The Sheikh's Accidental Bride (8 page)

“I won’t organize it, though,” he continued. “If we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, this is going to need to be a partnership.”

It was tongue in cheek, but it was still strange to hear those words coming out of his mouth. He was the rich prince, with an old-fashioned wedding arrangement. The man who had carried her to her bed. He was chivalrous and there was something classic and old-fashioned about him.

But talking to him now, he seemed more at ease. She could see him as the man he must have been at Columbia and at Stanford. A college student, just as she had been, although admittedly he had never had to wait outside in the line at a financial aid office.

Nadya imagined taking Salman on any of the dates she’d been on, and had to laugh. The one where they’d gone to a theater production that was supposed to be somewhat experimental, only to find out that it was
very
experimental, was a particular favorite.

“What?” he asked, defensively, like he thought she must have been making fun of him.

“I don’t think the kind of date I would plan would suit you,” she said.

“How would you know unless you tried me?”

He had her at that.

“Anyway,” he said, “I’m sure you know New York better than I do.”

It struck Nadya, again, how little she knew about the women she was impersonating. It would have been easier if she’d known all along that the other Nadya was familiar with New York, and she didn’t have to pretend she was a stranger to the city.

Still, she hesitated. She knew where she would bring him, if he was serious, and if she dared. Rudy’s, an underground punk club out in Brooklyn, was a place that had formed her. They’d been a bit fast and loose with IDs back in the day, and that, combined with the fact that it was far enough away from where her family lived that she and her friends weren’t likely to be recognized had made it a mainstay for her little crew. They had so many memories there, it was like the place had a glow around it when she pictured it in her mind.

Taking him there would be a lot like taking her here must have been for him. It was a part of her. It was what she chose for herself.

“I really don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said, unsurely.

“I insist,” he said, just as she’d hoped he would.

The tears she’d been crying just moment before were forgotten, now. She wanted to see his face as they went out to Brooklyn. She wanted to see him see the city. She wanted to see him see how the night looked through the cigarette smoke in the alley out back, when they wanted a break from the din inside. But Nadya’s growing excitement was punctured by a thought.

“Even if you wanted to go wherever I’d take you, I doubt your security would let you.”

He pulled back, so that he could look in her eyes. “We’ll see what we can do about that.” He winked. He had a mischievous side.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? He had sides to him that she hadn’t gotten to see, and she’d liked the sides she’d seen already so much that she wanted to see them all. Whatever the risk.

He stood, and positioned himself in front of her, reaching his hands out for hers, gently rubbing her fingers with his thumbs when she gave them to him.

“Two of them break for dinner at 7:30. Only Ahmed will be on duty. And he’s… more agreeable.”

She imagined him, when he was in college, slipping away from his bodyguards to go for walks alone, in the city. He struck her as the sort that would do that. He’d slip away to go think deep thoughts walking the city blocks, while she’d slip away from her parents to go dancing in an outer borough.

“Yes?” he asked her, pulling her out of her imagination.

“Yes,” she said. And then he pulled her up and towards him, so that she rested against him, her arms around his neck, and his lips near her ear. It happened so suddenly that she didn’t have time to react.

“It’s really is ok,” he whispered. “I promise you.”

And then he turned and pulled her towards the helicopter, and the bright allure of the city that it would carry them to.

EIGHT

A part of Nadya wanted to spend her every waking moment with Salman. But when they arrived back at the hotel, the part of her that was exhausted from the deception and needed a moment to breathe won out.

“All right,” he said. “Then I’ll see you at eight?”

She was confused – weren’t they meeting at 6:30? But then she saw him wink again.

“Yes,” she agreed with a grin. “Eight sharp.”

She went back to her suite-within-a-suite, intending to sleep. They’d gone to bed late the night before, and she’d woken up early in her failed bid to escape. Then between the bowling, the walking, the swimming and the stress of her little emotional breakdown, she’d tired herself out completely.

Rudy’s would be an adventure, one way or another. Either they would get on well with it, and the two of them would be dancing all night, or it would all crumble around her, she’d be found out, and the night would be exhausting for all the wrong reasons. Regardless, she needed to be prepared.

She turned on her phone, making sure to silence it, and avoided looking at all the missed calls and messages. She couldn’t deal with them right now. She set an alarm, got under the covers, and tried to drift off for a few hours.

But her mind was too alive with worry and excitement, curiosity and fear. She felt like her body was buzzing; the nap she’d been fantasizing about was within her grasp, but her body wouldn’t let her.

She needed to calm down and, after her dip in the lake, what she really needed was a shower. She’d already eyed up the giant bathtub in the bathroom. It was a thing of beauty, positioned directly underneath another skylight, all custom, modern curves and hidden jets. It was a wonder, Nadya thought in passing, that they were able to find room for a helipad on the roof with all the holes they’d poked through it for the sake of natural light.

