“Yes. Until he breathed his last breath, we loved only each other.” Fatima sighed. “That is what I want for you, Heidi. That is what I hoped you would find with Jamal.”
Heidi wasn’t so sure about the love part, but she would gladly accept a truce and maybe some pleasant conversation. “So you think I should do the same thing? Become a mysterious woman and win him?”
“It’s perfect,” Dora said, clapping her hands together. “If you’re pretending to be someone else, you can pretend to have confidence and be sexy and all the things you feel you lack as yourself. What’s the expression? Fake it until you make it.”
“It’s a great theory,” Heidi hedged. “But I’m not sure about the reality of it all working.” But as Dora had said earlier, what did she have to lose?
“There are details to be worked out,” Fatima admitted. “Things were simpler in my time.” She paused while she thought.
“Uh-oh, I recognize that look,” Dora said. She stood up and moved to a desk in the foyer. There she rummaged through drawers until she found a large pad of paper and a pen. “All right. I’ll be in charge of the lists. Where do we start?”
Fatima pursed her lips, then motioned to Heidi. “Stand up, child, and walk to the French doors.”
Feeling incredibly self-conscious, she did as Fatima requested. The harem was at the rear of the palace and the wide glass doors faced a walled garden. She tried to gather comfort from the familiar view, but it didn’t help. She was already blushing when she turned and walked back to the cluster of sofas.
Fatima shook her head. “Those clothes have to go. The bland colors are unflattering, and the shapeless style does nothing for you.”
Heidi fingered the thick cotton of her dress. “They’re easy.”
“Beauty is not,” Fatima said flatly. “It takes time and commitment.” She tilted her head. “Do you even have a figure under there?”
“Um, sure.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I guess I’m about a size eight or ten. I’m a little bigger on top than on the bottom.”
Dora groaned. “We should all be so lucky.”
“Then why do you dress like a frump?” Fatima asked. “Why don’t you at least flatter your figure?”
“I don’t know.” Heidi shifted uncomfortably. “At school I wore a uniform until college. When I spent summers with Grandfather, I was more interested in comfort and ease of packing than anything else. At college, the crowd I was involved with didn’t care about clothes.” She unfolded her arms, then crossed them again. “I never know what to do. I look in the magazines and see pretty things, but when I get to the store I don’t know what’s going to look good on me.”
“Clothes,” Dora murmured as she wrote on the pad.
“Lots of them,” Fatima added. “We’ll worry about her regular wardrobe later. For now, it’s mistress fashions only.”
Heidi didn’t ask what mistress fashions were. She had a feeling she didn’t want to know. She tried to relax, again dropping her arms to her sides. “Clothes will help,” she said, “but how are we going to keep Jamal from knowing it’s me.” She pushed up her glasses. “I don’t think he’s going to be easily fooled.”
“Contacts for starters,” Dora said. “Have you ever tried them?”
Contacts? “You want me to put little pieces of plastic in my eyes? Are you insane?”
Dora looked at Fatima. “That would be a no.”
“Absolutely. Make a note of it. I know a good optician here in the city. She does wonderful work.” Fatima tilted her head. “Her eyes are hazel now, but green would be very lovely with her complexion.”
“Nixola on the contact lenses,” Heidi insisted. “I can’t wear them.”
“Have you tried?” Dora asked.
“No, but—”
“What about her hair?” Fatima asked, cutting her off. “Unpin it, dear, so we can see what it looks like down. When you were dressing for the wedding, I remember thinking it was quite lovely.”
Heidi stared at them. “You two are taking over my life.”
“Someone has to,” the queen informed her. “After all, you came to us for help.”
Heidi pressed her lips together. So this was her own fault. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
She reached up and tugged at the pins securing her hair and shook her head. The long strands tumbled down around her shoulders, nearly to her waist.
“Fabulous,” Dora breathed. “But we’re going to have to change it somehow.”
Fatima rose to her feet and walked around Heidi. She picked up a long strand and fingered it. “Yes, very lovely. But what to do?”
