Stockings for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 5)

by Annabelle Winters

  “So you are sleeping with him,” Beth said. “Great.”

  Now Elle shook her head in exasperation. “So, what . . . you’re mortified that your adult daughter isn’t a virgin anymore? You already knew that, right? And it’s not like you were a virgin when you married Dad, so stop with this bullshit, over-the-top—”

  But Elle stopped when she saw her already white mother go ashen.

  “What. Did. You. Say?” said Beth, each word coming out slow like the woman was extracting them from ice or rock.

  Elle exhaled and shook her head as she realized this conversation was going downhill so fast she might as well double down and go all the way. “You heard what I said,” she said firmly, holding eye contact with her mother. “And you know that I know, so stop pretending like you’re this saint who can pass judgment on me.”

  “You don’t know anything, Eleanor.”

  “I know, Mom! You told me yourself!”

  “Told you what? And when?”

  “When I was sixteen,” Elle said. “When I was heartbroken and crying and you came to me and you held me and said . . .”

  “Said what?”

  “Said that there’s love, and then there’s . . . then there’s something else.”

  “Go on,” said Beth, flinching for a moment before going cold. “Love and what else?”

  “You know what . . . forget it, Mom,” said Elle, smiling and looking down at her chest. She saw that cross dangling against her sweater, and she touched it and opened her mouth to say something and then just shook her head and looked back up at her mother. “I’m sorry, Ma. I should have told you Akbar would be joining us. In fact, I shouldn’t have let him join. Christmas breakfast is just the two of us, and—”

  “No, I’m sorry, hon,” Beth said now, her eyes showing some warmth as she reached across and pulled Elle’s hands away from her chest so she could hold them. “He’s intelligent, well-spoken, charismatic, and certainly handsome.”

  Elle smiled and turned red, glancing over at the view of Akbar through the diner window, tall and handsome in his fitted black trousers and green silk shirt and dark pullover that framed his chiseled jawline with that manicured stubble, those high cheekbones beneath his sharp green eyes. Certainly handsome, yes, she thought before turning back to Mom, that smile still on her face.

  “Of course, he’ll have to convert before you two can get married,” Beth said now, her eyes locked in on Elle now, her grip on Elle’s hands loosening and slipping away as the older woman leaned back and folded her arms across her body.

  “Sorry, what? Who’s getting married? And who’s converting to what? What the hell are you talking about, Mom? I’ve only just—” Elle caught herself before finishing that last sentence, because not only did she not want to take this conversation there right now, but she also didn’t want to take her goddamn thoughts there either!

  But now she was thinking about it, and she could barely hear her mother go on about how Akbar seemed to know a lot about Christianity and Catholicism, about how he seemed to be modern and progressive, of how Beth was certain Elle could get him to convert, of how it would actually be a sign of his love and commitment if he did in fact convert for her, of how Elle should insist on it for perhaps that very reason, of how it was important that a married couple have a strong, unified religious identity that they can impart to their children, their children, their—

  And now Elle remembered that she needed to go to the pharmacy today and get the morning-after pill, and just as the thought came in so did a strange urge to look over at him, and when she looked she saw that the Sheikh was looking at her too, that familiar look in his eye, that secret look that old lovers share across a room, perhaps share across all of space and time, the connection traversing continents, generations, decades, passing through life and death, beyond life and death, old lives and new lives, lives that had always been and lives that had never been . . .

  And just then the Sheikh glanced down from her eyes, down towards her belly, her tummy, her womb, just a fleeting glance, like even he didn’t know he had done it, and Elle felt a shiver go through her, and she could feel that cross on her now, as if the metal was burning through the thick sweater, burning a warning into her skin, a warning that seemed to come on a whisper now, that other woman’s whisper.

  “Don’t you dare,” came the whisper, and it came on the whistle of the tea kettle, on the hiss of the grilltop sizzle, on that magical breeze curling around her ears. “Don’t you dare.”

