Sheikh's Fake Fiancee (7 page)

He had noticed that with her first set of procedures, Sydney did seem better. She slept less and her skin had a far less yellow caste. It made him believe, hopefully, that her kidneys were stabilizing, at least as much as they could until she received a brand-new Cadillac model. But despite tradition and everything else, he didn’t want to take his bride away too early from his sister’s side. He wanted her to be able to celebrate everything fully with her family—business arrangement or not—before they went on their quick honeymoon. Because of this, they’d flown in the royal Imam from Yemen to oversee everything by the bedside. His mother had come as well, and he could tell from the brief interactions he’d had with her so far that she was stewing at this technicality he’d found. She’d never been fond of Western girls, or “infidels” as she sometimes called them.

He didn’t care.

Even if he was only going to have Jennifer Wilde by his side for a couple of years, he was going to follow his heart and his instincts, not tradition. To him, she was a strong woman, and a noble one, someone working so hard to keep her family together.

However, as unconventional as the wedding was, he still needed to speak with his father, even if it was only over Skype. Part of all of this was for him, so that the current sheikh would see that the country of Yemen was secured for at least one more generation to come, so that his father might pass on to the afterlife in peace and harmony.

Most of the top floor was sectioned off for them, such was the power of his last name and his position. He used that opportunity to slip into a conference room, to enjoy the final hour before his wedding and to call his father. He patiently waited as the call went through, and then his father’s wizened face appeared on the screen. His beard was long and seemed now to dwarf his haggard face. Even in the few weeks that Bahan had been in NYC attending to the emporium’s completion and his pending nuptials, he could see plainly how the poor condition of his father’s lungs was eating away at the older man.

He bowed low, offering his sheikh and father the respect due to him. “Father, you look well,” Bahan said, wishing that he was a better actor.

“I look like shit, as the Americans would say,” his father replied, chuckling a little but then coughing to himself when caught up in his own joke. “It is hard being here, and now I do not have the delightful visage of your mother to wake me every morning.”

Bahan laughed. Considering how many times he clashed with his mother, Bahan couldn’t quite imagine the reigning sheikha as a calming oasis. “Surely you jest.”

“I’m not joking,” he said. “In the olden days, back when I lived with the dinosaurs…”

“You’re hardly that old, Father,” he replied.

“Then perhaps in the Middle Ages with those damned Crusaders.”

“Perhaps that’s more your age and era,” Bahan said, winking at the image of the older man. How he would miss his father’s sense of humor when he passed on to his reward. “I can see that. Did you joust too?”

“Only for me to know,” he said, just barely refraining from laughing. “But you were saying?”

“Your mother and I were an arranged marriage. It was back when marriages of political alliance were mandatory.”

“They’re still encouraged now,” he said, thinking of his mother’s less than subtle hints that he should have taken up with the sheikha from Lebanon.

“Then it was an order or you were exiled. I didn’t trust it at first. I knew so little about your mother, but she became the most amazing thing in my life. For over thirty years, she’s been by my side, raised my children with me, and truly been the guiding light in my life. I know that this is a marriage you’ve rushed into. I know that it’s something you’re doing to make me happy.”

“And to make sure certain idiotic cousins do not take the throne.”

“That, too, but I think you don’t understand how something you’re not even completely sure of, how twists of fate can bring you to the woman you love. Cherish her, and maybe this marriage will mean more to you than even you suspect, my son.”

He nodded, feeling the lump of his Adam’s apple in his throat. “Thank you, Father. Stay well, and we’ll visit you as soon as we can.”

“I expect nothing less,” his father replied as Bahan ended the call.

He took a deep breath and tried not to think about life after his father was gone. Maybe the doctors were wrong. Maybe his prognosis would turn out to be better. Perhaps there was something else that could be done. Wasn’t there always something that could be done? As a child, he’d always imagined being sheikh, the power and prestige it would bring. But now that this was happening, Bahan wasn’t sure he could be as good a sheikh and as wise a ruler as his father.

But that was for another day. This was a celebration, rushed as it was, and he’d treat it that way.