Dora stood up and joined Fatima. “What about layering her hair?” she asked. “As Heidi she could still wear it up so Jamal wouldn’t know the difference. As the mystery woman she could curl it and wear it loose.”
Fatima glanced at Heidi. “What do you think?”
“That seems fine. My hair holds curl pretty well.”
“Maybe one of those washout colors,” Dora was saying. “Something to make it look different.”
She looked at Fatima who raised her eyebrows.
“Red,” they said at the same time.
“Definitely red,” Dora added. “It’ll be perfect with the green contacts. Jamal won’t know what hit him.” She returned to the sofa and scribbled some notes. “Don’t forget to use a loofah on your hands and feet. We need the henna gone as quickly as possible.”
Heidi stared at the reddish-brown pattern on her hands. Her honeymoon was long over before it had ever begun. How terribly sad.
“Clothes,” Fatima said, still circling her. “We decided she needs new ones but what kind?”
“Trashy,” Dora said flatly. “Skinny straps and short skirts.”
The queen frowned. “Are you sure? I thought maybe something elegant.”
“Elegant is good,” Heidi said quickly. “I don’t think I could wear a really short skirt.”
Dora shook her head. “Nothing elegant, Fatima. This isn’t a makeover for a princess, but for a mistress. Besides, she needs to be as different from her regular self as possible. Otherwise Jamal will see right through the disguise. I say show plenty of skin, wear makeup and high heels. He’ll be tempted and confused. Not a bad state for a man to be in.”
Heidi swallowed. “About the high heels. I’ve never been very good at walking in them. I don’t wear them much, and when I do, I always feel awkward. I think the elegant approach is better.”
“No, Dora is right,” Fatima said. “There are some boutiques on the waterfront. They cater more to the wealthy tourists. They should have what we need. All right, I’ll call the optician. Dora, you call the salon. Ingrid’s. You have the number.”
Dora grinned. “You’re going to love Ingrid,” she said. “She’ll transform you.”
Heidi was no longer sure she was transformation material. She felt like a cork bobbing along through river rapids. Every now and then she kept going under, and one of these times she wasn’t going to make it back to the surface.
“I need to sit down,” she said, moving to the sofa and plopping onto a cushion.
Dora continued to write. “Okay, I think the next thing is to figure out where the mystery woman is going to live.”
“We’ll set her up in one of the luxury hotels downtown,” Fatima murmured. “Something expensive. I’ll pay for it, of course. I don’t want you having to explain any expenses to Jamal. We can put a special phone line into your dressing room so that when he contacts the hotel the call is routed back to here. Not a problem. But I don’t know about a name. It should be something close to your own so you’ll remember it.”
“I have to change my name?” Heidi asked, then held up her hand to silence them. “Sorry. Dumb question. Of course I do. But what?”
“Something fun,” Dora suggested. “Maybe Bambi or Amber.”
Heidi wrinkled her nose. “No. Those are so not me.” Although the point of the exercise was to be someone other than hers
elf, she thought. “I agree with Fatima. It has to be close. What about…” She thought for a moment, then was rewarded by a flash of divine inspiration.
“Honey Martin,” she said, and dropped her voice to a sultry tone. “Hi there, Jamal. I’m Honey.”
Dora didn’t look completely convinced, but she jotted down the name. “Honey Martin it is. You’ll have to think up a history.”
“I know exactly what it’s going to be,” Heidi said. “My college roommate for all four years was Ellie Calloway. Her family is from Oklahoma. They’re in a lot of different businesses, but they started in oil. Ellie has four brothers, one of whom handles the oil side of things. I could be here visiting with him.”
Fatima pressed her hands together. “It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Jamal will never put you together with Honey Martin of Oklahoma.” She leaned over Dora’s shoulder and studied the list. “Except for deciding how the two of you are going to meet, I believe we’ve covered all the important points. So let’s get started.”
