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  “Are you ready?”

  Willow’s father, Bill, had appeared in his tuxedo beside her. His eyes were tinged red—had he been crying?

  “Are you?” Willow asked.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to give my little girl away,” Bill said, his voice cracking.

  “Oh, Dad.” Willow hugged her father, and she was filled with a mix of emotions. Excitement for her wedding day, but sadness for the fact that she couldn’t go back twenty years and be a young girl again, playing with Paul and her father in the yard.

  Drawing back from him, she felt tears spring to her eyes. “I just miss him so much,” she finally said.

  “He’s here, honey,” Bill said. “Paul is looking down on you. And he approves of Ibrahim, that’s for sure. How could he not? That man loves you more than life itself.”

  The organ music started up, and Bill began to walk Willow down the aisle. Willow’s legs were unsteady beneath her, shaking slightly as she moved. But she kept her smile sure, firm. When she was halfway down the aisle, she brought her eyes toward Ibrahim’s and held his gaze the rest of the way, knowing only he could light her way home.

  When she reached her husband-to-be, Willow glanced to the left, finding Summer beside her. She passed her bouquet to her maid of honor and felt her father’s final kiss on her cheek, giving her his blessing. Time seemed to be passing far too swiftly, with a flurry of colors bright and swirling around her.

  As she joined Ibrahim, she gripped his hands and watched as his smile dropped and his face grew serious. This commitment was a big step, sealing their future.

  As the organ fell and silence took its place, Amira stepped forward. Her long dress swirled around her, her hair wrapped in a vibrant scarf, leaving space for her dark eyes to peek out. She stood behind the bride and groom, facing the crowd. With a voice fit for any queen, she called out over their heads.

  “I want to announce my blessing over these young people,” she said. “I wish them nothing but happiness in the years ahead. Happiness and love and peace.

  “As you all know, Ibrahim’s father and brother, along with Willow’s brother, Paul, couldn’t be here today. And yet we feel them now, looking down on us from heaven and smiling with us for this special day.”

  As Amira finished her speech, Willow was overcome with emotion. Stepping forward, she hugged her mother-in-law close, whispering into her ear, “You have given us so much. I only hope we can return it.”

  Amira left the stage, then, leaving them to say their vows before the minister. Ibrahim gripped Willow’s hands tightly, gazing into her eyes. Willow felt butterflies in her stomach as she mentally prepared herself for what was to come.

  They’d written their vows separately. Willow had been panicked about hers for weeks, formulating endless drafts. She knew that with Ibrahim’s charm, stellar public speaking abilities and complete adoration for her, his vow would completely trump hers, but she was also sure that it would make her love him all the more.

  “Willow,” he began, his voice booming out over the crowd. “I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on you.”

  Willow pulled a face at the memory: she’d been sweating and frazzled, at the finish line of a marathon—in no shape to meet a sheikh. Little did she know, then, that she was meeting her future husband, the love of her life.

  “You were sweaty and exhausted, with your hair whipped back and your breath coming in bursts. I knew you were fit, just from reading about you in the paper, but even I couldn’t believe how strong you looked after twenty-six miles,” Ibrahim continued.

  “You looked like you could run another twenty-six miles, if you put your heart into it. And that’s been kind of standard, since knowing you. Once you put your heart into something, you really go for it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I adore you, Willow, and I think you are perfect. Thank you for making me see another side to life—one where I can spend the rest of it with you.”

  Willow sniffled, feeling tears begin to cascade down her cheeks. She willed them to stop, not wanting her mascara to run. Clearing her throat, she reached over to take the small piece of paper from Summer, then launched into her own vow:

  “Ibrahim, I never imagined I’d marry someone like you. A sheikh, one of the most powerful and handsome men in the world. But at the end of the day, that’s not all you are. You’re a kind and compassionate partner, who inspires me every day as we face the world, side by side and head-on, making it a better place. You’re my perfect partner in all things. I love you.”

  Seconds later, the minister blessed them, pronouncing them husband and wife. Ibrahim and Willow kissed passionately, with Ibrahim gripping her tightly at the waist. She pressed her body against his, never wanting to let go: and knowing, for the first time, that she didn’t have to.

  They walked hand in hand down the aisle, waving giddily at their friends and relatives. Willow blew kisses to her father and mother, along with the three chairs that had been set aside for Ibrahim’s father and brother, and Paul. When they reached the end of the aisle, they raced to the bright red sports car awaiting them outside, its engine already running.

  Ibrahim helped Willow into the passenger seat, tucking her gown around her, allowing her veil to flow behind. He dove into the driver’s seat, and they gave final, excited waves toward their guests, who had begun to flow out from the palace.

  “We really did it!” Ibrahim cheered. “We’re married, my love.”

  Unable to resist him, Willow leaned in and slid her hand along his cheeks, feeling the stubble begin to creep in. She kissed him deeply, unable to find the right words to translate her emotions. She couldn’t believe it had actually happened. They were on the other side of the main event.

  Now, they had the rest of their lives to live.

