The Secret of the Sheikh's Betrothed

by Felicitas Ivey

  “So you terrorized my mother and me, simply because I was born a man,” Ikraam snapped.

  “A babe, wet from the womb and you ruined everything for me,” Bahiyya said coldly. “You’re lucky I didn’t strangle the two of you when you were born.”

  “So you’re going to let my potential groom do it for you,” Ikraam said.

  “It will be as Allah wills,” Bahiyya intoned.

  Ikraam stared at her, wondering how she could twist such an innocent phrase into something ominous.

  Bahiyya laughed and walked back to the tents, leaving Ikraam a shaking mess.

  Chapter Four

  RAYYAN sauntered into Fathi’s office. “You’re coming to lunch with me.”

  “I have things to do,” Fathi reminded him. He wasn’t going to drop everything just because Rayyan told him to.

  “It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact,” Rayyan replied. “You are coming to lunch, and we’re going to do some shopping.”

  “And what do we need to buy?” Fathi asked. Rayyan needed to tell him things and not order him around as if he were a child.

  “Jewelry comes to mind,” Rayyan said. “As well as an actual lunch.”

  “Jewelry?” Fathi repeated before his brain kicked in.

  He was going to get married, and he should get some presents for his bride. But what kind of jewelry was he supposed to get Ikraam? What would she like? How would he be able to give it to her without Ikraam thinking it a bribe of some sort?

  “Jewelry?” Ece echoed with a greedy gleam in her eye. Fathi didn’t think it was a good look for her, since it hardened her in some manner.

  “Lunch first,” Rayyan said, ignoring her. “We may be gone all afternoon, just looking for the right thing.”

  “It’s a good thing that Mr. al-Murzim is taking an interest in helping you shop for a ring,” Ece cooed. “Are you going to marry the actress you’ve been seeing lately, Kajol Urmina?”

  “We’re not that serious,” Rayyan said. “I don’t think we’re ever going to get to that stage in our relationship.”

  Fathi didn’t think Rayyan would marry a woman who wasn’t Muslim. The lady in question was Hindu, fiercely independent, and very hot-tempered. Rayyan wouldn’t dare bring her home to introduce her to Grandfather, never mind marry her. In addition, he wasn’t “seeing” her; they were just at the same events.

  “But your brother isn’t going to be the one buying jewelry, is he?” she prodded.

  “Well, I’m not going to be the one paying for it,” Rayyan told her with a tight smile.

  “Ece, I won’t be back for several hours,” Fathi said ignoring her obvious attempt at fishing for more information. He had shown no personal or sexual interest in Ece, but the silly woman thought he was just going to give her an engagement ring out of the blue? “Just pull up all the information on UmoKo Corp before you leave. I really don’t know how long this is going to take, so I don’t expect you to stay.”

  “I will, Mr. al-Murzim,” Ece said demurely, but her eyes were still greedily gleaming.

  Fathi wanted to swear, because he knew she assumed he was buying jewelry for her. He wanted to kill Rayyan for announcing what they were doing, but he also knew his office was the best place to find him, and he did need to reassure Ikraam he wasn’t going to be a bad husband to her. Except for consummating their relationship, because he wasn’t going to embarrass himself by even attempting something with her. In a few years, he could divorce her, if she was willing, giving her a generous settlement for her cooperation. She could go back to her family and marry someone of her own choosing. Ikraam would like that, he hoped.

  However, Ece was going to be an issue, and he would have to think about getting another secretary even sooner than he anticipated. Not the best reaction to the situation, but this was something he could control in his life. It wasn’t fair to Ece, but he didn’t ask her to think he was shopping for her. This was just the latest in a line of infractions in company policy on her part. If he wanted to be honest, the last couple of months, he was feeling like he was being stalked at times when he was dealing with her. Getting rid of her was long overdue and something he would deal with after this mess of a marriage.