Around the tub were a wide variety of creams, oils and bubble baths. All fair trade, organic, exotic, or some combination of the above, no doubt. While the tub filled, she took her time selecting what she would use. She’d only get one chance at it, so she’d better make it good.

She didn’t recognize some of the scents. Many of the labels were in Arabic, and she wondered if it was the hotel that had done it, or someone in Salman’s employ. Either way, the customized options were wasted on her. Eventually she stopped reading the labels entirely. She started flipping open the lids, making snap judgements, and putting them down again. She figured she’d go through all of them once, but she was no more than two thirds of the way through when she hit one that made her stop. It was a familiar scent.

She looked at the label. Honeysuckle. She’d made her decision. None of the others would do.

She drizzled the oil in with the last of the water needed to fill the tub, and watched as the oil distorted the light flowing through to the water, making patterns on the bottom of the tub. Then she threw in some bubbles, just for fun. Why mess with a classic?

She peeled off the clothes that Salman had loaned her, and slipped gracefully into the water. She felt her body warm from the heat of the water, and she felt her face warm from the sun through the skylight. She let go.

She could get used to this, she thought. Maybe it was the heat of the water, and the quiet of the day, but the thought opened a door in her mind that she’d been dutifully trying to keep closed. She began to imagine what he life would be if she were really marrying him.

She thought about moving in to the house she’d seen today. She imagined standing out front of it, holding Salman’s hand as she had been earlier. But instead of seeing the house with a longing, knowing it would never be hers, she would be looking at it as her home.

She imagined moving in her things. She’d only bring a few items with her – just mementos that reminded her of her family, or of times she’d shared with friends she rarely saw anymore. The rest of it, they’d fill together. Maybe on trips to exotic locales, or, maybe, she thought with a smirk, they’d go to Ikea, just to argue together as they’d joked.

They’d build a little dock on the lake, so they could go out on it. Nadya couldn’t decide which she liked better: the idea of him and her in a rowboat, like they were in an old fashioned movie, or them in kayaks, racing and exploring. She’d win him over, eventually, and get him to swim. He mustn’t be much of a swimmer, Nadya figured, for all his talk about his teacher saying he was excellent. The house he’d built had a movie theater and a bowling alley, but no pool. But he’d swim with her, in time. She felt sure of it.

And she’d find a better way to occupy her days, rather than serving picky customers mediocre food, and living and dying by inconsistent tips that she had to smile too widely and act far too friendly in order to obtain.

As she thought about it, she felt a little spark begin to rise up in her of the optimism she’d had before she’d gone off to college and let the cynicism of the world get her down. If she were really marrying him, and she would have his resources and time on her hands, then maybe she really could make a difference. Maybe she could still do some good. They’d form a nonprofit, or help out an existing nonprofit. And her Poli-sci classes might still come in useful, if Salman decided to get involved with Al-Ahradi policies.

She was grinning like an idiot, her ears under the water, listening to the erratic music of the popping bubbles in the bath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been as excited about something as she was now.

They’d fill the rooms with children. She wasn’t sure how many. As many as they wanted. And when they weren’t at school, they’d be able to spend as much time with them as the children wanted. Of all the luxuries that life with Salman would bring, that was perhaps the greatest: time.

They’d have time with each other. They’d have time with their children. They’d have time to just sit by the lake, and watch the ripples in the water. They’d have time to take a helicopter into the city, and watch what they wanted to watch, and explore where they wanted to.

Nadya stayed in the bath until her fingers wrinkled, until the water went lukewarm and the sun went behind a cloud, leaving her chilly. All at once, the life she imagined seemed far away. She was Nadya Anderson again—just a girl playing a part, who wouldn’t get to play it for long. The longer she let it go on, the worse it would be. And time wasn’t on her side to begin with. The day after tomorrow, everything would be over, one way or another.

She got out of the bath, not so much feeling relaxed as disheartened. She chose her clothes carefully, and packed her purse with everything she had with her of value. She’d be leaving whatever she didn’t bring with her at the hotel.

She would tell him tonight, while they were out. They’d enjoy the date. She’d give them that. She wanted the memories of tonight to hold on to.

But she’d tell him before the sun came up. She had to.

NINE

They met in front of the elevator, at 7:30 on the dot. Dressing for Rudy’s had been much easier for Nadya, as she already knew what she was getting herself into. For Salman, it hadn’t been so easy. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his finger to his lips to quiet her, and jerked his head toward the elevator doors.

When they were safely inside, headed down to the lobby, he spoke. “So what is it?”

She reached over and held his tie up in front of his eyes. “It’s this.”

He held the tie as well, and his fingertips grazed hers. Even though they’d touched casually many times today, the accidental touch still made her blush.