  When their kiss broke, Ibrahim stabbed his foot on the gas pedal and sped them out toward the coastline, where a large tent had been set up for their reception party. An enormous cake was already in pride of place, with figurines of a tall, dark-haired man and a petite blond woman pegged on top, holding one another tightly.

  The bride and groom, along with their guests, danced and sang and ate and drank far into the night, until the few dozen of them who had made it till midnight walked along the sand, gazing out at the moonlight over the waves.

  Everyone agreed it was the greatest party of their lives—one of the most vibrant and memorable in all of Rebaian history. And it carried on long into the early morning, hours after Willow and Ibrahim had snuck back to their newly-purchased penthouse apartment to make love, safe in the knowledge that they were each other’s, always.

  Epilogue

  Willow

  One Year Later

  “Babe? Hey?” Willow called out from the shower, feeling the stream of water pummel her back.

  It was nearly the end of October, and still the Houston heat hadn’t faded. Willow was taking two showers a day, just to feel fresh and awake.

  “What is it?” Ibrahim appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, gazing at her with the same loving eyes as their wedding day, almost a year before. He adjusted his cufflinks, his face calm and his smile sure. “Did you forget your towel again?”

  “Of course I did,” Willow said, laughing at herself—and at how well he knew her.

  Her husband reached into the linen closet and drew out a long, fuzzy white towel. He opened the door of the shower and wrapped her with in it with a tender motion, rubbing at her soft cheek and kissing her nose. The steam from the bathroom warmed them both, and Willow embraced him—dripping a bit on his sleeves.

  “Oh no. I’m getting you all messed up for your meeting,” she said, fretting.

  “I’d miss a thousand meetings for that hug,” Ibrahim said, kissing her sweetly. After a moment, during which they held one another’s gaze intensely, passionately, he drew back. “You’ll be ready to take the plane at six tonight, then? I think we can make it to Rebai by tomorrow afternoon. I have something big planned.”
/>   “I hope it’s nothing more than a bit of relaxing with your mom,” Willow said, sweeping her fingers through her wet hair. It was longer now, and more unruly than it had been the year before. But Ibrahim had told her he liked the change—he’d love her even if she shaved her whole head.

  “Of course we’ll have plenty of time with her,” Ibrahim said, winking. “But that doesn’t get you out of being treated by yours truly. I mean, can you imagine it? Someone has been married to me for an entire year…”

  “I lived through it, all right,” Willow said, giving him a girlish shrug. “Drive safe to your meeting, and I’ll see you at the airport!”

  Ibrahim rushed out after that, leaving Willow in the silence of the bathroom. Swiping her towel against the steamed-up mirror, she blinked at her reflection, reminiscing about the previous year. Goodness, had it really been an entire year? 365 days, 52 weeks? Every day had sizzled with such emotion, and filled her with more and more love for her husband.

  After a honeymoon in Paris, they’d returned to Houston and hunted for a house. After a few weeks of searching, they’d found the perfect place: a mini-mansion just outside of the city, one with a big yard and a giant oak tree and a pond. Neither of them had said the word “children” when they’d chosen it, but of course, children weren’t far from their minds. Already, Willow was twenty-six years old—the age her mother had been when she’d had her.

  Of course, Willow couldn’t imagine, yet, how they would find the time to have children. Ibrahim had built three more hotels in the previous six months, and was working on four more in California. They traveled together frequently, discovering the magic of the United States when they weren’t flying across the world to see Ibrahim’s mother back in Rebai, where they’d purchased another apartment to call home when they were in town.

  “How many miles have we traveled since we were married?” Willow had asked Ibrahim. “It must be millions,” she’d joked.

  A few months after the wedding, with their fundraising success showing no sign of slowing, Willow and Ibrahim had decided to found their own Jayne’s syndrome charity, for which Willow worked tirelessly. She was the spokesperson, and she worked endlessly at their downtown office, hiring people to host fundraisers and give speeches at big events, like football games.

  In the previous six months alone, they’d raised a quarter of a billion dollars for research and healthcare. And they were still growing all the time.

  As Willow packed her bag for their trip to Rebai, her phone lit up with a call from Summer. She’d just gone through a breakup, with an ex-lawyer who’d recently launched his own startup. He was great on paper, awful in person.

  Willow answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Willow!” Summer said. “I just wanted to check in with you before you left. Your flight’s this evening, yeah?”

  “Sure is,” Willow said. She perched on the edge of her and Ibrahim’s bed, gazing out their wide second-story window toward the downtown skyline. “How are you feeling, buttercup?”

  “Not great. I heard from Tom last night. He said that he really doesn’t think we should give it another shot. He’s so busy with the startup, and he says I’ll never make it as a real journalist. That I’ll always be writing fluff pieces…”

  “That’s nonsense,” Willow said, snorting. “You’re going to find someone else, Summer. There are a hundred guys in this city who deserve you much more than that idiot. And let’s not forget the dozens of propositions you got at the wedding—you’re an absolute catch!”

  Summer didn’t speak for a long moment. After a long, shuddering sigh, she whispered, “I know you’re right. But I guess I just hoped that he might change. The way Ibrahim did.”