  HE and Rayyan were seated and looking at menus before Rayyan raised the issue. The restaurant was French, but country style and without the fussiness French food was supposed to have. Rayyan had been pushing him to come here for a while.

  “She really thinks we’re shopping for a ring,” Rayyan remarked, frowning at the menu. “Even if that’s a Western tradition.”

  “We are shopping for jewelry,” Fathi pointed out. “Just not for her.”

  Rayyan chuckled. “I know you didn’t encourage her, so don’t feel guilty.”

  “I don’t,” Fathi said shortly before putting down his menu. “And I don’t think we’re going to Tiffany & Co. for what you’re looking for.”

  “What I’m looking for?” Rayyan drawled.

  “Because you know I’m the world’s worst person to shop for gifts,” Fathi told him. There were many years of birthdays that had shown Rayyan that.

  “I was thinking of shopping at the souk for what you need,” Rayyan said.

  Ibra’s souk was the huge bazaar in the northern section of the city. It was popular with the tourists.

  The waiter came over to take their order. When he left, Fathi got back to the topic of conversation.

  “What am I going to find at the souk?” Fathi asked.

  Rayyan rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been there recently?”

  Fathi shrugged. “There never seemed to be time for it when I got back.” He paused. “Actually there never seemed a reason to go.”

  He had gone there a lot when he was in high school, but he had never been interested in the goods there, just the food and the thrill of playing hooky for a little while.

  “I spend a lot of time walking around the place, about one day a week,” Rayyan told him. “It’s fun. There are a couple of coffee places there, which are good for watching people. And it’s a good place to get information.”

  “Information?” Fathi echoed. “What gossip from there could be of any use?”

  “Popular opinion is that you need to get married,” Rayyan said.

  He had timed it so Fathi was taking a sip of his water and ended up sputtering into his drink in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

  “And I need to stop being such a man-whore.”

  “You find all this out how?” Fathi asked. That people were gossiping about their lives was a little strange.

  “I just listen,” Rayyan said with a smile. “Since I’ve become a regular at a couple of places, I also sit around with the other men, and we exchange information. All they know is I have money and time to spend with them.”

  “And you sit and gossip like old women,” Fathi said. He didn’t doubt Rayyan’s companions knew who he was but tactfully didn’t mention it.

  Rayyan shrugged. “I should have brought you something else to wear. Now you’re not going to be able to get as good a price on the jewelry as you could.”

  Fathi smiled again. “It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” Rayyan protested.

  “I like to think of it as contributing more to society as a whole,” Fathi shot back. “And I don’t think that either one of us have anything in our wardrobe that will get a good bargain in the souk.”

  Their conversation went silent as the food arrived and they started to eat. Then they moved on to easier topics, and the meal passed pleasantly.

  AFTER lunch, Rayyan led Fathi into the Old City, which he hadn’t visited in many years. It was as dusty, smelly, and noisy as he remembered, crowded with tourists from a dozen different countries, all talking loudly to be heard over the blaring music of too many radios, which were all tuned to different stations. Fathi followed Rayyan, amused they were going farther and farther into the maze that was the heart of the ancient sou
k.

  “Is there a place we’re actually going?” he asked after a few minutes. “Or is this a plot to lose me in here?”

  “I’ve been asking around, and I received a couple of good recommendations for places here to buy some antique jewelry,” Rayyan said. He stopped and looked back at Fathi. “Or were you serious about going to some Western jeweler for your bride gift?”

  “I’m going to leave this all in Grandfather’s and your capable hands until we get closer to the wedding, as you told me to do so earlier,” Fathi reminded him, motioning at him to continue to lead him through this maze. He didn’t think he would be able to get out of here on his own, and if Rayyan abandoned him, he’d be lost. “I’m the groom in this scenario. All I have to do is show up and look good. You get to deal with the bride gift and the parents’ gift.”

  Rayyan looked at him. “If I thought that was all you were going to do, I’d be happy. But you’re a take-charge type of man. You’re going to want to do more closer to the day.”