  And as the Sheikh walked back into the restaurant, his eyes focused on Elle, she told herself that she technically had three days to take the plan-B pill, and it had only been a few hours on the first day, and the chances were low to begin with anyway, and she had three days, so there was enough time, and it was Christmas, and perhaps the right thing to do would be to talk to Akbar about it, and ohgod why the hell would you talk to him about it, and he’s a billionaire prince from some Arab country where men take four wives, and you slept with him within a few hours of meeting him, and what the hell do you think he’s going to say if you talk to him about pregnancy and birth control, but wait he’s here with me and Mom on Christmas morning, and why the hell would he even WANT to go to breakfast with me and Mom, and ohgod how could I have done that with him last night, and ohgod how could I have been that woman last night, and ohgod am I woman, and ohgod is he going to turn me into that woman if I see him again, and holycrap I should say goodbye and walk away from this before it’s too late, and hell he’s a billionaire with some sick fetish and coming to breakfast is just part of his game and he’s going to walk away and I’ll never see him again and that’s a good thing, it’s the best thing, it’s what I want, it’s what I had already decided to do this morning, and hellyeah that’s EXACTLY what’s going to happen, and all this never happened, and he never happened, and breakfast is done, and last night is done, and all this is over, and—

  “I am sorry to cut our breakfast short before we have finished our most interesting conversation,” said the Sheikh now, stopping at the table, his broad frame looming over the two women. “But do not fear. We will continue it this evening, in the comfort of my private jet.”

  Both Elle and Beth just stared up at the Sheikh, who was holding his arms out wide again, like he was welcoming them, welcoming them to some imaginary world where what he had just said made complete sense.

  “Yes, I have to return to Nihaara immediately to deal with an unusual family matter. And you will both accompany me as guests. I have already made arrangements at the Royal Palace of Nihaara, and I am certain you will be very comfortable.”

  Elle just blinked and looked straight ahead, past her mom and into the distance, feeling oddly unfazed, like what was happening was so goddamn strange that it couldn’t even surprise her, just like how her Christmas sweater was so ugly that it was actually beautiful.

  Beth Easton spoke first, in sputters and fragments. “Uh . . . I . . . well . . . Elle, what is . . . am I . . . sorry, I think there’s been some miscommunication . . . I certainly can’t . . . I mean, we can’t . . . I mean, Elle . . . Elle . . . ?”

  Elle just shook her head slowly, saying neither no nor yes, indicating neither disbelief nor acceptance, neither panic nor pleasure, not horror, not humor, nothing but an almost tranquil sense of knowing exactly what he was going to say next.

  “It was not a question, Mrs. Easton,” the Sheikh said, his voice pleasant but firm, his expression deadpan but his eyes sparkling brighter than the mistletoe on Elle’s horrendously florescent sweater. “You are both going with me, and that is my decision. You can call the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, or the bloody mafia, and it will not make a damned bit of difference.”

  “Sniper,” Elle whispered, giggling like she had accepted this was a dream, or at least accepted that she was insane and hallucinating. “Sniper bullet.”

  “Their snipers and hitmen can shoot me,” he continued, his voice loud and booming again as a few chuckles rose up fro
m the other diner patrons. “They can stab me, beat me, choke me, and chain me, but I will still stagger to my plane and—”

  And Elle couldn’t hear the rest of it because the blood was pounding so hard in her ears, making her so damn dizzy now, that cross feeling warm against her breast again, that invisible other woman still there but silent . . . silent and watching, watching Elle, waiting for her to choose, waiting for her to pick which way to go, forward or backward, left or right, retreat or advance, fight or flee, darkness or light . . .

  Which way, Elle? Which way?

  23

  “Ya, Allah, brother! This was certainly not the way I expected things to go!” said Mohammed Salim, smiling nervously as he stared at his younger brother Kai through the black metal bars.

  “It is madness, Mo!” said Kai, his eyes wide, eyelids struggling to keep up with the rapidity of his blinking. “Father cannot do this! It is . . . God, it is MADNESS!”

  “Yes, it is madness, but it has been done, Kai,” said Mo, looking up at the sandstone ceiling of his prison cell. “Never mind. Father is simply in shock. He will get over it.”

