by Abby Green
Liyah steeled herself and turned around. ‘Yes.’
She had a sudden vision of how this marriage would play out—days spent on her own interspersed with sterile social events. Playing dress-up in haute couture. She clenched her hands into fists. Why did that suddenly bother her? When the thought of her imminent freedom and independence should be enough to see her through this short period?
She moved forward, very aware of Sharif’s eyes on her, coolly appraising. He held out a long camel coat and helped her into it. A classic design, it belted around her waist. She picked up her clutch bag.
In the back of the car a few minutes later, cocooned from the bitterly cold air outside, Liyah said, ‘I looked you up today.’
He turned, arched a brow.
Her face grew hot. ‘I mean I looked up your company. So, you basically own all the biggest luxury designer brands and labels in the world?’
Sharif inclined his head. ‘Along with the oldest and most exclusive champagne and Irish whiskey brands.’
‘You have a distillery in Ireland?’
He nodded.
‘Is that something you always wanted to do? Follow in your father’s footsteps?’
Sharif tensed visibly, his eyes widening, and then he made a sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. ‘Follow? I had no choice but to take over—or everything he’d built up would have been destroyed and all for nothing.’
Feeling her way, she said, ‘You weren’t close?’
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, ‘Do you know when I saw snow for the first time?’
She shook her head.
‘In Scotland, at a boarding school so remote you needed a boat to get to the mainland. That’s where my beloved father put me after he’d had me kidnapped from my mother’s home in Al-Murja.’
‘Kidnapped?’ Liyah was shocked. She hadn’t seen anything about that in the stories she’d found online. ‘Why would he kidnap you?’
‘Because my mother wasn’t going to just hand me over. She knew what he was like. He’d seduced her and married her just to get her dowry and set himself up. He’d humiliated her and broken her heart. She knew he only wanted me as a pawn to use in the future. Someone he could mould into doing his bidding.’
His voice was hard. Cold. Liyah couldn’t push away the image of a young boy with dark hair, shivering against the forbidding backdrop of an icy country. The culture shock would have been traumatic. Especially coming from the desert. The very thought of it made her own heart ache.
‘How did your mother die?’
‘He killed her.’ Before Liyah could respond to that, Sharif added, ‘Or as good as. She got sick. She needed urgent expensive medical treatment in Europe. Her family didn’t have the necessary cash—it took years for them to recover financially from the loss of her dowry, and from the humiliation of her not fulfilling the agreement to marry your uncle—and my father refused to help. When he eventually did agree to fly her to Paris for an operation it was too late. She’d died.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I’d just turned nine. I hadn’t seen her in a year.’
A lump formed in Liyah’s throat. She forced it down, sensing that Sharif was not looking for sympathy or comfort. She just said, ‘That’s rough.’
Sharif shrugged. ‘It was what it was. It’s in the past now.’
But she sensed it was not forgotten. Not by a long shot.
They were coming to a smooth stop outside a restaurant now, and Liyah could see officious-looking people springing forward with clipboards, and umbrellas to ward off the snow.
Sharif got out and opened Liyah’s door. She steeled herself against the inevitable reaction when she put her hand into his, but it was no use. By the time she got into the warm space of the restaurant her skin was hot, and she pulled away from Sharif in case he saw how weak she was.
Someone discreetly took her coat and she followed Sharif into the restaurant, gasping a little when she saw the elaborate setting. There was a long table laid with gold cutlery. An arrangement of winter flowers ran down the centre of the table in green, gold and decadent red. There were hundreds of flickering candles.
Everything became a bit of a blur as she and Sharif were swept into a round of meeting people and air-kissing before they were seated for dinner. Liyah had to stop her jaw dropping to the floor more than once when she recognised several movie stars. One of whom had won multiple awards the previous year.
To her relief, she wasn’t seated beside Sharif, who was at the top of the table. The new designer and his assistant were next to him. It gave her a chance to regain her breath after the revelations he’d shared on their journey here. A chance to observe him for once. She saw how he interacted with the designer, giving him the totality of his attention, but every now and then his gaze would slide to Liyah and she’d immediately feel flustered and look away.
In a bid to avoid Sharif’s eye, she got into a conversation with the woman beside her who turned out to be very pleasant. She was a stylist who regularly worked with the designer, and Liyah was able to ask her lots of questions about the fashion industry that Sharif would never have had the time to indulge.
After Sharif had given a speech, and the dinner party had started to break up, people moved into another room, from where Liyah could hear the infectious beat of disco music. Clearly the party was continuing. But when she looked around, Sharif was approaching with her coat.
‘You really don’t like to hang around, do you?’ Liyah observed drily as he helped her into it.
‘This is work for me.’
When they were back in the car, Liyah couldn’t help probing. ‘So, if you take a woman on a date, what do you usually do?’
