitted.
Her father nodded as if he didn't even need her answer. "That's right. Who made the problem go away when you punched Biff Whitmore Junior and busted his nose?" Her dad winked. "I tell you, that one cost me a pretty penny. But the boy's locker room at St. Sebastian's really did need those new showers, so I guess it turned out okay."
"I guess so," Noelle conceded. At the time, she hadn't cared too much about the showers. Or going to St. Sebastian's anymore. "And he never took Yolanda's lunch money again."
Yeah, said Bonnie, but quietly. She'd been behind the whole thing.
"Who?"
"Biff."
"I never heard about that," her dad said.
Yes, you did, she didn't say. "She went hungry for weeks," she mentioned, but her dad's cell phone pinged.
As he checked the message, he added, "And remember your disastrous couple of months of college?"
Angelique made a perfect pink moue of disapproval. "The parties. That terrible night club."
"One party," Noelle corrected, but couldn't manage to put any force behind her voice. "One bar."
Angelique's mouth turned into a full-on frown. "What are you wearing?"
"It's a swimsuit." Earlier, Noelle--more like Bonnie--had been lounging on the balcony pretending to read French Vogue but, in reality, was watching the security guards that patrolled the palace to identify the patterns in their movements. That was when she'd heard a polite knock on the door, been invited to this meeting, but not told exactly who she was meeting or where. Or how long it would take. Or if Sheikh Walid would be there.
It had seemed like a good idea to refuse to change, as directed, to leave on her bikini and wrap as a protest. At the time. Now, seeing her clothes through Angelique's eyes, the outfit seemed flimsy and inappropriate.
Which had actually been the goal in the first place, but now made a blush threaten.
"Oh," Angelique said. "You are having a good time, I see."
Her dad flicked his phone off and returned to the conversation as if no other words had happened while he'd been answering emails. "Yeah, who rescued you from ruining your life, then?"
College, he meant.
"You did," she said.
"That's right, it was me. And I'll get you out of this one, too. Just trust your old dad." He favored her with a broad, wrinkle-free smile and her heart did a little jump. "I'm doing everything I can for your friend, you know."
The words chilled any jumping her heart had done. He said it offhandedly, a throwaway line. He said it in the same kind of tone of voice he might use to promise to pay back a debt he had no intention of paying.
"My friend?"
"The one with the little jewelry store. What's her name again?" He snapped his fingers as he searched his memory. "You said she asked you to buy some jewelry in Askar for you. Did you get to do that, by the way?"
Elise. Whatever her dad's other sins, he was a capitalist extraordinaire. If he wanted to help someone, they'd do well. If he wanted to hurt them, though... no power on earth could stop him. He'd slice off his own toes if he thought it would give an enemy a paper cut.
Him helping Elise was a good thing, right? So why did the idea terrify her?
"What are you doing for her?"
"Oh, I was looking to invest in some real estate in the area, so I bought the building beside hers. Gave another jewelry shop a screaming deal on a storefront right next door. So now the area can be a destination for people who want to buy trinkets," he told her, grinning pride at himself. "I enjoy supporting your hobbies."
"It's not a hobby. She just asked me for a favor."
"Of course," said her dad, as if she hadn't spoken. "I'm sure you're great at it. Too bad you'll have to give it up when you get married. Did you know that Biff Whitmore's divorce just came through?"
"Is that his third?" she asked flatly.
"Only his second," Angelique said, with a pout. "Are you being a lady, ma petite? I hear that you are not. You catch more flies with honey, my little one."
"Oui, Maman," she agreed. "Also, my life isn't really in danger. In case anyone was wondering."
"Bon. Bon," pouted Angelique before opening up a glowing smile. "Oh, I see you have lost some weight. That is excellent. You must be so proud."
Noelle looked down at herself. Same as always. "I don't think I have."
"Non? Well, keep trying," Angelique assured her. "Do not give up. I know you can do it." Her stepmother, a perfectly toned size zero who ate like a pigeon, leaned forward in her chair. "If only you would give up that 'orrible running. A lady should not be seen doing such things."
Noelle couldn't control her eye roll. "So you've said. A couple of times."
"It is still true."
Her dad's phone pinged. "Whoops," he announced. "Time for my board meeting. I'll get you out of there soon, baby. Just sit tight. Then we'll have you back where you belong, with me."
She wanted so hard to believe him. To feel that he was doing everything in his power to bring her home. That he wanted her safe and in his house.
But he wasn't. She knew the truth in every inch of her. His money was more important. He would lie to anyone about anything to push his own agenda.
Like having a board meeting on a Saturday while wearing a cardigan.
"Yeah, Dad," she said, fulfilling her role of pretending to believe him in front of Walid. "Great."
Walid, for his part, was making a scrolling motion on the tablet he'd held the entire time.
"Take care, ma petite," her stepmother said.
"We'll see you soon, baby," her father assured her. "When you get back, we'll have the Whitmores in for dinner."
Six
"NO," SAID SUZETTE, crossing arms over her full bosom. "Faridah is not available today."
The large woman's frame filled the doorway to the kitchen, but over her shoulder, Noelle caught a glimpse of a slim figure in Disneyfied purple practically sprinting away.
