The Sheikh's Contract Bride Page 15

  Over the next few days, the gifts continued. On Tuesday, a large cheese plate, from all regions of Europe, arrived on her desk. Another day, three bottles of vintage red wine. Another day, a selection of imported French chocolates, which she considered throwing away but eventually donated to the office candy box.

  She tossed away the note each time, telling herself that the Sheikh’s words would only poison her mind. Even a single, “You seem interesting,” or “I would really like to get to know you,” would probably topple her over the edge and into his arms.

  And she couldn’t let herself falter to his powers.

  When she discussed the presents with Zarina, her friend’s eyes flickered with jealousy. “How on earth did he find you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the restaurant?”

  “Maybe he just knows everyone in this city,” Zarina hummed. “Do you think he’d know me?”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Zarina,” Tiffany laughed. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. His valet tells him who has which name, and when and where they’re from. You know that.”

  “Sure. But you’re getting some really fine presents out of it. Milk that for all it’s worth, I say,” Zarina said, laughing. “And if you need help eating that chocolate…”

  “You’ll be the first one I reach out to,” Tiffany said, her eyes rolling. She felt she was in the midst of a real crisis, one she couldn’t discuss with anyone without sounding like she was actually “interested” in the Sheikh, or that she’d set the whole thing up to get closer to him.

  This wasn’t who she was, or how she’d set out to live her life. She’d been a total stranger to love, until this false form of it had interrupted her daily life.

  She didn’t know where she wanted it to lead. She knew, in her heart, that she would be safer ignoring him, safer sticking to the quiet life she had built for herself.

  She also knew, beyond all doubt, that she didn’t want it to stop.

  Chapter Four

  On Thursday evening, Tiffany stretched out on her bed alone—another in a long stream of nights alone—and stared into the darkness around her. She couldn’t push thoughts of the Sheikh from her mind, and found herself daydreaming about him: what it would feel to have his hand over hers, what people would say if they saw them out together, what the magazines would write about her! The thoughts were foolish, bizarre, and glittering with childishness. But she couldn’t help but daydream about him until she fell into slumber, knowing that this bout of excitement couldn’t possibly last forever.

  Early the next morning, the jangling of an acoustic guitar cut through her open window. Tiffany’s eyes popped open, and she blinked several times, trying to remember the day, the time, the reason she was awake. Rolling off her mattress, she crept toward the open window and peered down to see a tall, lanky man, holding a guitar and singing a love song.

  “If only, if only, Tiffany would hold me…” he began. “I’d be the happiest man in the desert. She’s the only water I need…”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes. Her stomach clenched with the humor of it, knowing that the Sheikh had pulled out every faux-romantic stop. Suddenly, she found herself mildly impressed, almost touched. Mid-song, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and bolted down the staircase, into the street below. She allowed herself to feel the depth of the song, leaning against the brick wall behind her and falling into waves of lust and excitement. Glancing around her, she wished that the Sheikh would burst out from behind a pillar and greet her in the warm light of the morning.

  The song was over far too soon. The guitarist waved his hand, and then bowed his head, letting his curls fall forward over his face. Tiffany clapped her hands and cheered her approval.

  “That was gorgeous,” she said, her smile stretching wide. She felt like a blubbering fool. But after a week of being wooed, of presents thrown at her, of experiencing luxury in a way she’d never dreamed, she couldn’t help it. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Thank you, my dear. You seem to have completely captured the heart of my client,” the guitarist said. He reached into his front pocket and drew out a small envelope, which he then gave to her. Tiffany inhaled the scent of deep, expensive cologne, which made her stomach tighten with excitement. “It’s from my client,” the guitarist explained. “He requests that you read it before making your final decision.”

  Tiffany placed the envelope against her chest and watched as the guitarist spun toward the road, the guitar still strapped against his stomach. He flicked at the strings, whistling along to the song he’d just given her. Tiffany watched him until he was out of sight, and she could no longer hear the notes of the guitar.

