The Sheikh's Bride Bet Read online

  I felt my stomach fill with rage. But I forced myself to keep my mouth closed, to hold everything in. My mother’s next appointment with the doctor, happening in the next few hours, made my mind grow heavy. I had to remain focused on the date, nodding along. I had to listen. I had to obey.

  Rami continued to blather on, telling me more about his older brother, Adil, who lived abroad; about his mother, and his father, their family traditions, and what I would have to wear and do and say when I inevitably met them.

  He spoke about it all in such a detached way, as if these were just steps on a career path. I almost asked him several times if he thought I should draw up my resume, but held my tongue. The world around me had begun to spin. I allowed my chin to fall to my chest, and dropped my burger to the table, half-eaten.

  Out of nowhere, my eyes started filling with tears. I tried to hold them back, but they overflowed, streaming silently down my cheeks. I grabbed the bar top in an attempt to steady myself.

  Beside me, Rami was sipping at his beer, still focused on his own story, his own words, but I had lost them almost completely. After a long, horrible moment, I lifted myself from my bar stool, gazing at Rami.

  Finally, Rami saw me. His lips parted, taking in the vision of this woman he hardly knew, crying in front of him. Tilting his head, he said, “Darling, why are you crying?”

  I couldn’t think of an answer beyond the truth. I stuttered slightly, waiting for the words to come.

  “You want to call it off, don’t you?” Rami said, his voice growing solemn. “You don’t want to go through with it. Even when this could be the single greatest event of your life, Angie. I mean, knowing my family, being a part of it—it’s beyond most people’s wildest dreams.”

  I gripped the stool in front of me, trying to stay upright. I inhaled deeply, willing myself to stay calm. “This isn’t about your family. It isn’t even really about you,” I told him, my voice shaking. “I don’t want to call off the deal, no. It’s just… It’s a lot for me to handle right now, is all.”

  “Why?” Rami demanded, his voice softening slightly.

  To the side, Tommy had begun to ease into the front of the restaurant, before spotting our altercation. He drew back, lifting a cigarette from his pocket. He flipped it into his mouth and lit it, his eyes on me. I wondered how much he could possibly understand.

  “My mother’s sick,” I told Rami suddenly, my voice low. “She needs surgery soon, but we don’t have the money to pay for it. Since she got her diagnosis, I’ve sent paycheck after paycheck home, for the radiation and the chemotherapy and whatever else, but whatever I make will never be enough for the surgery. Not without your…input.”

  Rami didn’t speak. When I finally forced myself to look into his eyes, they were gleaming, filled with a surprising amount of compassion. I felt a flicker of understanding within him, for perhaps the first time.

  As the tears continued to flow down my cheeks, I waited, watching, as he brought his hands over mine on the stool. He eased his thumb over my palm, over and over and over again, trying to calm me down. And after a moment, it worked. I felt my thoughts begin to slow. I felt my heart stop its hammering.

  “I know there’s nothing I can say to make you feel better,” Rami said softly.

  He was right. And yet, just the fact that he understood this unique thing about heartache endeared him to me. I blinked several times, finding a small smile forming on my lips. For the first time since meeting Rami, I saw something beyond his incredible, handsome looks—something deeper.

  Suddenly, with a flourish, Rami turned his left hand to his pocket and drew out a small, black box. He tapped it on the counter, beside my half-eaten burger. I looked at it for a long moment, feeling my heart begin to flutter.

  “Is that…?” I asked, cocking my head.

  “You don’t have to open it now if you don’t want to,” Rami said, his voice low. “But just know that I’m here for you to help with this. I know that this silly marriage is much, much smaller than your real problems. But if you help me with this…” He reached to the side, tapping a long finger on the top of the engagement ring box, “then I think both of our problems will go away. Like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  Reaching to the side, feeling somehow lighter, fresher, without the weight of my mother’s illness on my shoulders, I drew the black box toward me. I opened it, watching as the ring glittered in the soft light of the grungy bar. It was a strange mix, the ring and Tommy’s.