"I just want to explain--" Noelle pleaded with the human roadblock.
"You may explain another time."
It had been three days since she talked to her parents. Since then, she'd felt... heavy. She'd tried running, but given up after a few minutes. She just couldn't get there. Her pace was off, was slow, and she just couldn't make herself keep it up. Maybe getting on the treadmill was the answer. Her stepmother and Walid would probably both like that a lot better. Maybe they were both right, that she should just give up and let other people tell her the best things to do.
"Look, I know I screwed up, Suzette," she said. But what had Faridah expected? That she actually was some kind of legendary hero come to save Askar from absolutely nothing? It wasn't as if Noelle had ever promised her anything. "I didn't tell her the truth about what I wanted to do in the market."
Suzette's frown was epic, seeming to take up her entire face. Well, the entire doorframe, really. "You deceived her and tried to run away from her. There is no excuse for this."
Suzette was right, and Noelle fought back against her sudden guilt. Faridah had helped her, had believed in her. Noelle had repaid her lying to her and by ditching her ass.
But no excuse? How about being kidnapped? How about everyone in this palace contributing to keeping her here, one way or another? They might not know what was happening to her, but they fed Walid, dressed him, drove him around. Every one of those things helped him do as he pleased.
She almost spat out the whole story. But what could these women do about it? Even if they knew Walid held her hostage, she had no idea if they'd help her or be on the side of their beloved ruler. Especially now that she'd raked Faridah over the coals. He was their king and they seemed pretty loyal. She might find her freedom even more restricted than it already was.
"I'm not some legend come to save you, you know. I'm just a woman who happens to be here right now," she said. "You guys were the ones who decided I was sent here by fate or some shit to rescue a guy who clearly doesn't need rescuing. You can't make me into somebody I'm not."
Isn't that right? Noelle asked Bonnie.
Silence.
Bonnie?
No little kid voice responded. Huh. What was with that?
"We shall see," stated Suzette, and closed the door in her face.
There's nothing to see, Noelle somehow kept herself from shouting at the heavy wooden slab.
I'm going to feel guilty about this, she reminded herself as she stormed off toward her room, intending to suit up and run off the buzzing excess energy zipping through her veins.
No, not guilty. I'm not going to feel guilty about this. She'd gone to apologize, after all. That was what she owed Faridah, an apology for ditching her and making her worry. Nothing more.
Just because Faridah indulged in some adolescent magical thinking and infected everyone around her did not mean that Noelle now had the job of becoming a storybook princess. The real world wasn't like that.
The weird paralysis in her fingers, which now started at even the thought of Faridah, retreated the more she reasoned away the younger girl's faith in her.
Besides, her parents were right. Angelique had said it. Other people took care of her, not the other way around. She'd never been able to hold down a job for long, never even finished her college degree.
Look at what had happened in Askar. She'd been blindsided by her own kidnapping, had let an imaginary voice talk her into jumping out a window, and couldn't even managed to escape when she was guarded by one unsuspecting chick barely out of her teens.
Face it, she told herself. Walid is smarter and has more resources. Every time I try something, he's there before me and takes away more of my freedom after. Any more escape attempts and I'll end up imprisoned in the tower myself. Walid can just send Faridah to slip cheese slices under the door. He could trust her no
t to facilitate any escape attempts, since she now hated Noelle.
Her stomping pace had taken her back to her guest room in record time. All she wanted to do was get into her running gear. She'd try the treadmill this time. Maybe then she'd be able to think straight.
Hey, there weren't any guards at her door. What did that mean?
Whatever. She'd never be able to escape anyway, so even just trying was wasted effort. Running now. Thinking later.
She threw open the door to find a very attractive Arabic guy just starting to button up a crisp, clean white shirt.
You don't have to do that, she bit back as he fastened the two sides over his darkly haired navel. An outie, she noted with appreciation.
He was slimmer than Walid. Not as wide. And his chest was the same golden as the rest of him--no tan line. Hmmm, this guy shirtless in the sun. Now that was definitely something she would spend some time looking at.
Speaking of which, he was now looking at her, an intrigued look in his eyes. Dark eyes with distinct amber rims.
Which meant, her sluggish brain informed her, he was one of two people.
She started to notice other similarities to Walid. A trace of the aristocratic nose. The strong jaw line.
But not the widening smile. That was all his own, a devilish grin that was a personalized, golden-engraved, hand-delivered invitation to sin.
"You look like you could use a drink," he said.
"Who are you?" she asked, but she knew. One of Walid's brothers. "Walid lite?"
He showed even more white teeth. "Something like that."
"Ithnan?" she guessed. But more likely he was the other one. The one without a country to run. The single one.
"Ithnan the sequel. This time, it is personal," he said, not missing a beat. He strode over to her, still with most of his buttons undone. "Walid did not mention me, then?"
She shrugged.
"Of course he would not. I am his dissolute, disgraced, and disappointing youngest brother, Thale." He nodded to her, but managed to make even just a tiny dip of the head both elegant and impertinent.
Desert Sheikh vs American Princess Page 8