  “I think Ibrahim was always like this,” Willow said, feeling her voice grow soft with emotion. “And you’ll find someone like him, too. I won’t rest until you’re sickeningly happy.”

  Summer laughed at that, and the girls hung up minutes later, with Summer feeling a bit more optimistic about her future. She was heading off to interview a local political activist about his work, hoping to write a feature on him for the Star.

  “And when you get back here in two weeks, we’re celebrating one year!” Summer told her, now with more pep in her voice. “And I promise I won’t mope. Not even for a minute.”

  “I’ve never seen you mope with a margarita in your hand,” Willow teased her. “Love you.”

  After packing, Willow called their driver, Ennis, to take her to the airfield, where she met with Ibrahim on the landing strip. Their private jet, glossy and gleaming in the last of the early-evening sunlight, awaited them.

  As they got situated within, Willow caught Ibrahim staring at her several times—seemingly unable to take his eyes off of her.

  “What has gotten into you?” she asked him, swatting his arm with a tender hand.

  “You know all too well what you do to me,” Ibrahim said, kissing her slowly, softly, as the plane’s engine cranked up beneath them. “As if I could resist you for even a moment.”

  They cuddled closely together on the thirteen-hour flight, with Willow placing her head on his shoulder and dozing on-and-off through several movies, television shows, and podcasts.

  Beyond their intense attraction to one another, Willow and Ibrahim had soon learned that their taste in movies, art, and writing was incredibly similar: meaning they spent much of their free time discussing character plots and directors and favorite scenes. When they grew particularly silly and drunk, they often discussed writing their own film.

  “But only when we’re done saving the world,” was what Willow always said in return, giggling before diving in for a kiss.

  For Willow, Rebai was familiar, and yet not. After visiting four times in the previous year, she knew the drive from the airport well and had memorized the bright colors, the life of the early afternoon and its beautiful, vibrant people.

  When the car pulled up outside Amira’s home, it felt too quick; Willow pined to soak up more of the city. Sometimes, she considered asking Ibrahim if they could split their time between Rebai and Houston, if only to bring more familiarity of his culture.

  It was a potential, in the future. As with all things.

  After greeting Amira with big hugs and kisses, and sitting with her for tea, Ibrahim announced that he and Willow had an affair to attend to near the coast. Amira gave Willow a mysterious look, her eyes glittering with secrecy.

  “Of course, darlings. You have to run along. Celebrate your anniversary. You deserve it. The first year is meant to be the hardest one of all, you know.”

  “If that was hard,” Ibrahim said, clutching Willow at the small of her waist and bringing her mouth toward his. “Then I can’t imagine how easy the next hundred will be.”

  The couple swept into the red sports car—their usual ride when in Rebai—and sped out toward the coast. Willow slid a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and gazed out at the waves, which seemed more volatile than on their last visit. They smashed against the rocks and sand, seeming to want to move mountains.

  Ibrahim parked the car near to a rocky cove, one that seemed oddly familiar. As Willow hopped from the side of the car, Ibrahim opened the trunk and brought out a bottle of champagne, along with a cooler filled with cheeses and smoked meats. He passed the champagne and glasses to her, carrying the cooler himself.

  “Do you remember that day we first told one another ‘I love you’?” he asked.

  Willow felt her heart soar with the memory. How their love had grown over their first few days in Rebai, making it almost irresistible not to touch one another. And then…when they had given in?

  Ibrahim had surprised her with brunch in a hot air balloon, with a long walk along the coast. And then, they had made love in that secret, rocky cove: unsure of where their love would take them, but so sure they would cling to it and follow it into the future.

  “That’s where it was. Wasn’t it?” Willow whispered, gesturing slightly with her head as th
e breeze playfully tugged on her sweeping strands of blond curls.

  “I wanted to bring you to the place where I first understood why fate had brought us together,” he said softly. “The place where I knew you’d be my bride.”

  Willow and Ibrahim walked in silence toward the cove, crawling over the rocks and finding a soft place in the sand, outside of the whipping wind. Ibrahim uncorked the champagne with a flourish, pouring them two glasses of champagne as Willow arranged the small platter of snacks.

  Ibrahim stood, removing his socks and shoes and dipping his feet into the sand. He lifted his glass of champagne toward Willow, whose face erupted in a broad smile.

  “Willow, when I see you, I see our entire future reflected in your smile. I hear it in your laugh,” he said. “I don’t want to be anywhere else but right here with you, in this cove, facing the world. Thank you for being mine for one entire year. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Willow rose up on her feet and clinked her glass to his, her lips trembling with desire and emotion. The couple shared a deep, long kiss, bodies and minds and hearts filled with excitement to spend the rest of their lives together, in perfect, fairy-tale harmony.

  The End

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  The Sheikh’s Priceless Bride

  Time for a tease!

  Up next I’ve included the first few chapters of my last book, The Sheikh’s Priceless Bride, a sweet and gripping romance that I think you’ll just love!

  Copyright 2018 by Holly Rayner

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