  “It was my grandmother’s,” Rami said, taking the ring from my hands and slipping it over my finger. “And now, it belongs to you.”

  I gave him a soft smile, unsure of this wave of genuine energy. But after seconds of silence, I felt strength enough to reach toward him and give him a hug. I placed my cheek against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne.

  Again, my heart fluttered. But I ignored it, knowing that nothing true could ever grow between us. We were orchestrating a plan, each of us, separately—but together. That was all.

  At the end of the night, I agreed to let Rami take me home in his convertible. With the top down, the breeze blasted through my hair, bringing my head back against the seat. Rami played music I didn’t recognize, with a quick beat and vibrant vocals, and I allowed my brain to fall away from thoughts of my mother—at least, for a few minutes. It was freeing.

  “So, do you want to do this again sometime?” Rami asked me, after following me up to my apartment door. He scratched at the back of his neck, giving me heavy eye contact. Again, my stomach lurched with sudden—strange—desire.

  “We are engaged, aren’t we?” I asked him, giving a sneaky smile.

  “I don’t think we should announce it for another week,” Rami told me. “The timeline is a bit fast, even for how alluring and irresistible I am…” At this, he gave me a wink, proving he was in on the joke. He knew that I sensed his arrogance.

  “That’s fine with me,” I told him. I slipped off the ring and put it back in the box, feeling my finger grow lighter without it. “It’s better this way. Less explaining to my coworkers.”

  Again, Rita’s face flashed through my mind. Her judgmental, watchful eye. At this rate, she was the only friend I had in this area of Al-Jarra. The only one who cared if I lived or died. Beyond Rami, I supposed. As I was intrinsic to his plan.

  “All right. I’ll pick you up for dinner in a few days,” he told me. “You can pick the restaurant this time.”

  “You picked perfectly,” I told him, feeling the truth of it fill me. “Seriously. It brought me right back home. Thank you for that.”

  A few nights later, Rami’s convertible pulled up out front of my apartment building, gleaming in the last orange light of the evening. Surprising even myself, I’d dressed in a glittering golden dress, and applied lipstick—making myself out to be a much more luxurious and worldly person than my South Dakotan identity should have allowed. When I reached his car, Rami ran around the back, opening the door for me.

  “Wow,” he said. “You clean up good.”

  “How eloquent of you to say,” I said, teasing him. “But I did request we go to a higher-end restaurant this time. I figured I should look the part.”

  “You’re learning,” Rami said, chuckling.

  I’d chosen an Indian restaurant owned by chef Julien Pierre, a man who’d been born to French parents living in India. This allowed for a strange fusion of Indian and French food, and the results were delightful.

  Our starters, miniature tartlets flavored with a mix of Indian spices, made me close my eyes with pleasure. It had been a long time since I’d tasted anything so luxurious. Maybe I never had.

  “So tell me about your job,” Rami said, sipping his wine.

  Surprised at the question, my face grew blank. I blinked twice, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because, silly. I need to know about you, if we’re going to pull this off. And honestly, I’m surprised and impr
essed with anyone who makes teaching their career. It takes a certain level of patience to be with kids all day. Especially, what, seven-year-olds?”

  “They’re seven and eight,” I said, feeling my lips curve with pleasure. Why did this man make me smile, as if on cue? “And honestly, I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Every day, they teach me something new. They give me an understanding of this world, and about what it means to learn a new language. And beyond that, they’re whip-smart at math and endlessly creative…” I trailed off, sensing that I was blathering on.

  But Rami’s eyes seemed bright, genuinely curious. “I can’t imagine many are smart enough to see the small, beautiful details of teaching life…” he said.

  The compliment seemed like it slipped out of his mouth. I felt my cheeks grow red with a heavy blush. My eyes danced around the room, looking at anything and anyone but him. A wave of desire washed over me, forcing me to swallow sharply, to root myself back in reality again. No. The Sheikh wasn’t someone I could fall for.