In less than a week, she’d lost the ability to see, walk and speak. Heidi hobbled toward what she thought was the table. Unfortunately her eyes were watering so much that she didn’t notice the pile of cushions on the floor and stumbled into them. Her body weight shifted, her ankles flexed back and forth in a very unnatural way that sent pain shooting up her legs. Her feet went along for the ride, which was too much for the three-inch heels she was wearing. One shoe went east, the other west, and Heidi sprawled down the middle. Fortunately the cushions broke her fall.
“You need to practice,” Fatima said kindly from her place on the sofa. “The shoes need getting used to.”
That’s what she’d said about the contact lenses, Heidi thought grimly, blinking away the sensation of having a small car lodged under her eyelid. Soft lenses were supposed to be so easy to wear. So comfortable. Ha!
She opened her mouth to complain, then closed it. Her throat hurt too much for her to speak. That was the result of trying to talk in a sultry tone that was nothing like her regular voice. She’d strained her throat or her vocal cords or something.
Heidi sat up and adjusted the skinny strap of the dress she wore. She tried not to notice how the skirt fluttered around her thighs or the fact that a dishcloth had more fabric to it than she had in this entire dress. Did they really expect her to go out in public like this?
She blinked several more times and actually achieved something close to normal vision. She centered her attention on the queen so that when her contacts slipped again and she could no longer see, she would at least have her head pointed in the right direction.
“This isn’t going to work,” Heidi said miserably. “I’m not cut out to be a mistress. I hate the clothes, I can’t wear the shoes or the contacts. I won’t know what to say to him or how to act or anything like that.”
She fingered her shorter, layered hair. That was the only part of her transformation she liked. Even curling it wasn’t too much trouble. And with it all pulled back and up in a bun, no one could tell what she’d done.
Fatima studied her. “We’ve come so far, Heidi. The hotel room is in place. Dora found out that Jamal is expecting a new Italian sports car on Thursday. We were going to intercept the shipment so that you can pretend it was sent to you by mistake. You have your new clothes, your contacts. Why would you want to stop now?”
Heidi struggled to her feet, where she maintained a slightly wobbly balance. Mercifully her eyes stayed clear enough for her to navigate her way across the room and slump down on the sofa.
“Look at me,” she said. “I’m a failure at this. I have yet to put on eyeliner straight. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.”
It was true. While she appreciated everything Fatima and Dora had done, the plan was crazy. Even if it wasn’t, she wasn’t the right person to pull it off. Either she didn’t have the right raw material, or she needed way more training.
Fatima nodded. “You must do what you think is best.”
“Thanks.” Heidi gave her a grateful smile. “I still want to make things work in my marriage, but I think that’s best done as myself. Not some mistress.”
“Of course.”
Heidi studied the other woman, but she didn’t seem upset. “You’re not mad?” she asked. “I really appreciate all you’ve done. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful, because I am. But it’s so not me.”
“I thought that was the point,” Fatima said, then patted her hand. “I want you to be happy. I’ll do whatever you’d like to make that happen.”
“Thank you.” She slipped off her shoes and stood up. What a relief to be able to walk again. “If Jamal and I are going to make it, I have to win him as myself. As inept and feeble as the effort may be, at least it will be honest. Right?”
“Whatever you say, child.”
That night Heidi tried to read yet another chapter in one of Fatima’s sex books. She still couldn’t believe all the different ways that people made love, or the things they did to each other’s bodies. She’d barely experienced her first French kiss, and here she was reading about kissing in other very intimate places.
She was halfway through a chapter called “The Delights of the Feather and Other Ways to Make Your Lover Shiver” when she heard the main door of the suite open. Jamal was back!
Heidi didn’t know where he’d gone for the evening. He hadn’t joined her for dinner, which was annoying, what with her new plan to try to fix the marriage on her own. But he was back now, so she could get started without delay.
She tossed the book onto the bed and hurried out into the main room. Jamal stood by the wet bar tucked into the corner of the living room. He’d already poured himself a drink.
