The Sheikh’s Second Chance Lover

by Rayner, Holly

  She hardly dared to believe it. She’d had her heart broken by this man. Could she really place it back in his hands so readily? And yet, it all made perfect sense. It made more sense than anything she’d worked out so far.

  If that was really why he’d left, and if this letter was genuine…of course she would forgive him.

  She had to let him know.

  And the letter told her how to do it, she realized with a rush. This wasn’t just a confession. It was an invitation. He was asking her to come to Shunayy, as he had done so long ago.

  Could she do it? The ticket wouldn’t come cheap, especially if she wanted to go anytime soon. Her fingers were already taking over, however, directing her to a flight comparison site to look up prices. Brooke gasped when she saw them. It was even more than she’d expected, and certainly more money than she had available to spend on a whim.

  She got up from the computer, letter clutched in her hand, and began pacing the room as she tried to make a decision. What was Blaine—Ali—to her now? Even if this news story was true, even if she could forgive him for everything that had happened between them, that didn’t mean they would resume their old relationship. Would he even want to? Would she? As much as Brooke had enjoyed her time with him, as much as he had meant to her, it was possible that too much had happened now for them to jump back in. She would always have the memory of going to his apartment and discovering that he had left her, no matter how noble his reasons might have been. Forgiving him didn’t mean she could easily get past that.

  And wanting her forgiveness didn’t mean he wanted her back. He seemed to feel bad about what had happened between them, but he was a prince. Even if his feelings for her had been genuine, it was impractical for them to stay together. Brooke understood that. She didn’t know what his responsibilities to his country might entail, but it was highly doubtful he was supposed to be engaging in romances with random girls in Vermont. He was probably supposed to be with a princess or something, not a sculptor.

  Besides, she reminded herself, you don’t even really know who he is. He’d said himself that Blaine was a fiction, that he wasn’t Blaine, and Blaine was the person Brooke had fallen in love with. Who knew what Ali was like by comparison? He might as well be a complete stranger.

  She was about to close the webpage, to admit to herself that this was a bad idea—but then she hesitated.

  Brooke wanted to go to Shunayy. She had wanted to go six months ago. Traveling with Blaine had been appealing, but a good part of her had simply been excited at the idea of seeing a strange and distant land. And this was as good an excuse as any she would find to make the trip.

  And she wanted answers. Rather than live her life wondering how much of “Blaine” had been real and how much had been fabrication, she wanted to know for sure. Had any part of the man she’d loved truly existed? She wanted to speak to Ali, to find out the truth. And while she was at it, she would discover whether his feelings for her had ever been real.

  Her mind made up, Brooke purchased a plane ticket on a flight leaving the very next day. She winced as she typed in her credit card number but steeled herself and completed the transaction. She booked hotel lodging for a week—that ought to be enough.

  Shocked at her own boldness, Brooke sat back in her chair. Was she really going through with this? It was so unlike her. Completely irresponsible.

  But she was going to do it. She was going to see Ali again, and she was going to learn the full story. Brooke got to her feet decisively. She needed to pack. There was a flight to Shunayy in the morning, and this time, she planned to be on it.

  17

  Brooke

  Shunayy was gorgeous.

  Brooke was in love from the moment she stepped off the plane. Even the colors seemed to be brighter here. In Vermont, everything was woodsy, green and brown, and in New York the fluorescent lights seemed to scream at you, but Shunayy International Airport was decorated in bold red and green, the colors Brooke recognized from the country’s flag. She stood holding her suitcase, taking it all in.

  On the way to baggage claim, she passed through a lobby area and gasped. The ceiling was entirely glass, cut by support beams that did little to obscure Brooke’s view of the night sky. A large patch of soil had been laid in the middle of the lobby, and several palm trees grew. Brooke reached out and touched a leaf. They were real. She looked up and marveled at how close the stars seemed.

  After collecting her suitcase she found the line for taxis. The night air was hot but dry, and Brooke, who had anticipated feeling sweaty and uncomfortable when she’d looked up the weather here before boarding the plane, was pleased to find the desert heat felt nice. It was actually refreshing after being cooped up on the plane for so long, and she wished the sun were up so she could have spent time outside. But walking around a strange city in the dark seemed like a bad idea, so when a cab pulled up, Brooke jumped in and gave the driver the name of the hotel where she’d made a reservation.

  She peered out the window as they drove along. The city was still bustling. It looked like the street was usually lined with outdoor stalls, but these appeared to have been closed for the evening—the structures remained, but they were empty of both people and products to sell. Behind the stalls, however, a row of brick-and-mortar businesses could be seen. In the lighted windows, Brooke could see people drinking what might have been tea or coffee, browsing through racks of elaborately woven fabric, and reading books in ancient-looking armchairs. She caught herself looking for Ali a couple of times and had to remind herself that, as a prince, he was unlikely to be found in a shop.

  Then they rounded a corner and she caught her first glimpse of the palace.