  As our conversation progressed, another French-inspired Indian dish arrived. The wine flowed freely, and we ordered another bottle.

  Around us, cameras flashed, potentially from paparazzi. But I didn’t care at all. In the past half hour, Rami hadn’t bragged once about his good looks, nor had he gone on about the intelligence, abilities and incredible wealth of his family members. Rather, he’d met me where I was—giving me empathy, in a world that had felt void and cold.

  I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with my feelings, so after Rami had dropped me off that night, I tried to stamp them out as best as I could—tossing a bit more wine down my throat and staring at the ceiling in my bedroom, counting to ten.

  When I finally felt my eyelids close and drifted off to sleep, it was long after midnight, but my heart still fluttered with excitement, as if it knew something I didn’t.

  Chapter 10

  Rami

  Angie and I committed to the fake engagement, with a staged date the following week. When I got down on one knee, I felt the room erupt around me. Flashes of cameras, the paparazzi calling my name… It was everything I could have ever wanted. At least, if I was going to prove myself against Alim.

  “Of course I’ll marry you!” Angie said, giving me a soft kiss on the lips.

  The scene held none of the passion a proper marriage proposal was meant to. I knew that, but I also knew not to expect anything more from her. Her brain spun with a million worries. It spun with knowledge of her mother’s illness, knowing that any day, her father might call with bad news. I couldn’t imagine the heaviness of that. Simply trying to imagine it made my heart ache.

  I met with Alim the morning after the engagement. When I entered the cafe, Alim gave me a sneaky grin. He stood from his seat, reaching across the table and shaking my hand. His grip was firm, certain—the very one that made him one of the top oil tycoons in the country.

  “So, you’ve done it,” he said, his eyes glittering. “I can’t quite believe it.”

  “Your doubt was simply misplaced, my friend,” I told him, sliding into the booth across from him just as two steaming cappuccinos were placed before us.

  “I see that, I suppose…” Alim squinted his eyes at me, almost trying to dive behind my own dark pupils. “I have to say, though, I smell something fishy.”

  I felt my heart pump in my chest. “What could be fishy about it?” I asked, coughing up a laugh. “I asked her in public last night. Everyone saw it. Everyone took photographs, congratulated us. Champagne was brought to our table, and we drank the entire bottle. Angie passed out afterwards, exhausted from all the excitement.”

  It was true that Angie had passed out. But she’d done so in my guest bedroom, slipping beneath the thick sheets and letting her head fall heavy on the pillow. I’d snapped off the light, giving her privacy, before returning to my room alone.

  “Well, know that I won’t be paying up until after your wedding,” Alim said, sipping his coffee. “In case you thought you could get out of it. Take the money and run, as they say.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you to be a fool, Alim,” I told him, feeling my throat constrict.

  “So you’re really going to go through with it? Marry this stranger, just for five million dollars?” Alim asked me, trying to poke holes in my winnings. “It takes balls to ruin your life, my friend.”

  “She’s in love with me,” I told him, lifting my chin. “She can’t get enough of me. Just as I told you she would be. And honestly, Alim, I can’t imagine a better girl to be with. She’s smart, she has good taste in music, in art, in film…”

  As I heard myself speak, I recognized that I was no longer lying. Angie was one of the most fascinating women I’d ever had the pleasure of speaking with. She didn’t chitchat aimlessly, like some of the girls I’d dated; she didn’t shower me with compliments just because of who I was; and when she did open her mouth, she did so with grace, with reason, and with humor. Our conversations stretched far into the night.

  “Have you spoken with your parents yet?” Alim asked me, his eyes glinting. “What do you think they’ll think of your engagement to an American girl, hey?”

  With a sudden stab, I realized I hadn’t yet called my parents. I knew that news of the engagement would be plastered all over the papers, with flashy photographs of mine and Angie’s stale kiss reaching all corners of the internet.

  “You know they’ll have wanted you to marry a woman from Al-Jarra,” Alim said, looking at me knowingly. “You’re really ripping into that, aren’t you?”