“It’s Armani. What’s wrong with it? It’s a good tie!”

“It’s a
tie
,” she said, reaching over and beginning to loosen it for him. “There are no ties at Rudy’s. Unless, weirdly, you’re a girl. Or you’re not wearing a shirt.”

He let her take his tie off. “Well, I’ll keep my shirt on. And I’m not a woman.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” Nadya said with over exaggerated relief, drawing a chuckle from him. “Better take your jacket off, too. Where we’re going, we don’t need jackets.”

He obliged, as the elevator reached the ground floor, and the made their way through the bustling lobby. The clientele of the hotel was a spectacle in and of itself. Nadya felt out of place in the clothes she’d chosen. It was a Friday night, and the rich and famous were out in force, heading for the great stage for debauchery and performed indulgence that was New York City on a weekend.

She felt Salman give her hand a squeeze, as if to reassure her. She tried to seem as though she was more at ease. The other Nadya –
his
Nadya, she must remind herself – wouldn’t be so overwhelmed by it all. They left the jacket and tie with a very confused receptionist, along with very clear instructions
not
to send it back up to their room.

As they left the lobby, the smell of New York in the summer hit Nadya like a racing train. She’d been so sheltered from it the last couple days, and she’d forgotten what a misery it could be.

“So, where to now, captain?” Salman asked her.

She liked the joy in his face. He had such an openness – so different than she’d ever imagined a man in his position. It was like he was a boy, heading out on an adventure with an imaginary friend and a toothbrush, never intending to return.

“Can we walk to where you have in mind?”

Nadya chuckled. “Not if we want to get there anytime soon.”

“So, a taxi?”

“No,” Nadya said, feeling bold and ready for the entertainment. “We’re going to take the subway.”

They walked a block and a half to the station, and the way he slowed as they descended the stairs confirmed Nadya’s suspicion: he’d never ridden the subway before.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “It’ll be cooler on the train.”

He still held her hand, she noticed. She was amazed at how normal and how strange it felt, all at the same time. Only a day together, and they’d settled in. She felt closer to him now than she ever had her last boyfriend, though there had been a time she’d really thought that he might be her future.

They didn’t have to wait long before Nadya could feel the breeze from the train they’d be taking. At the first stirring of the air and vibration beneath her feet, Nadya snuck a sly look at Salman. She wished she could feel it again for the first time, the way he was now; the surprise at the strength of the rush of the air, and the relief that the train had come and the cool that it would bring them.

The train was crowded, and there was only room for one of them to sit. Salman gave it to Nadya, and leaned against the post next to her. She should tell him it was bad etiquette, she knew, but she was too enjoying the feeling of having him near her, leaning just close enough that she could feel the heat coming off of him in the cool, dry air of the car.

They didn’t speak. Instead, Nadya looked around at their fellow passengers. She barely looked at other passengers in the subway anymore. She hadn’t for years, not since she’d gotten to the point where she felt like she’d seen them all, or versions of them all before. Looking at them now, she saw them through his eyes.

It embarrassed her. The crowd in the lobby of the hotel had been his people and, though he didn’t know it, this crowd was hers. They were tired, or guilelessly excited. They were buzzed, disheartened, euphoric. She looked at him, expecting to see disgust. But she shouldn’t have – she realized it immediately, when she saw the wonder on his face. She followed his gaze, and saw who he was watching.

It was a middle-aged Hispanic woman, wearing a plain dress and flip flops. She was studying a book that Nadya recognized to be a study guide for the citizenship test. She was with a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five or six, and who looked to be her granddaughter from the similarity in their faces. She was leaning on her grandmother, mouth gaping open, staring at the study guide. Her lips moved just a tiny bit, now and then, as she must have been seeing words she recognized.

When they got off at Jay Street to transfer, they found the platforms packed as much with partygoers headed into the city as with working people leaving it. He kept close to her, his arm around her back as though to shield her from the ceaseless movement around them.

The evening felt bright but a little bit cooler when they were finally above ground again.

“So, this is Brooklyn,” he said, to Nadya’s surprise.

“You’ve never been to Brooklyn?”

He shrugged off her shock. “Not exactly my side of town.”

She guided them towards the club, avoiding rushed pedestrians and broken pavement.

“So, oh great date-planning one, what are your dinner plans for us?”

Nadya cursed under her breath, forgetting the squeaky clean image she’d been maintaining for him. She’d forgotten food. But before she could answer him, she smelled the scent of the kabab cart nearby that must have prompted the question. He raised his eyebrows, as if reading her mind, and they wordlessly drifted towards it.

After they paid, they wandered towards Prospect Park, kebabs and water bottles in hand. Nadya didn’t have a hand free to hold Salman’s anymore, and she missed it.