Sharif didn’t like the way he suddenly felt defensive. For the whole of the dinner he’d found himself distracted. Distracted by the play of golden light on Liyah’s skin. The slope of her bare shoulders. Her arms, slender but strong. The graceful curve of her neck and jaw. The regal line of her profile and those ridiculously lush lips. The way she’d made everyone else look pale and listless in comparison. The way she’d listened attentively to the person beside her when everyone else in the room had been darting looks all around to see who was looking at them, or if someone more important was on the horizon.
He didn’t like it that he’d noticed so much. It made him prickly on top of feeling defensive. ‘Do you feel hard done by because I haven’t taken you on a date, Liyah?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I know this isn’t a conventional relationship. I don’t expect...that.’
‘That?’ He mimicked her. ‘You mean romance? I don’t offer women romance, Liyah—as you might have noticed from the recent salacious headlines you must have seen in your research. I offer them a very straightforward transaction.’
‘Sex.’
He shrugged unapologetically. ‘In a word. I’m not interested in a relationship. Hence this...’ He gestured between them to indicate their arrangement.
She was silent for a moment, and then she asked, ‘Why are you so consumed by building the business if you hated your father so much?’
Revenge. Retribution. Redemption.
How did this woman get so close to his edges every time? He barely knew her, but she seemed to be able to see into a place inside him where no one else ever dared venture. Not even his brothers—and if anyone could guess at the darkness inside him it would be them.
And, worse, why did he feel the need to tell her anything? The story about him being kidnapped was in the public domain and yet he never spoke of it. Never spoke of that terrifying moment when a Jeep had come hurtling towards him over the sand in the desert. He’d been going to set up camp for the night on his own. At the age of eight. Because he’d wanted to prove to his mother that he could be trusted.
He’d thought at first that it was his cousins, or
his uncle, but it had been white-faced strangers with scarves covering their mouths. Private mercenaries with rough hands. Too strong for him to fight.
They’d hauled him off his horse.
To this day he cursed himself for not cantering away when he’d had the chance. They’d bundled him into the Jeep and taken him to a helicopter. And then a plane. First to Rome, where his father had laid out what was expected of him, and then to that gothic monstrosity of a school in Scotland.
He refused to visit Scotland even now.
And here was this woman, shining a light onto things he never discussed with anyone and making him aware of...what? That perhaps there was some lack in his life? Something missing?
Sexual frustration bit at his veins like the craving for a drug too long denied. He could kiss Liyah right now, give in to the carnal urge to slake his lust, and in so doing stop her looking at him as if she could see into all his hidden corners. And, more importantly, stop the irritating questions falling from those far too tempting lips.
But he knew that to give in would be to display a fatal weakness. So he said, in a tone that invited no further questions, ‘I might have hated my father, but I don’t allow emotions to cloud my judgement when it comes to business.’
Or when it comes to relationships, Liyah mused to herself silently as the car made its smooth progress through the streets of Manhattan.
She avoided Sharif’s eye for the rest of the journey, not wanting him to see how his words had affected her, because she wasn’t even sure why she felt this hollow sensation in her chest, when the fact that the man had closed his heart off long ago should have no impact on her whatsoever.
When Sharif returned to the apartment late the following night, he was uncomfortably aware that for the first time in his life he’d felt a sense of resentment at being kept at the office by work, when usually the thought of coming back to an empty apartment was unappealing. But he’d been watching the clock since late afternoon. Texting his security team to see what Liyah was doing.
She’d gone to the New York Public Library and spent hours inside.
And now, as he walked into the living area and was confronted with the sight of Liyah sitting cross-legged on a chair, in sweat pants and a soft, clingy cashmere top, with her hair piled on her head, reading a book, he knew that something wasn’t adding up.
But he didn’t feel inclined to worry about it right then.
He leant against the doorframe. ‘I didn’t know you wore glasses.’
She looked up, startled. And as he watched, her cheeks flushed darker. It had an immediate effect on his blood, bringing it to the boil after simmering all day. It was getting harder to keep his sexual frustration under control.
The glasses suited her. They made her look serious. Seriously sexy. But, as if hearing his thoughts, she took them off.
She closed the book. ‘I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back...if you’d have had dinner. I’m not sure how this works.’
Sharif straightened up and walked into the room. Its soft lighting gave everything a golden glow, including her. She watched him approach and desire coiled tight in his body. He undid his tie, and the buttons on his waistcoat, aware of her eyes following his movements as if she couldn’t help herself.
He sat down on a chair near hers and picked up her book from where she’d put it down. A weighty tome on the history of New York.
She said, a little defensively, ‘I wanted to read up about the city.’
Sharif put the book down. ‘Perfectly commendable.’ Although annoyingly inconsistent with the kind of person he thought she was. Right now she looked about as far removed from a partying socialite as it was possible to get.
Sharif made a mental note to get his team to make a more thorough investigation into what she’d been doing in Europe, suddenly suspicious as to why she was behaving so differently.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Paul, the chef, made me a delicious beef stew. There’s loads left over if you’re hungry.’
A pang caught Sharif unexpectedly in the chest. No one had ever worried about saving him food before.