  Without waiting another moment, Tiffany opened the letter, tearing the envelope along the top. The sun blasted against her cheeks and glittered against the paper, making her blink wildly. The scrawl was oddly personal, like the handwriting of a dear friend, rather than the future Sheikh of the country.

  She began to read:

  My dear Tiffany,

  This will be my last attempt at contacting you. I’m sure this comes as a surprise. After the chocolates and cheeses and flowers and attention I’ve thrown at you, how could it end so abruptly? I may be a stubborn man, but I am not stupid. If you do not respond to this final attempt at contact, I will let this infatuation fade away. It is the nature of life.

  This is what I’d like for you to do, if you so choose. I’d like for you to meet me at the pier at 7 o’clock this evening, and be sure to bring a bathing suit. I won’t tell you anything else about this, as surprises are some of the most beautiful things we can create in one another’s lives. I’d like to do that for you, if you so choose. And if not, I will leave you alone. Forever.

  Yours (at least for one day more),

  Sheikh Kazra El-Youradi

  Tiffany held the paper tightly in her hands. Her first inclination was to ignore the letter, stay home and continue a long trajectory of nights spent alone and indoors. But then, with a stab of sudden energy, she realized that if she didn’t say yes to this—if she didn’t take this one, singular chance—then she might be dooming herself to a lifetime of Friday nights alone. And was that truly what she wanted?

  A car whooshed past on the road, jolting her out of her reverie. Blinking wildly, Tiffany burst up the steps toward her apartment, realizing she was going to be late for work. As the water poured over her in the shower, she played the letter’s words over and over in her head.

  I am a stubborn man, but I am not stupid.

  God, his arrogance. It folded over her, making her yearn to be with him, to feel that ego bumping against her. She wanted to feel anger and excitement and happiness and fear, all bottled up at once. She wanted to open her arms to emotion; she’d been hiding from it for so long.

  “Fine,” she whispered to herself, as she pulled a brush through her wet hair. “I’ll go. I’ll do this one, horrible thing. But if it fails, then I won’t leave my house for another five years.” Her eyes burned in the mirror, filling her with wave after wave of excitement. Her body was suddenly, wonderfully, alive.

  The day went by horribly slowly, with each minute feeling like an hour, each second stretching itself out. Tiffany glared at the clock on the wall, marking time. Every problem that came into the travel company seemed silly, with tourists mistaking dates and times and blaming the issues on Tiffany, rather than their own bad organizational skills. Tiffany found herself huffing in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, her eyes wide.

  “I can’t take another one of those phone calls,” she informed Mallory in a huff. “If they’re not intelligent enough to figure out even one element of their vacation to Al Barait, then I don’t think we want them here.”

  Mallory chuckled, giving her a bright eye. “I’ve never heard you say anything like that before! Let me guess, you’re just sour because you didn’t receive any presents today. I mean, you threw almost all of the others away. Except for that cheese I rescued. It’s still i
n the fridge, if you want some.”

  “Ha,” Tiffany chortled, feeling her stomach clench. She lowered her voice. “I actually did get a present this morning.”

  Mallory’s eyebrows began to dance across her face. “Oh?” She leaned forward conspiratorially, her coffee swirling slightly in her mug. “And why on earth are you being so secretive about the sender, my girl?”

  Tiffany stifled a smile. “I’m in over my head.”

  “He’s really in love with you, isn’t he?” Mallory laughed. “And you’re finally coming around to the idea? Here I thought you were our own office ice queen!”

  “Nothing’s happened yet,” Tiffany said, sliding her fingers through her hair. “Although I will tell you, I’ve agreed to a first date. Tonight.”

  She felt her throat tighten with excitement. Why was she allowing herself to fall down the rabbit hole of emotion? And why had no one ever told her it felt so damn good?

  Lightning fast, Mallory’s hand gripped Tiffany’s arm, squeezing her bicep tight. “I never thought I’d see the day when you actually had decent Friday plans!” she said, laughing. “What does he have planned for you, this mysterious man?”