  It looked like it was from another era. Tall towers with domes atop them, brightly colored tiles, and archways so tall and wide that she could tell, even from here, that this taxi would have no trouble driving through them. Was that where Blaine—Ali—lived? What must he have thought of her tiny apartment?

  Moments later, the taxi pulled to a stop in front of what Brooke recognized as her hotel. It was fortunate that she had seen a picture of it beforehand, because she couldn’t read the words on the sign. She had a moment of panic—would everything in Shunayy be in Arabic? This probably wasn’t a country that saw a lot of English-speaking tourists. Would anyone be able to help her get where she was going? The taxi driver had understood her; she would have to hope her luck continued.

  Steeling herself, Brooke walked into the lobby. It was every bit as beautiful as the airport had been, and as modern as the palace was ancient. Water poured from a marble fountain in the center of the room, and a row of receptionists in uniforms waited behind a desk.

  Brooke approached cautiously. “Um…I’m checking in?”

  The woman smiled. “What is your name?”

  Inwardly, Brooke breathed a sigh of relief as she gave the woman her information. Here at the hotel, at least, people did speak English. She wouldn’t be completely helpless.

  She accepted her key and headed off to find her room. She would go to the palace tomorrow, after she’d had a good night’s sleep.

  * * *

  The taxi driver refused to take Brooke to the front door of the palace.

  “Here,” he said, pulling to a stop at the far end of the long driveway leading up to it. “Private property. No closer.”

  “But I’m expected,” Brooke protested.

  The driver scowled at her mistrustfully. “No closer.”

  Brooke got out of the car, paid him, and turned to face the ominous building ahead of her. Even if she hadn’t been facing the prospect of talking to Ali again after all this time, she would have found the palace intimidating. It seemed much bigger up close, and it was probably the oldest building she had ever seen in person. Certainly nothing in America was this old.

  She had quite a hike to reach the front door. If she had known she would be walking, she thought bitterly, reflecting on the taxi driver, who was probably far away by now in his
air-conditioned car, she would have brought a bottle of water. Well, they would be able to give her something up at the palace. She only hoped she didn’t look like too much of a mess when she finally arrived. Ali had seen her in all kinds of shabby attire, of course, but this was different. This was the first time they would be seeing each other in six months. What was more, this was the first time they would be facing each other honestly.

  Finally, she approached the wooden doors. They were outrageously tall, perhaps four times Brooke’s height. A brass knocker hung at eye level, and Brooke stared. She had never seen such a thing in real life. She knew what it was for, of course, but was she really supposed to use it, or was it decorative? There was no doorbell, however, and Brooke could see no other way of announcing her presence. Feeling a bit silly, she lifted the knocker once and let it fall.

  There was a shuffling from inside. Brooke’s nerves spiked. Who would answer the door at a place like this? It couldn’t possibly be him, could it?

  It wasn’t. The face that appeared when the door opened was unfamiliar. It belonged to a middle-aged man in what looked like a military uniform. His eyes narrowed when he saw Brooke, and he said something in Arabic.

  “English?” Brooke said hesitantly.

  The man’s eyes narrowed further. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to see Bla—” She broke off, correcting herself. “Ali. Sheikh Ali Suleman al-Haffar.” Her tongue tripped over the pronunciation of the name she had never heard spoken aloud.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked.

  “No, I don’t, but I’m expected.”

  He shook his head. “No guests are expected.”

  “I don’t think he knew I was coming today. He sent me a letter.”

  “Let me see it.”

  It was back at the hotel. Brooke cursed inwardly. She should have thought to bring it with her. “I don’t have it,” she admitted.

  “Hmm,” the guard said, skepticism leaching through his words.

  “I’m a friend of his,” Brooke tried. “I’m from Jasperville. Jasperville, Vermont? He was…we were neighbors, and then he sent me a letter…”

  The guard shook his head firmly. “I’m afraid you can’t be admitted to see the young Sheikh without an appointment. He is a very busy man.”

  “But he’ll want to see me! Can’t you just ask him?”

  “The Sheikh has important matters of state to attend to. He doesn’t have time in his schedule for an unplanned rendezvous with an old friend. Now, if you would like to make an appointment, I would be happy to take your request to the Sheikh. Perhaps something can be scheduled in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks?” Brooke shook her head. “I don’t live here. I’ll have to go home by then.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to go home.” The guard began to shut the door.

  An angry fire rose up in Brooke. She was not about to turn around and go back to Jasperville now, after having come all this way. She had spent a small fortune on a plane ticket. She had traveled farther from home than she’d ever been. And she’d done it all at the request of a letter that had come six months too late. He should be grateful she was here! She shouldn’t be fighting to see him like this!

  He wouldn’t have wanted it to be this way. She felt sure of that, somehow. If Ali knew she was standing here, he would tell the guard to let her pass. He would want to see her. If only there had been some way for her to let him know she was coming—but what could she have done? It wasn’t as if he had given her an address to respond to his letter.

  Come to think of it, why hadn’t he given her a way to contact him? “Blaine’s” email address had fallen out of service when he’d left town—Brooke had tried it months ago—but Ali must have a real email address she could have used. There was something funny about that. Why wouldn’t he have told her to email him so they could make arrangements?