  I chuckled, trying to throw off a sudden wave of anxiety. “You rascal. You knew if it got this far, my parents would be on your side, ready to buck off the bet and put it in your favor,” I told him, chuckling, “but you didn’t count on true love, did you?”

  “All right, Rami,” Alim said. “Sure. If you call it true love, then I guess I can’t ignore it. Can’t wait for that wedding, my man. I’ll have the best speech prepared. One all about the lasting qualities of true love.” He gave me a wink, a look I couldn’t shake from my brain for hours after the fact.

  I still sensed that Alim could see beyond my words, to the core behind my lies. But I had to press forward, keep up the ruse. Angie and I had gone too far to turn back now.

  Chapter 11

  Angie

  I fiddled with the newspaper on the counter in my apartment, lifting my phone up to my ear. I shuddered, going over the words I would have to say, over and over again. On the paper, an image of my face: bright-eyed, with a big smile. Rami beside me, the word “ENGAGED!” brazenly stretched out above us. This was my life now, no matter how false it rang.

  My father picked up the phone first, bringing with it the gruff warmth I’d grown so accustomed to.

  “Hi, sweetie,” he said. “How are you doing all the way over there?”

  “Good,” I said automatically. I heard my voice spike. “I was hoping I could talk to Mom today, if she’s feeling up to it?”

  I heard my father’s feet fall heavily on the other end, as he paced around our kitchen. The aging floorboards always squeaked. I ached to be inside our farmhouse, to smell the baked breads and spices. To inhale the fresh, chilly air.

  “She just woke up,” my dad said cheerfully, though I could hear the strain in his voice. “Which means you’re in luck!”

  “Wonderful,” I said, keeping up his ruse. “Thank you.”

  I heard them muttering in the background—something about me, and then something about how my mother was feeling. After a moment, I heard my mother’s voice, sleepy yet sure.

  “Angie. Hello!”

  “Hi, Momma,” I told her, grinning brightly. I stared hard at the white wall in my own kitchen, trying to visualize her face. Always, this practice made me miss her like mad. I ached to see her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad, baby,” she told me. “We hadn’t heard from you in few days.”

  “I know, Mom. A lot has been going on,�
�� I told her, feeling my voice catch. “It won’t happen again. I can promise you that.”

  In fact, I wanted to blurt out, I might be able to come home soon to visit! Armed with all that cash… But I held it back, knowing that would reveal too much at once. Too much, too soon.

  “I have some news,” I began, my voice sounding falsely hopeful. “It’s pretty big.”

  “Wow. Okay. You never have news,” my mother said, chuckling. “What is it?”

  Just say it, I told myself.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, feeling my throat constrict. “I’m engaged, actually,” I finally sputtered.

  I heard my mother inhale sharply. After a long moment, she said, “Engaged?”

  “Yes,” I said, forcing myself through. “We’ve only been together a short while. It’s moving pretty quickly.”

  “I should say so,” Mom said, bumbling. “My, my, my. Well, I have to say I’m a bit hurt that you didn’t mention anything about him before now.”

  Her words were like a stab to my heart. Of course my mother would feel this way. Normally, we told one another everything. That was our way. We had limited time together. We had no reason to hold anything back.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain,” I told her, feeling the heaviness of my words. “But he’s…erm…” How was I supposed to explain Rami, when he’d flip-flopped in my mind so many times? I landed the one thing that was certain. “He’s very, very handsome.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t imagine you’d latch onto anyone else,” my mother said. “I have to say, I’m burning with about a million different questions…”

  “Let’s stop talking about me,” I said, chuckling. “Really, it’s not that interesting. We met one another, and we knew we wanted to be married. That was pretty much it.”

  “And his name?”

  “It’s Rami,” I said, feeling dizzy. My stomach felt constricted. I swam with dizziness. “But what about you, Mom? You had a doctor’s appointment yesterday afternoon?”