  “He’s said to arrive at the pier at seven,” Tiffany said in an excited whisper. “With just my bathing suit. That’s all I know!”

  “A surprise first date,” Mallory sighed, looking wistful. “God, to be young again.”

  “The thing is,” Tiffany continued. “I’d already written this guy off as a complete jerk.”

  “That might just be a good thing, my dear,” Mallory said, pouring herself another cup of coffee. “The arrogant ones make us women go wild. Read any romance novel. Watch any movie. The cocky bastards are the ones we lust after, every single time. The nice guys miss out. It’s just the law of the land.”

  Mallory’s words echoed in Tiffany’s mind the rest of the day, until she began packing up for her journey over to the pier. She remembered the anger that had sizzled through her when she’d seen the Sheikh at the restaurant: oh, how she’d wanted to slap him across the face! That crooked grin, the five o’clock shadow, and the darkness in his eyes—he was the most attractive, most hopeful person she’d ever seen in her life. What did it mean to latch herself to someone like that? Did it mean she would burn out all too soon?

  Tiffany arrived at the pier a few minutes before seven. She stood, feeling jittery, and leaned against a signpost, gazing out over the water. The water that swirled against the docks made the boats bump against the wood. People had begun to gather for their own Friday night festivities, stretching blankets out and arranging picnics. Lovers walked, hand in hand, as the sun continued to shine brightly overhead.

  She realized, then, that while all this life had existed just a mile or so from her apartment, she’d spent the majority of her Friday nights locked away in her kitchen, eating takeout pizza, or else sitting chatting with Zarina. Why hadn’t she agreed to life before this?

  She saw the Sheikh out of the corner of her eye, stepping from a long, black limousine. He was dressed in an immaculate suit and wearing sunglasses, a far cry from the traditional garb he often wore.

  Immediately, Tiffany’s heart began to hammer with anticipation. She tucked her hair behind her ear, shifting slightly and pretending not to notice him until he got too close. Despite feigning ignorance, she still noticed the strength of his body, his biceps stretching the fabric of the suit, the way his hair swept back slightly with the breeze off the water. He was the perfect portrait of a prince: tall, dark, and handsome, with a knowing smirk on his face. For a long minute, she forgot to breathe.

  “I can’t believe you came,” he said when he approached. “The infamous Tiffany, finally answering my call.”

  Tiffany turned, her eyes wide and bright. Immediately, she made eye contact with him and felt her tongue freeze with apprehension. How was she supposed to answer that?

  “Hi,” she said, her voice high and awkward.

  Oh my God, she thought. How on earth was she going to get through this date? She gazed down at her shoes for a moment, trying to rework her thoughts. She felt as though she were back at school, called on in the middle of class without the answer.

  “It’s good to see you,” the Sheikh continued, his voice a bit softer now.

  Tiffany straightened her shoulders, trying to find her confidence once more. “It’s good to see you, too.” She blinked twice, making eye contact once more. “Thank you for this morning, you’ve chosen a perfect spot.”

  “I couldn’t think of a better place to convince you that I’m not a literal piece of garbage,” the Sheikh continued. “I know I came across that way last week. And I’m sure, if you have any interaction with the newspapers or the tabloids, you have a good sense of how they perceive me as well.”

  “You’re saying it’s not all true?” Tiffany asked.

  “I’m saying there’s more to the story. There’s more to every story.” He took a firm step closer, his eyebrows lowering. “As I’m sure there’s a story to you, as well.”

  Tiffany waited, unsure of what to say. The water rushed against the pier with more force, as a large boat approached. She eyed the Ferris wheel, on the far side of the pier, and watched as the little cars tracked across the sky. The Sheikh gave her that crooked smile again, making her heart leap into her throat.

  “That’s actually my first plan,” he said, as though reading her mind. “There’s a reason people fall for each other on Ferris wheels.”