They sat on the library steps, watching the people go by. It reminded Nadya a little of the entrance to his house. She’d chosen it just for that reason. But here there were throngs of people, all milling about. The steps weren’t nearly as beautiful, and they could feel the grandness of the gold-decorated columns and bombastic engravings at their backs. They were mostly quiet, enjoying their food. But when they had finished, Salman turned to her.

“Right. We’re out on a date. We’ve broken the rules together. We’ve explored together. When do we have the awkward conversation about our future?” he asked.

He had a grin on. But it was a grin of his that she’d seen before – it looked like it had something beneath it. Nadya wanted to dig under it, but she was too afraid.

“We only have two days left. Let’s not waste it on the bad bits.”

“Agreed,” he said, reaching out his hand for a handshake.

The handshake lingered. Neither wanting to let go. They played with their fingers, like high schoolers nearing the end of summer vacation before heading away to college, both wanting to hold on, but fearing the future wouldn’t let them.

Here, in the waning sunshine, Nadya felt butterflies rising up. Her own fears and anxieties about the situation began to rise up to meet them, but she fought them down. She’d tell him later. Until then…

It was too early, still, to go to Rudy’s, so they headed into the park. Nadya hadn’t been there since she was a child, and she didn’t remember it all too well. They got lost, wandering down paths. They went further than intended, and ended up at the lake.

“It reminds me of our lake,” Nadya said, leaning on his shoulder as they looked out across the surface.

It didn’t, really. The lake by Salman’s house was private, and still felt a little bit wild. This one felt like it was owned by everyone, like every square foot of it had been planned by a little army of park planners. But she wanted to say the words “our lake”. She wanted to live in it.

Their stomachs full, Salman and Nadya finally headed to Rudy’s.

“I’m not much for punk,” he had to shout, at they showed the bouncer their IDs, Nadya hoping to hell that Salman didn’t catch a glimpse of hers.

“Don’t worry,” she shouted back. “This place isn’t much, either.”

It had changed some since she’d been a regular, as the checking of IDs attested. It had made her sad that a piece of her past was gone. At the same time, though, she was relieved, since it meant that no one still hanging out here would recognize her.

The place had been overrun with hipsters. Just like the rest of Brooklyn, Nadya remarked drily to Salman. Were he the man Nadya first imagined, when she saw him standing by the impeccably set table, he might have asked what she meant. But instead he nodded, and looked around, and subtly raised an eyebrow at a man with the most absurdly pronounced handlebar mustache Nadya had ever seen.

She laughed a little too loudly, the sound spilling into the sudden silence as the song ended. It drew stares from the people around them, all of them dressed in flannel and fluorescents. Nadya looked to Salman in her embarrassment, and he playfully pretended to slyly distance himself from her, only the grin on his face giving him away.

Nadya laughed again, louder this time, as the music began again. It was a remix of a remix of a mashup, with a throbbing beat that seemed to be carried in every molecule of the club, and as Nadya reached out to hit him with her small, ineffective fists, they found themselves dancing instead.

He was a good dancer, but Nadya hardly noticed the skill. She was more focused on the feeling. She noticed the joy. She noticed the freedom. The beat went on and on, and so did they.

They paused only to sit on the sidelines and catch their breath, drinking some needlessly fruity concoction that she’d dared Salman to try with her. They didn’t speak much; they wouldn’t have been able to hear each other, anyway. It was a relief for Nadya. She didn’t have to censor her words, or check them against how she thought Other Nadya was supposed to act, or think.

Instead, she could just be with him. They pointed out people who were dancing wildly, or joyfully; who looked absurd or beautiful. And the shared observation was enough – when he drew her attention to someone, she knew just what he meant by it.

As the night wore on, the place refused to empty. If anything, it grew more crowded, and eventually, both felt they needed some fresh air. Nadya pulled him out roughly by the arm, buzzing from the adrenaline and the alcohol. The air wasn’t really cleaner out here, as it was smoky from the cigarette breaks being taken by people laughing and talking too loudly for the quiet night. But it was cooler, and to Nadya it would always feel magic.

There were three smokers out here, now, and Nadya and Salman didn’t speak so long as they were there. They just leaned against the dirty old brick wall, not caring about their clothes. Salman got her attention, and wordlessly motioned to the moon, to direct her attention to it as though they were still inside and couldn’t speak. Nadya smiled. The moon was full and bright, with just a tinge of orange and no clouds wandering across it. It was a storybook moon – the kind you see in children’s illustrations.

When the smokers went back inside, Nadya had an idea. “Here,” she said, taking his arm, and guiding him across the alley. It had been a long time, but she still remembered.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but she ignored him.

“Just to your left, just one step.” He did so. “Perfect,” she said, smiling and looking up at him.

“What is?”

“Right here, right exactly where we’re standing, is where I had my first kiss.”