  Fathi opened his mouth to protest, since Rayyan made it sound like he was an ass, but then just shrugged. “Therefore this is you trying to get me involved, so I don’t screw something up later.”

  “And to also get you used to the idea of getting married,” Rayyan added as he stopped. “Ah, here we are. Let me do the talking, since I’m well-known here.”

  They were in front of a tent that looked like it had been in this place for decades. Its colors were faded, and there were a number of patches on it. Fathi idly wondered how much of this was for the tourists flocking around them. He knew he looked out of place here in his suit and hoped no one took pictures. He doubted anyone would recognize him, but he also didn’t want to be in a stranger’s vacation album on the internet.

  Fathi and Rayyan ducked inside, and Fathi wasn’t surprised to see a handful of tourists in the tent, poking at the inexpensive knickknacks that overcrowded the place. It was like Aladdin’s Cave had thrown up in there. Rayyan walked over to the elderly veiled woman with laugh lines fanning out from her eyes. She was watching the tourists like a hawk in case they had light fingers. Her eyes lit up when she saw Rayyan.

  “It’s good to see you, you scamp,” she called out.

  “Auntie, I promised I would be back,” Rayyan said. “I needed to gather the groom so he could pick out something for his bride. We would be overjoyed if you helped us.”

  The tourists looked at them blankly, since he doubted any of them were fluent in the Arabic dialects being spoken around them, but it was obvious he and Rayyan didn’t belong here. He was confused why Rayyan was dealing with this woman instead of a man as was proper, but then he realized every person working in this tent was a woman.

  “It is sad you have no female relatives to do this with you,” Auntie replied. “But surely your mother’s and grandmother’s pretties are going to your brother’s intended?”

  Fathi fought not to laugh at the thought of a desert girl in the precious jewels that had been his mother’s and grandmother’s. Not that he didn’t think she… Ikraam would like them, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate them, since they were in a Western style. Fathi didn’t even know where they were. He would have to ask Grandfather. He would give her a few things eventually, since Ikraam would be his wife and deserved them.

  “I think it would be better if she had something of her own, and not what is the family’s,” Fathi told Auntie, when he was in front of her. He wasn’t going to admit to a stranger he had no idea where his mother’s jewelry was.

  “You are going to be a good husband.” Auntie nodded. “So considerate.”

  Rayyan grinned at him, and Fathi suddenly wanted to punch him, but he managed to look composed, even if he wanted to scream he wasn’t interested in being a good husband or even married.

  “So could we go out back and see what you have?” Rayyan asked.

  Auntie nodded again. “And I will send word to some of the others. You should see everything we have to offer.”

  “Of course, Auntie,” Rayyan told her. “That was very thoughtful of you, and you shall be rewarded for it.”

  “It is simply being a good neighbor,” Auntie said with a very satisfied look in her eyes.

  Even if she didn’t sell anything to them, Fathi knew Rayyan was going to pay her for brokering the meeting. And Auntie had been here for a while. She would share the good fortune of having the opportunity to make a large sale with her fellow merchants, or they wouldn’t share when such an opportunity came their way.

  “Aisha,” she called out. “Get the others. The groom is here!”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” a small girl cried out before dashing out of the tent.

  “Good gentlemen, would you share a small cup of coffee with me while we wait?” Auntie asked.

  “We would be honored.” Rayyan smiled.

  “And you can tell me what happened with Khalid and that goat, scamp,” she added.

  Rayyan laughed and shooed Fathi into the back of the tent. Fathi wasn’t surprised to see an equally old and terrifying woman took Auntie’s place in making sure the tourists stayed honest.

  While they were all sipping tiny, bitter cups of coffee, Rayyan entertained them with the story of someone named Khalid who spent the better part of a morning last week chasing after a baby goat. Fathi didn’t know why the man couldn’t catch it, but he had kept a number of people entertained before he caught it and disappeared as fast as he had appeared, and no one had seen him or the goat since.

