Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

‘About
what
specifically now?’ His hands fall to the table, the newspaper discarded in a heap.

‘Well, your parents are still married?’

‘Yes.’ One word. One sound.
Weary.

‘And your mum is English?’

‘She is.’

‘Then I don’t get it. I mean, I would imagine women not born to think of multiple marriages as . . . as . . . normal would have a hard time being wife number whatever. Last I heard, the UK was still a one marriage at a time kind of place.’

‘Why my mother is still married is a matter for her.’ Frighteningly quiet, his voice is also hard-edged. ‘And she is his
first
wife.’

‘Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’ If I’m honest, I totally do, but I am sorry I’ve touched a raw nerve. I cringe inwardly at my combat boot of cultural finesse. Maybe there’s some kind of pecking order in the wives department I know nothing about.

His previously smooth hair stands to attention as he runs a hand through it.

‘If you’re determined to know, they were young and eloped, to the horror of both families, barely a few months into university. My mother’s flight from gentlemen farmer types, I suppose Faris must’ve looked like an exotic escape. He, smitten, went against his family’s desires, including their choice of wife. He married my mother without their blessing. I was born shortly after and my mother was rendered infertile due to a difficult birth. Not that it’s required, but in my father’s culture such circumstances are grounds for taking another wife. It was probably just a matter of time after that.

‘We lived in the UK, and at some point he moved back to Dubai and took another wife. Why they didn’t divorce is a matter only for them but I suspect supreme stubbornness may have something to do with it. For both of them.’

‘Oh.’

Sometimes I should remember it’s really not good to pry. I reach to cover his hand with mine by way of an apology. This is uncomfortable for him, that much is obvious. I’m touched that he would tell me.

His eyes are unseeing as he gazes out the window at his side.

‘What’s habibti?’ I ask, drawing his attention back.

‘A term of affection, I suppose.’ Standing, he pushes back the chair. ‘You’ll hear it used on a daily basis, used and abused. Now, if you’re to get to work at all today, I suggest you dress.’ He smiles then, a flicker of suggestion alight in his eyes. ‘I can help if you’d like.’

‘I’m sure I can manage.’

‘Yes, but where’s the fun in that?’

Chapter Eighteen

‘Such a sour puss.’

   Despite being dripping wet from the shower, Kai pulls me into his arms.

‘I’m just wondering what mischief has been done to my knickers now.’

‘You make it sound like a perversion. I’ll have you know I just have very efficient staff.’ His hand reaches out, brushing the wet locks from my shoulder. ‘And there are certain advantages to being without.’ His voice is husky as he strokes a finger down my chest, dipping it into the towel and tugging. I allow myself to be pulled forward in small increments as he moves backwards, heading for the bed.

Much like my resolve, my voice trembles as I whisper, ‘Be good.’

‘I’m always good,’ he answers, mouth dangerously close to my ear. Fingers slide from the shirt to my shoulders before he pushes me against the bed, laughing softly. ‘But heaven forbid I should distract you.’

Stepping away, he leaves my body vibrating and my mind momentarily confused. He opens the door to a large, ornate cabinet, removing a dry cleaning bag, which has a gift bag looped around the hanger

‘Thongs,
not
for your feet,’ he says, placing the items on the bed next to me. ‘Unmolested, obviously.’

I frown at the clearly expensive undies, the second set in a row. I wonder if he’s stockpiled them in there, knickers for floozies for all sizes and occasions. Shaking away the ridiculous thoughts, I wave the tiny scraps of lace at him.

‘There are names for people like you, you know.’

‘Blame the laundry service,’ he says, throwing his hands up in defence. ‘Though I quite like the thought of you wearing something of mine. My shirt, my underwear . . .’

‘These would never fit you,’ I say giggling. ‘I might not be a size—’

‘You’re perfect.’ A sudden jolt of pleasure shoots through my limbs as he pushes me down against the bed, climbing over me, his knees either side of my hips.

‘I was thinking about you yesterday, waiting for you to arrive. Wondering what you’d be wearing.’ Running his hands over my shoulders, he watches my face carefully. ‘Will she be wearing a skirt or a dress cinched in at the waist? Can I guess what colour her underwear will be? And heels, fuck me, it’s
always
about the heels.’ I giggle as his eyes flare comically. ‘But then, there you were. In front of me; a little flustered, but so pretty. And all I could think about, despite my best efforts, was ruining the perfection. Running my hands all over you. Defiling you. But, honestly? Buying you underwear is quite the opposite.’