  Maybe his email was being read, she thought. Maybe these guards had him under such tight control that he hadn’t been able to risk receiving a message from her. What did Brooke know about royal life? Perhaps he did know she was at the door, but he was unable to get to her.

  She would have to fight. She would have to get to him. But how?

  “He owes me money,” she blurted.

  The guard paused, the door half closed, staring at her. She could tell he’d never heard anything quite like this. “What do you mean, he owes you money?”

  “I’m a sculptor,” she explained. “I met Ali when he was living in America, and he hired me to make a piece for him.”

  “The Sheikh has palace artisans who can create whatever he wants,” the guard said, frowning. “This is a transparent lie.”

  “It’s not a lie! He wanted me to make him a piece.”

  “Why would he hire an American to do the job that the best craftsmen in Shunayy are already doing for him?” the guard demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Brooke admitted. “I didn’t know anything about these palace artisans. He never told me that. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable posing for them.”

  The guard raised an eyebrow.

  Brooke whipped out her phone and thumbed through her photo album. Finally, six months previously, she encountered a photo of the partially finished statue. She held it up for the guard’s inspection. “See? That’s the piece we were working on.”

  The guard snorted.

  “And I was never paid,” Brooke said. “I want to speak with Ali…the Sheikh…to close accounts.”

  “And how much does he owe you?” the guard asked, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t ready just yet to believe that Brooke was actually owed anything.

  Brooke named the amount.

  “Ha!” said the guard. “For this?” He waved her phone at her. “I think it’s clear what’s happening here. You’ve come to extort the royal family, is that it? If they don’t meet your demands, you’ll sell this sculpture and claim it’s a likeness of the Sheikh. A ploy to try and humiliate the royal family.”

  “What?” Brooke was staggered. “No, of course not!”

  “Unfortunately, you made a mistake,” the guard said. “Now that we know of your plot, we’ll release the information that an enemy of the crown is trying to shame the young Sheikh. We’ll tell your story before you have the opportunity.”

  “I’m not trying to shame Ali!” Brooke said, outraged. “I came here to tell him that I love him!”

  There was a long pause. Then the guard slowly pulled the door open and stared at her.

  Brooke could have bitten her tongue. She hadn’t planned to say that, not even to Ali himself.

  The guard seemed to think so, too, for now he was looking at her, not as if she was a threat to Ali’s security, but as if she was a foolish girl. “Why don’t I call you a taxi?” he said, and she heard pity in his voice. “It can take you to your hotel, or the airport, or wherever you want to go. The crown will pay.”

  “I can pay for my own taxi,” Brooke began. She was about to inform him that she wasn’t going anywhere, not until she’d seen Ali, not until she’d spoken to him, but she was interrupted by the slamming of a car door. The taxi couldn’t have been summoned already, could it? She turned around.

  There he was.

  He was standing before a large black car with an insignia painted on its side, the flag of Shunayy flying from the hood.

  As she gaped, the back door opened and a young woman stepped out. She looked about the same age as Brooke, and she was lovely, her dark hair twisted up elaborately at the back of her head. Brooke’s heart sank. So he had found someone else. He must have assumed when he had written the letter that she wouldn’t come; maybe he’d written it weeks before, but she’d only just received it.

  Ali approached the castle, but then he stopped in his tracks, seeming to notice her for the first time. For several seconds he stood staring, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Then, cautiously, he took another step forward. “Brooke?”


  “Blaine” almost slipped out, but Brooke caught herself.

  “Ali.”

  “How did you…” He shook his head.

  Brooke took him in. It was certainly Blaine. There was no mistaking him. She would have known him anywhere after the intense study she had made of his features for her sculpture. And yet, there was something very different about him. It might have been the clothing. As Blaine, he had worn hiking clothes when he had worn anything at all. She had grown used to seeing his forearms exposed, and his hair had always been unkempt. Now he was dressed—there was no other word for it—like a prince. He wore robes of a deep purple that fell to the tops of his boots, and a purple scarf with gold trim on his head. The robes were decorated with gold pins and rosettes. The woman behind him was in similar attire, and Brooke gathered that she must be a princess.

  He stood differently, too. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had tossed himself lazily down on her couch at the end of so many active days. Now he stood with the rigidity of a soldier at attention, and though he looked startled to see her, he didn’t show it in his stance.

  He seemed older. That was it. It was as if he’d come back to Shunayy and aged ten years. The man she’d known in America hadn’t known how to do his own grocery shopping, hadn’t been able to take care of himself without her help. But looking at him before her now, she could picture him ruling a country. Brooke was floored. Most unfortunately, she realized, she was now more attracted to him than ever. It seemed he had come back to accept the responsibilities of his birthright.

  She should never have come.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not sure if she was addressing Ali or the guard. “I should go.” And she started down the drive, hoping she would be able to find a taxi.

  But as she passed Ali, he grabbed her arm. She looked up into his eyes and saw that he was smiling.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said and pulled her in for a kiss.