  “It was probably some sort of performance art,” Fathi chuckled.

  Auntie was giggling like a teenager, and Rayyan had been very expressive as he told the story, gesturing broadly as he described some of the antics of Khalid and his goat. During the story, a handful of older women with small sacks had drifted into the back room, and Aisha served them all coffee, making sure no one had an empty cup.

  “Performance art?” Auntie echoed as the other women murmured among themselves.

  “When I was in America—” Fathi started.

  “The Americans are strange,” Auntie commented, shaking her head.

  “I was near a school that taught acting. Some of their students would do things like that. They would dress up and do the strangest things in public, just to see how others reacted to it,” Fathi continued. He would agree with her the Americans were strange, but they probably thought his culture was equally strange.

  “I said the Americans were touched by Allah to think that is good schooling.” Auntie shook her head again.

  “And that is why I went to London for school,” Rayyan told Auntie. “The English aren’t crazy like that.”

  “London’s such a dreary, cold place,” Auntie exclaimed. “There is no sun there. What did you do?”

  “I wore a lot of clothing,” Rayyan said mournfully. “And drank a lot of their terrible tea.”

  She laughed, which was echoed by the rest of the women. Fathi smiled. He knew he was going to be here all afternoon. He was actually looking forward to it—the endless, tiny cups of coffee, the bargaining and gossip. This wasn’t how he did business, dealing with the Westerners, and he felt something was lacking because of it.

  “New York had sun,” he said. “But it was cold too.”

  “And dangerous,” one of the other women added. “All those guns and crazy criminals.”

  There was a lot of nodding and murmuring at her statement. Fathi thought they must have all watched too much American television to say that. New York City was a dangerous place, but it wasn’t as crazy as people would believe. Then again, he had lived in nicer places during his stay there. He had been in a dorm the first year, but after that, he had made sure he was in an apartment setting because it was quieter.

  “You just have to make sure there are other people around at all times,” Fathi told her, even though he doubted she would ever go there.

  The women all nodded in agreement, although they looked a little doubtful.

  “So, what have you al
l brought him to look at?” Rayyan asked.

  The merchants laid out their wares on scarves, showing off their pieces to their best advantage. Fathi was impressed with the sea of silver and semiprecious stones awash on the floor. Even with what little he knew about jewelry, these pieces were beautiful. Most of them seemed to be vintage pieces, made by master craftsmen decades ago.

  “What are you interested in?” Rayyan asked Fathi, after he had stared at their offerings.

  And that was when the bargaining began.

  IN the end, Fathi bought a number of bracelets, rings, and headpieces. He made sure he bought at least one item from every woman. In addition, he had left the bargaining to Rayyan, who managed to charm them all. They doted on him as if he was an adopted grandson, and Fathi was happy to see it. Grandmother had died soon after their parents, and Rayyan and Fathi had missed this kind of spoiling growing up.

  Rayyan paid the women, overpaid them in most cases, but Fathi didn’t care. Rayyan had bargained hard and long with them, to everyone’s enjoyment. Fathi wished he had thought to film this with his phone, since it had been amazing. Even after getting their money, the women continued to sit around and gossip among themselves, nibbling on the dates and figs that had been brought to them halfway through the proceedings. They were all drinking syrupy mint tea now, and Fathi was certain this bargaining session was going to be talked about for years.

  “Your bride is going to be spoiled,” Auntie teased him.

  “She’s going to have to deal with him for the rest of her life, so he should spoil her,” Rayyan said.

  They all laughed at his remark, including Fathi. With more jokes and teasing, they were sent on their way, all of Fathi’s jewelry packed into beautiful bags embroidered with shisha-worked mirrors, before being loaded into a large string carry bag. The two of them were on the way out of the souk, comfortable with their silence, just content to be with each other until they got to the car.