“Hi,” she said, coming to a halt by the sofa. “How was your evening?”
Jamal turned at the sound of Heidi’s voice—then wished he hadn’t. She stood in the center of the living room, wearing one of her loose, unflattering dresses. This one in a most unbecoming shade of light green. Her hair hung down her back in a simple braid, and her feet were bare. She looked young and vulnerable. The questions in her eyes only added to his guilt. It was one thing to avoid her while they were both inside the palace walls; it was another for him to have left the palace this evening. Not only had he not invited her along, he hadn’t told her where he was going.
The guilt was an unfamiliar emotion. He didn’t recall ever feeling it with Yasmin. But then things had been different at the beginning of their marriage. Before he’d known the truth about his greedy first wife, he’d wanted to spend every minute at her side. He’d been taken in by a pair of welcoming eyes and a body that had always seemed too eager for his own.
In time…a very short time…she’d changed. Or rather she’d returned to her real self. Once that occurred, she wanted nothing to do with him, unless they were to attend an official function where she could shine as the royal princess. She’d begun resisting his advances in bed, then had quickly moved into the room Heidi now occupied, telling him how he repelled her and how she wanted nothing to do with him.
With Yasmin there had been no guilt. Only shame and humiliation. He’d been more than a fool. He’d been trapped in a hell with no escape. He hadn’t even been able to talk about his problem with anyone. He’d been too proud to share the truth with his father or his brothers. Fatima had guessed that Yasmin was more interested in shopping and appearances than Jamal, and she had shared her revelation with the king. But neither of them knew the deepest, darkest horror that had been his marriage.
Still, they had tried to be supportive. Eventually even his brothers had figured out his wife was not a gentle soul. By the time Yasmin had met her untimely death in a car accident, no one in the family had cared about her enough to truly mourn her passing.
And now he was married again. He told himself that Heidi was nothing like Yasmin. Heidi was more interested in preserving the history of El Bahar than in any jewels or public appearance. Her clothing made it apparent that s
he wasn’t going to spend her days shopping. But she shared one vital trait with Yasmin—Heidi didn’t want to share her husband’s bed, either.
“You’re not even speaking to me anymore,” she said, staring at him wide-eyed.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I was lost in thought for a moment. I apologize.” He gave her a quick smile. “My evening was very pleasant. I had dinner with a friend from university. Nigel and I were at Oxford together. He’s in El Bahar on business and had an evening free.” He hesitated, dealing again with the unfamiliar guilt. “I thought of inviting you along, but as Nigel didn’t bring his wife, I was afraid it would have been boring for you. Two old friends talking about times and people you don’t know.”
She nodded slowly. “I understand. To be honest, I didn’t know you’d left the palace.”
He suspected she was trying to be kind and conciliatory, but her words only intensified his guilt.
“Do you want something?” he asked, touching one of the bottles on the bar.
“No thank you.”
He motioned to the sofa, inviting her to sit down, then he topped off his drink and joined her.
“Nigel has a position of some importance in the British government,” he said. “Although his interest is more general—all of the Middle East—he occasionally makes his way here. I told him that the next time he comes, he should bring the whole family. They could stay with us here in the palace. Then you could meet them.”
Her hazel eyes were wide behind her glasses. She gave him a brief smile that didn’t erase her serious expression. “I would like to meet your friend. By family, do you mean he has children?”
“Yes. Two children. Both boys. He showed me pictures. They’re five and two.”
“I don’t know much about children, but those seem to be fun ages. Although two boys. That must be a lot of work.”
Their discussion was purely polite social chitchat, yet Jamal couldn’t help wondering what kind of mother Heidi would turn out to be. After the first month or so of marriage, Yasmin had made it very clear that she wasn’t interested in having children but that she would because it was expected of her. Still, she’d been insistent on full-time help so that she didn’t actually have to spend time alone with her offspring.
The Sheik's Arranged Marriage Page 8