  “But when? When he is on his deathbed? Five years from now? Ten years? A hundred?” Kai pulled at his thick beard, glancing up at the heavy padlock that secured the deadbolt of this ancient cage two levels below the ground level of Nihaara’s Royal Palace. “And what is this place, Mo? A dungeon?”

  Mo smiled at his younger brother. “It is from when the palace was originally built, over a hundred years ago. Back then the Palace was the center of all government operations, including Nihaara’s domestic guard, the internal police. There was no prison like there is now—that was built forty years later. Until then, prisoners were housed within the palace walls!”

  “How strange,” said Kai, looking up at the uneven sandstone ceiling that had been refinished in patches, it seemed—the original sandstone a darker, deeper stain, almost reddish-black between the retouched areas of deep maroon. “The worst of Nihaara’s offenders housed in the best building in the land!”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence, brother,” Mo said, his dark eyes twinkling for a moment as he smiled at his wide-eyed brother. “Do you share the beliefs of our father?”

  Kai turned to his brother, his light eyes intense, jaw clenching immediately. “Naaa! Never! I am no ideologue stuck in the past like Father! I assure you, brother, I accept you and love you and it matters not how you choose to live your private life, your romantic life, your sexual life! May Allah strike me down if I am lying! It is a crime that you are here, brother! A deep injustice! Do I have to explain to anyone why I prefer women with small breasts and big bottoms? Does Akbar get pulled in front of the Judicial Council for his sexual preferences?!”

  Mo laughed. “Brother, if Akbar had to explain why he likes what he likes, why he does what he does . . . by Allah I am certain he would be in the prison cell to my left!”

  “But he would probably enjoy it!” Kai said, shaking his head as his chubby young body shivered with laughter. “By the heavens, what a family we are!”

  Mo joined in the laughter, the peals of their combined mirth echoing off the reddish-black walls in the cavernous netherworld that felt so far away from the light of the desert sun.

  “One brother imprisoned for his sexual preferences,” Mo said solemnly. “Another brother imprisoning others for his sexual preferences! Now what do you have to offer, Kai? Step up now. Small breasts and large bottoms is not going to pass muster in this family. Too tame.”

  “Well, there is that camel who has been making eyes at me the past week,” Kai offered.

  “Ah, you are sick, Kai! Stop or we will both be executed in the town square for our words!”

  The brothers laughed again, but there was a hollowness to it now as the moment slipped away and reality pushed its way back in. Mo sighed and touched the black-painted iron bars of his cage and looked at Kai.

  “You have called Akbar?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course,” said Kai. “He is on his way, Mo.”

  “Good,” said Mo, trying to hide the relief in his eyes. “Then there is no worry, Kai. Akbar will find a way.”

  “He always does,” Kai said quietly. “He always has found a way to do what seems impossible. It is like Allah’s angels are with him, helping him, guiding him.”

  Mo nodded, turning away from Kai. “Allah’s angels are with him, yes. But Allah’s demons are also with him.”

  “Allah does not have demons,” said Kai, blinking and looking like a child for a moment, his eyes wide and innocent. “Demons are the servants of the Shaitaan, the evil one.”

  “Allah is all-powerful, and therefore even the demons ultimately answer to Him, do His work, enforce His laws,” Mo said, turning away from his brother and facing the darkness at the back of his cage. “Still, let us hope that the angels by his side are stronger than the demons that whisper in his ear, that a light comes to his life that eventually wins over the darkness.”

  24

  “It’s so dark in here!”

  “That’s the point, Mom. It’s a bedroom.”

  “A bedroom on an airplane,” said Beth Easton, shaking her head as she glanced at the pristine white sheets on the double bed. “Is that a seatbelt?”

  “Yup. I’ll strap you in when you’re settled,” said Elle, smiling at her mother, who looked frail and hesitant for a moment. “Come. Let me help you up.”

  “No, I’m fine,” said Beth, turning and sitting on the mattress before wriggling her way into position and lying back. “My, this is nice! Elle, these sheets! Italian, I think!”