‘You want me to keep them on?’ My brow furrows; he’s not making a lot of sense.

‘I suppose I do.’ His smile takes on a curious edge. ‘More specifically, I want to watch you put them on. Who’d have thought a reverse striptease could be so erotic?’

Kissing my forehead, he moves onto his back, sliding his hands behind his head and stretching out. ‘Go on, then.’

Slipping from the bed, I open the bag with shaking fingers.

‘
Hmm
,’ he groans, eyes fire bright. ‘Obscene.’

Stepping into a wall of blinding light and solid heat, I pop my sunglasses onto my head. It’s another hot Dubai morning.
No change there, then.
As the valet steps from a very flashy car and drops the keys into Kai’s palm, my head does a double take. I’ve known girls who are total rev-heads, girls who drool over bodywork, engine sizes and aerodynamics with a zeal I don’t understand. As far as I’m concerned, cars get you from A to B, but I do recognise Kai’s car. It’s a Bentley, a coupe in thunder grey.

Walking me to the passenger side of the sleek machine, he holds my hand to aid my sliding in.

‘So this is the car that reflects you?’ I ask as he tucks his long frame into the bone-coloured leather. ‘Car reflecteth the man?’

‘What’s that?’

I can’t imagine what kind of kinks a machine like this has,’ I answer, thinking back to that conversation and not quite believing I’ve brought it up.

Foot, meet mouth. Mouth, you know what to do.

‘Oh, they’re there,’ he replies with a smirk, pulling away from the curb. ‘Deeply embedded and somewhat binding.’

The driver arrives on time for my appointments, and after a morning of prodding and examination, I feel like a pin cushion as he drops me back at school. Hurrying past Huda’s office, I hope I won’t be called in to further explain. As admin head, she has no authority over me, but she seems to conveniently forget she isn’t the
actual
boss.

‘Ha! I see you, running in late!’ Her voice booms from her office, despite my tardiness being authorised.

‘Yeah, the traffic getting back was
a
bitc
—a bit bad.’

‘
Aiywah.
The roads,’ she answers with a surprisingly sympathetic nod of her head.

Late for something in Dubai? Blame the traffic; everyone becomes understanding then, it seems.

‘Kate, could I have a word with you, please?’

Arwa’s voice calls from the door opposite. Despite her friendly tone, my heart sinks.
So much for Kai’s cloak and dagger routine.
I follow her into the room, heart further dipping into my shoes.

‘Close the door, please.’ I lower myself into the chair she indicates on the opposite side of the desk. ‘How did this morning go, was everything in order?’

‘Yeah, it seemed to go well.’ I examine the Band-Aid covering the pin-prick from a blood test.

‘And your driving license?’ She begins to draw out the contents of a file from her desk.

‘I was surprised it wasn’t really a test, not like I’d expected, but yes, I have my license now.’ After a blood test and a chest x-ray, as requirements of my work visa, I’d also been taken to the bank. Presumably she’s familiar with the process for new employees.

‘That’s good. You’ll need it, the licence. One isn’t any good without the other.’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘I have the paperwork here for your new car.’ Lifting a sheaf of papers, she holds them out with an encouraging smile.

‘A car?’ I squeak, my mind scanning possibilities.
A bonus, a mistake?
It takes me a minute to make sense of what she’s saying as I slowly decide this stinks of Kai.
Because I take taxis? Nah, can’t be.

‘Yes, it’s being offered as part of your contract. You’ve certainly impressed someone.’ Muscles in my shoulders tighten, despite the lack of irony in her tone. ‘Or else you drove a very hard bargain during your interview. Good for you, taking the initiative but I’d advise you against mentioning the car to your colleagues. I’m sure you’re aware of how . . . unusual this is. You’ll appreciate it could cause difficulties. For both of us.’

I nod, despite not really listening. All I can think is
really, Kai?

‘Teacher!’

I’m greeted by the cry from at least a dozen little girls as I open the classroom door. I really must try to get them to address me by my actual name. Any would do, Miss Saunders, Miss Kate; this screechy-teacher business sets my teeth on edge.