He shook his head. ‘I had take-out in the office.’
Liyah made a face. ‘That’s not very healthy.’
Sharif smiled mockingly. ‘Concerned for my welfare, Liyah? I told you—I don’t need a wife, except on paper.’
Those mesmerising green eyes sparked and narrowed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t concern myself with your wellbeing again.’
Sharif cursed himself for goading her. Before he did something he’d regret, he stood up and put his hands in his pockets. ‘You should go to bed, Liyah, it’s late. And we’re going to be taking a flight to Paris tomorrow night.’
Liyah was still trying to control her heart, which had been racing since she’d seen Sharif in the doorway, looking sexily dishevelled. Jaw stubbled. He loomed over her now, and she scrambled up from the chair and moved to the window, putting some distance between them.
Whenever he was around it felt hard to breathe.
She felt prickly—because she’d been unprepared to see him again, even after a day apart. Not prickly because she’d felt a little abandoned. She didn’t like the sensation that she was in control of so little. Not helped by Sharif’s effect on her.
‘I have no objection to going to Paris, but a bit of forewarning would be nice.’
A muscle in Sharif’s jaw pulsed. But he said equably, ‘I’ll arrange for my assistant to forward you my schedule, so you know what’s coming up.’
‘Thank you.’ Now she felt as if she was overreacting.
Sharif shrugged minutely. ‘No problem. I should have thought of it before now.’
‘What’s happening in Paris?’
‘Some meetings with my brother and our team there, and there’s an event to attend.’
‘What kind of event?’
‘A charity ball.’ Sharif glanced at his watch. ‘I have some more work to do this evening. The stylist will come tomorrow to make sure you have all you need for the trip.’
Liyah felt a spurt of relief that she wouldn’t have to figure it out herself, but at the same time she felt indignation that he didn’t trust her to pack the right things.
He turned and left the room, and Liyah’s eyes were drawn helplessly to his fluid grace. All that taut energy. She turned around, disgusted with herself, and then groaned when she saw her reflection in the darkened window.
She imagined how Sharif had seen her just now. Hair piled up. Leisurewear. No make-up. Wearing glasses, reading a book. It was no wonder he didn’t desire her any more. And that was fine with her.
Just fine.
Paris
‘You like to be high up, don’t you?’
Liyah couldn’t keep the amused tone from her voice as she looked around Sharif’s Paris apartment. It was on the top floor of a stunning nineteenth-century building, with views from almost every window of the Eiffel Tower in the near distance. It had a terrace and an elegantly modern interior design.
‘I appreciate a good view.’
Liyah turned around to face him. ‘Yes, but how often do you actually look at it?’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?’
Liyah blanched as a nanny’s voice came back into her head. ‘Always with the questions, Aaliyah. No one wants a princess who asks too many questions for a wife.’
She’d been about six, and even at that young age she’d decided that if she couldn’t ask questions then she didn’t want to be a princess, or anyone’s wife.
‘What is it?’ Sharif’s voice was sharp.
Liyah shook her head. ‘Nothing—just a moment of déja-vu.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I’m afraid I have to go straight to the office, but I’ll take you to lunch in a few hours. You shou
ld get some rest.’
Liyah had slept on the plane—an overnight flight, bringing them into Paris early in the morning. She’d noticed that Sharif hadn’t slept. He’d been on his laptop or his phone the whole time. He evidently didn’t need sleep, like mere mortals.
‘I’m okay. Actually, I might take a walk around...stretch my legs.’
Sharif shrugged. ‘Whatever you want. One of the security team will go with you.’
Liyah opened her mouth to object, but shut it again when she saw the look on Sharif’s face. It wasn’t worth arguing. Even though she came from a royal family, they’d never been important or rich enough to merit serious protection. But she was at another level now.
He left the apartment, and after Liyah had freshened up she explored a little more, finding a media room and a gym with a lap pool. It looked very inviting, but she wanted to get out into the fresh air and see Paris again. It was one of her favourite cities.
She bundled up against the cool late winter breeze and set out to the Eiffel Tower, which was further away than she’d thought. An optical illusion.
When she reached it, she stood in the plaza among lots of other tourists milling around, and looked up at the majestic structure. Paris had been the first foreign city she’d visited after London, and she’d adored wandering around, getting lost in the arrondissements, sitting in cafés and lingering over coffee, watching the world go by.
You were lonely, though.
Liyah pushed the voice aside. Not lonely. Independent. Happy.
She saw her security man a few feet away, on his phone, his face towards her, his eyes hidden behind black shades.
Liyah went over. ‘Is that Sharif?’
The man hesitated before nodding.
Liyah held out her hand, and he gave her the phone with clear reluctance. She said into it, ‘Hello, Sharif.’
There was silence at the other end, and then a sigh. ‘Yes, Liyah?’
‘If you’re so concerned about where I am and what I’m up to you should leave your stuffy meeting and come and see some sights for yourself.’