Or at least he would have until his mother entered the room.

She was dress impeccably. Even if this was a wedding she couldn’t sanction, his mother was never one to look less than regal. She gazed back at him from her ceremonial kaftan in its stark white color (an insult in and of itself, but he’d hidden that significance and bad luck omen from Jennifer; it was the last thing she needed right now).

“My son, I think we need to talk.”

He balled his hands up into fists at his side, trying to restrain the urge to blow past her. “I have only a bit longer before the Imam is going to start with the vows. I need to get ready.”’

“So you have time to speak with your father but not with me?” she asked, feigning hurt.

“Mother—”

“Bahan, you have disappointed me.”

“We’ve covered that already,” he said. “I’ve disappointed you, disgraced the Munir name and the kingdom. I’ve chosen a Western harlot…”

“A literal wild woman.”

“Yes, let’s make fun of her name and abuse all the puns that we can.”

“I just want you to know that I’m so very disappointed in you.”

“I know, and I continue to know that. You should at least admit that part of this was Fareed’s idea.”

“Oh I’ve had words for your brother, too. I just can’t believe you’ve brought such shame already to our kingdom.”

“Then, Mother, I suggest you adjust to the new normal,” he said through clenched teeth as he rushed out of the conference room and back to Sydney’s room.

***

The ceremony was simple. Part of her had always wanted to have a wedding with the poof princess dress, that silly thing that she’d imagined since she was in high school. Granted, she tried not to be the overly girly type. Ever since her father had left, Jennifer hadn’t been able to afford daydreams or anything else. But like every other woman, she’d imagined her big day with her fiancé as Prince Charming and her as Cinderella. That didn’t seem like too much to ask.

But this wasn’t a real wedding. Even though Bahan and she had continued to date in the interim, even if he did things to her that made her toes curl on a regular basis, this was all happening too fast. It was for Sydney and for his kingdom. It wasn’t about true love and fairy tales.

So she grieved a bit over that, even on her big day.

Her dress was simple, a plain crushed velvet dress in an icy blue. She’d chosen a color that wasn’t white both because she knew the actual sheikha was wearing ivory and didn’t want to compete with royalty, and because this wasn’t for forever. When she got married to her soul mate, she wanted it to be with pure white, to have that bit of tradition left untouched.

Today, at least, the ceremony had its benefits. She still had the butterflies buzzing in her stomach, especially as she thought about the coming night and the surprise honeymoon that Bahan was promising her. The greatest joy was seeing the light in Sydney’s eyes. Bahan, bless him, had hired a makeup artist and hairstylist just for Sydney, to make her feel like a special part of the festivities, even if she was still relegated to a hospital gown in all its polka-dotted glory. Seeing her smile and coo over the wedding was definitely worth it. In case the surgery didn’t go to plan, in case the kidney didn’t take, then at least they’d all have this memory of the wedding and of Sydney getting to shine as the maid of honor.

It meant the world to her how caring Bahan was with her little sister, as well as how he’d bent over backwards to try and alleviate her fears as well as her mother’s.

This was moving all so fast, but she couldn’t ask for a better husband.

Which made all of this more insane.

When Bahan and his mother entered the hospital room, and the Imam started in with the chants of the mosque, she couldn’t help but smile. For today it was real, and that had to matter.

“Hey, usually it’s everyone waiting on pins and needles for the bride,” she joked.

“Usually, but I don’t do anything like everyone else does. What would be the fun in that?” Bahan said, flashing her a megawatt smile and staring back at her with those intense amber eyes of his.

His mother’s face grew pinched at the boasting, but she didn’t say anything.

For that, Jennifer was grateful. The sheikha hadn’t said much to her yet, but she wasn’t dumb. She could tell that Bahan’s mother wasn’t thrilled with the arrangements.

The Imam started to speak as Bahan took her arm. Over her shoulder, Fareed, her new brother-in-law, translated everything for her, but she didn’t need it. She could feel the importance echoing through the room—the old traditions. Grabbing Bahan’s hand tightly, she repeated back what she had to both in Arabic (pronounced phonetically for her by a patient Fareed) and in English, vowing to be the sheikha he needed at least as long as she could.