  “Fall for each other?” Tiffany said, finding herself laughing once more. “You think I’m going to fall for you up there?”

  “I think, at least, you’ll hear me out a little bit more,” the Sheikh continued. “You’ll have nothing else to do, besides look down at the ground. And everyone knows better than to do that.”

  Shrugging, Tiffany aligned her stride with the Sheikh’s and walked beside him toward the Ferris wheel, feeling the wind whip through her hair. Her hand nearly touched his as they walked. She inhaled the scent of him: his cologne, and something else. Perhaps just his essence. As they walked, people eyed them suspiciously, as if they couldn’t comprehend how a woman like her could be walking alongside someone so handsome.

  “I’m surprised to see you in a suit,” she said, her voice catching.

  “It’s so I can be out in public without the paparazzi following us,” the Sheikh said, slipping his hand along her shoulder. Was it a friendly touch, or something more? “I like to pretend I’m one of the people, sometimes. Only when it’s convenient, of course.” He winked at her.

  Wait. What? Tiffany frowned, disliking the way he so clearly separated himself from the people he would one day rule.

  Before she could speak again, however, they were ushered into a small car on the Ferris wheel. Their feet hung down below as a metal bar swept over their stomachs. The car lifted from the ground, and she drew in a deep breath as the car swung. She lost all her irritation for him, focusing instead of not panicking. But as the waves of fear rolled through her, the Sheikh placed his hand over hers, clinging onto it tightly.

  Tiffany allowed her eyes to flicker toward his. For a long moment, she clung to his hand. He smiled as they swept from the ground and into the bright blue sky. For a sudden, strange moment, Tiffany felt as if she’d known him her entire life. But, just as quickly as she felt it, it passed through her and away.

  She nodded, giving him a soft smile. “Sorry. I’m just a bit afraid of heights. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the air, I’d forgotten.”

  The Sheikh chuckled, releasing her hand. “See? You already hate me a little bit less, don’t you?”

  Tiffany allowed her eyes to roll back. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she teased.

  “No, no,” he said. His eyes were dark and deep. “I really must apologize. For belittling you. For making you think I was this horrible, selfish person, wanting to tower over the rest of the world. I’m really not like that.”

  “Okay,” Tiffany wh
ispered. To their right, the Persian Gulf stretched out, long and wide. It felt impossible to imagine that land could exist anywhere on the other side. Al Barait was the only thing that existed, in her eyes now.

  “You believe me?” the Sheikh asked her, his voice hesitant.

  “I know that you have to present a particular face to the world,” Tiffany breathed, still gazing out over the water. “And I know that, until now, I was a part of that world. Thank you for allowing me to see something else.”

  “I want you to know the real me,” the Sheikh said. He squeezed her hand a final time, making her spine shiver with excitement.

  Was this really happening?

  When they reached the bottom of the Ferris wheel, the Sheikh helped her from the metal car and guided her back toward the boardwalk, where he pointed to her small bag. “I hope you brought a bathing suit?”

  “I’m not the kind of girl who doesn’t follow instructions,” Tiffany laughed, feeling suddenly loose with him. “Tell me. What kind of adventure do you have in store for us?”

  The Sheikh thrust out his elbow for her to take. She pulled her arm through his, linking her body to him, and then followed him down the boardwalk. After a long pause, he pointed towards a speedboat, striking through the waves. “That’s for us,” he said.

  “A boat ride?” Tiffany asked, her heart hammering. “Really?”

  “A bit more than that, my dear,” the Sheikh said, smirking.

  When the boat bobbed against the far dock, the Sheikh put out his hand and shook the hand of the captain, a tanned and muscular boatman who was missing two or three of his teeth.

  The boatman jumped out from his position behind the wheel, trading places with the Sheikh. The Sheikh then put his hand out for Tiffany’s, and when she took it, he guided her into the boat beside him. He waved a sturdy hand toward the boatman, saying, “I’ll have it back here after sundown.”