‘Good morning girls,’ I reply, though less manically.

Sadia claps her hands together and, amazingly, the class falls silent.

‘
Good Morning, Miss-us Kate
.’ Twenty little voices chant in a sing-song tone, it’s so unexpected, it leaves me smiling like a loon.

The morning passes without event, the afternoon bringing my class lessons in both Arabic and Islamic studies from another teacher. This leaves me at a loose end, and without a classroom, so I head to the staff room with my marking pile.

The room set aside for staff is large and airy, dotted with groups of low-slung armchairs and tabled workspaces. It’s pretty busy today. The school runs from kindergarten to the end of high school, all on the same campus. Despite the space available, that’s a lot of teachers to accommodate, so I lay my things on a table, staking my claim.

‘Hi, how are you?’ The young teacher from the staff meeting throws herself into the adjacent chair. Hala, I think she said her name was.

‘I’m good, thanks, and you?’ I move my detritus, making space for the bundle of similar she has in her arms.

‘
Alhamdulillah.
I’ll be even better when this week is over, this humidity is
killing
me,’ she complains in a London accent as thick as fog. Not that I’ve ever been there, but . . . I watch TV.

‘It is pretty hot.’

I’m not surprised she’s warm considering the full coverage of her clothing; long sleeves, an ankle-brushing skirt and a loose abaya on top. But her clothing doesn’t detract from how pretty she is. She has the most beautiful hazel eyes.

‘Mm,’ she nods, ‘just wait ‘til the end of the school year when the heat drives us all mad. Plus, the kids have that pre-holiday fever and most of the teachers are ready to quit.’ She laughs shortly, her shoulders rising and falling quickly. ‘Or maybe that’s just me.’

‘That does
not
sound fun. I’d best start working on my Zen now.’

‘You’re Buddhist?’ she asks eagerly, leaning forward in her chair.

‘No, just your garden variety Catholic.’ No need to ask her religion. In addition to her clothing, her hair is covered by a scarf or
shayla
, I think it’s called.

‘Cool.’ She nods, looking a little uncomfortable as she sits back in her chair.

‘Have you worked here long?’
Do you come here often?
Is how it sounds in my head.

‘A few years, almost as long as I’ve lived in Dubai. I’m from the UK originally, definitely more used to the rain than the sun.’

‘Must’ve been a change.’

‘Yeah, who’d have thought I’d have anything to say beyond the weather? I’ve had to find other topics of conversation since moving here.’

‘At least it’s consistent, I suppose. The weather, I mean.’

‘Consistently beige. What I wouldn’t give for a bit of grey, miserable, dreary drizzle.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘The weather isn’t great material for conversation when it’s the same almost every day. Except for the sand storms and the two annual days of rain. But I love a good sand storm, me.’ Sarcasm rings loud as she scrolls through her phone. ‘How are you finding us?’

‘Sorry?’

‘The school. How are you getting along?’

‘So far, so good.’

‘That’s cool.’ She nods, eyes rising. ‘But if you need anything, I’m just along the corridor.’ We’re quiet for a moment before she asks, ‘Do you like Dubai?’

‘I do. I suppose I’m lucky as I have a friend here, so I’m not completely alone in my adventures.’ I find myself fiddling with the papers on my knee, resolutely avoiding her gaze. I can’t mention Kai despite the excitement bubbling in my throat.
A hot boy likes me!

‘That’s good. It can be pretty isolating when you first arrive, especially if you’re on your tod. Alone, I mean. At least you know someone. I arrived here knowing no one. It was a pretty crappy time.’

‘Did you move out here for work?’

‘Nah, I got married.’ She smiles almost apologetically.

She doesn’t look old enough to be married, but she must be, right? ‘Well, at least you had each other,’ I bluster.

‘Sort of.’ She laughs. ‘It was an arranged marriage. I moved here, almost sight unseen.’

If there’s an answer to that, I don’t know what it is. Commiserations? Felicitations? WTF?

‘Hey, don’t worry.’ Laughing again, probably at my expression, she says, ‘It’s a bit like internet shopping these days, without the returns service, though.’

‘Sorry, I’ve never met anyone who, you know . . .’ I grimace, embarrassed. ‘Though I think my Mum would be all over it.’