  “Really?” said Elle, stepping up and touching the corner of the top linen, swishing the smooth cloth between her thumb and forefinger. “Huh.” She looked up and smiled. “Ready? Should I buckle you up?”

  Beth nodded, smiling up as some excitement showed on her face. “How long have we been flying?” she asked as Elle snapped the seatbelt across her midsection, pulling it snug but not tight.

  “Couple hours. We land in Paris to refuel in a few hours. Then on to Nihaara.”

  “Nihaara,” said Beth, looking up at the intricately decorated ceiling of the private cabin. “Nihaaarrrraaaa.”

  “Stop it, Mom,” Elle said, giggling. “You sound ridiculous.”

  Beth smiled, turning her head. “What’re you going to do?”

  Elle blinked and stepped back. “I don’t know. Maybe read a little.”

  “Read? Yeah, right.” Beth frowned in disbelief, now shaking her head. “Honey, you know what’s happening here, don’t you?”

  Now it was Elle’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

  Beth lowered her voice. “He’s clearly going to propose at some point soon.”

  Elle almost choked as she snorted and doubled over. “OK, Mom, I think maybe the altitude is messing you up.”

  “Think about it, Elle. Why on Earth would this man insist on accompanying you to meet me, be so charming and gracious, then suddenly have some emergency that requires him to fly to his home country—where he’s a prince, by the way. And again he INSISTS on having not just you, but me come along as well! Elle, he practically FORCED us onto this plane!”

  Elle shook her head and rolled her eyes, even as she tried to hide the beaming smile that was breaking across her round face, a smile that had no basis in reality, certainly no basis in logic or common sense. “Mom, he’s not going to propose. Trust me. God, Mom, you have no idea how . . . you can’t . . .”

  “I know what I know, child,” Beth said, smiling and refusing to look at Elle. “Just make sure you get him to agree to the conversion before you say yes.”

  “Again with this nonsense. God, I feel like I’m in some Mexican soap opera right now!” Elle said, rubbing the side of her head and taking another step towards the door.

  “I’m serious, Elle. This man’s wealthy, powerful . . . he’s a prince, for heaven’s sake! From some culture where women are just an afterthought, a dime a dozen
to men like him! How will you ever know you can trust him? How will you ever know that he values you? That he’ll do anything for you? That you’ll be the most important thing in his life? This is the best way to find out before you make a huge mistake, Elle! It makes complete sense!”

  “Mom,” Elle said, lowering her voice to a whisper as she opened the door and prepared to step out. “None of this makes sense. That much I can say with complete certainty. None of this makes sense.”

  But as Elle shut the door and walked out into the plush hallway of the quiet jet, an unexpected bump of turbulence reminded her that if none of it made sense, then perhaps she should start to expect the unexpected . . .

  And she touched the bump on her belly once again as she wondered if there’d be a pharmacy at Paris Airport, because it was already the second day, and the last thing she needed in this world of the unexpected was to find out she was expecting.

  25

  “Are you on birth control?” he asked as Elle slid into the oversized seat across from the Sheikh in what could only be described as a living room on a freakin’ airplane: white leather easy-chairs with teakwood coffee tables bolted to the floor, a large-screen TV at the far end, purple carpet so thick a child could get lost in its fibers, plush red walls lined with framed miniature paintings of Muslim village scenes, brown men plowing fields, plump women gathering water, seeds being sown . . .

  “Yes,” she said, forcing that panic away as she swallowed and turned to the window, completing the sentence in her head to make it so she wasn’t really lying. Yes, I am on birth control because I’m going to take the pill that will control the small chance that I’m pregnant. The pill I somehow didn’t buy from the ten pharmacies I passed in Nashville before we left. The pill I’m somehow going to secretly buy when we land to refuel in Paris, even though I’m pretty damned sure we’ll land at a private terminal which is unlikely to have a pharmacy.

  And now Elle knew she was being ridiculous, and there was no reason to lie, and in fact perhaps this man had a month’s supply of plan-B pills in the armrest of his leather chair!