It burned a huge part of her soul, however, that it wasn’t going to be forever.

Chapter Seven

“I’ve never seen anything like this!” his wild one exclaimed, grinning broadly at the private jet that would be taking them to Paris.

 He hadn’t told her about it yet, but it would only be for the weekend. If anything changed with Sydney’s health, they could be back in six or seven hours. Still, Bahan had been hesitant to tell her the exact whereabouts, in case Jennifer would argue. As far as she knew, they were going to a mystery destination, and if she assumed it was just a hop to Los Angeles or Chicago, then he wasn’t going to disabuse her of her assumptions. Besides, the sickness had been weighing on her. He wanted to give her a chance to relax, at least for a while. It was also why he’d negotiated quite vociferously with her boss, Kahn, to make sure she had some leave during her family’s trying time. The fact that the ass had been hesitant at first made Bahan’s blood boil. If he could, he’d tell Jennifer that she no longer needed to work, that he’d care for all of her needs as his sheikha.

She certainly didn’t need to deal with a small-minded jerk like Kahn.

At least they had this weekend, and he would make her feel everything she deserved.

He chuckled. “I take it you’ve never been on a private jet.”

“Well, it’s what I take to Buckingham Palace, of course, to visit the queen, Gov’ner,” she said, dawning a truly terrible accent.

He laughed as he led her back to the private quarters, to the luxury king bed and expensive, high-thread-count sheets that lay beyond the door. “You aren’t British at all, luv. It’s best that you don’t try and pretend otherwise.”

“I wanted to try and mimic you just a bit. ‘Oy,’ and all that,” she said, biting her lower lip and looking up at him coquettishly through her lashes.

“I’m not Cockney and I don’t think the British part is that strong.”

“Just from all those years at Oxford. I think the hint of it makes you that much sexier,” she said, her long blond hair falling in her face. The eyes that evaluated him, that seemed to be cataloguing his every move, were as blue as the Aegean Sea. It made her that much more of a cunning minx than she already was. “I love the way you talk.”

“Why thank you,” he said, shutting the door behind him and stripping off his Oxford shirt. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she saw him shirtless. It was quite the ego booster. “What else do you love about me?”

She grinned and then sat down on the bed. Looking up at him, she licked her lips, just that hint of a pink tongue poking out. Dear Allah, he could imagine all the things she could do to him with that tongue of hers, all the places he’d love to have her taste. Of course, he was a giving lover. There were places on her, so many, that he hadn’t had time to enjoy yet, to lave against. Her nectar was some of the most heavenly ambrosia he’d ever tasted; there was no doubt of that.

Jennifer crossed one sleek leg over another and ran her fingers over her chest. She’d changed from her wedding dress to a light T-shirt and jeans, something comfortable to wear, and he could already see her nipples pebbling under her own touch, pushing against the thin, white fabric of her tee.

“Maybe I love the way you smell. Did you know that? That you smell as spicy as you are, that there’s just the tiniest hint of turmeric about you?”

“Do I?” he asked, setting his hands on her shoulders and kneading them. She mewled under his grasp, even after he undid the tight knots of stress in her back. Even small weddings had their stresses, and it was all the more reason to cater to her all weekend. “I’ve never had anyone tell me that before.”

She moaned a little. “God, you have magic fingers.”

He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “My wild one, I have magical everything else.”

Leaning up from her position on the bed, Jennifer kissed him, her tongue plundering his mouth deeply, tasting every inch of him. When she drew back, she bit at his lower lip, her teeth scraping against the soft flesh there. It was a tantalizing sensation that went straight to his manhood, made it raise firmly to full mast. Oh dear Allah, the things she did to him, the way she drove him mad.

“I think I know what to do for your ‘everything else,’” she said, licking her lips again. He wanted to feel every part of her tonight, to have every inch of her body pressed up against his in an intimate caress.

“Do you?” he asked, reaching down to push her hair back from her face. “What do you have planned tonight, Jennifer?”