The Sheikh’s Forbidden Tryst
Page 11
I surprised her at work. It wasn’t my fault, really. There was a curvy blonde I could see in the window who looked just like her, and I had to make sure.
She was sitting in her new chair, looking adorably studious with a pen in her mouth, her head tilted to one side. No sooner had she seen me than was I on her, pressing her to the wall, dancing my lips all over her. She pushed me away with an excited gasp.
“Khabib!”
I pressed a finger to her lips.
“Shhh.”
Now, my kisses traced her ear, her neck, down further, delighting in her moans.
This time, when she pushed me away, she was firm.
“Khabib, we can’t. Not here.”
So, there was nothing to do but take her home. Luckily, everyone had gone home for the day, so I could carry my Lucy through the hallways unseen.
Outside, it was a quick trip to my front parking space and my sports car. Once I’d plopped her in the front seat and made my way to the driver’s seat, Lucy shot me a look.
“What’s gotten into you?”
And, right there, looking at her—my beautiful, rosy-cheeked Lucy—I remembered.
“I have something to show you.”
First, however, was driving home and chatting, laughing over the intricacies of Lucy’s new position in the marketing department, over our accidental swapping of lunches.
Then, at home, we had to feed the howling masses—the insistent pug and wiener dog. As usual, their friendship was tested by the doling-out of food, as greedy Bruno jostled an infuriated Oscar for his bowl of kibble. We had a nice dinner of roasted chicken and vegetables with mashed potatoes on my balcony, looking over the city, and then, in bed, I told her.
“Lucy, I love you.”
She laughed, then poked me in the rib.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
She shot me a knowing look.
“You’ve been like a giddy little boy all day. Come on, spill.”
I heaved a mock sigh.
“Can’t a guy just love his girlfriend these days?”
Lucy shrugged, then rolled to the other side of the bed so that her back was facing me.
“Okay, have it your way. Goodnight, Khabib.”
“Hey, Lucy, hey…”
No response. Finally, I got up, took them out of my drawer, and poked her in the back with them.
“Fine. Here.”
She rolled around, her hands unfurling the papers excitedly.
“What is this?”
Squinting at the words on the paper, her confused gaze flicked to me.
“But Khabib, this is—”
“Two tickets to Al-Jembar.”
“But…”
“We leave in two days.”
She gaped at me, and I kissed her cheek.
“I know it’s short notice, but I wanted to surprise you. I want you to meet my whole family, Lucy, to see where I grew up, walk the beaches with me, explore the streets. Oh, you’ll love it there; it’s so hot and there’s so much to do.”
Now, Lucy was grinning.
“But…I have work…”
I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I heard the CEO is a pretty nice guy.”
She poked me again, grinning.
I sat back and shot her a cheeky grin.
“Shouldn’t you be getting packed or something?”
* * *
LUCY
The week was a whirl of sightseeing and family-meeting; everywhere we went there seemed to be another distant cousin of Khabib’s that I hadn’t met, another store or beach that I had to see.
Though, I wasn’t complaining; Al-Jembar was as close to paradise as possible. Warm days, cool nights, friendly people, and delicious food—there wasn’t much more to ask for, really. Other than Khabib acting a bit more normal.
For some reason, as we had the time of our lives, drinking and eating until we were dopily content, there was something off about him. Something anxious, nervous. I couldn’t put my finger on it until Friday, at his big family dinner.
At the long dining table of his grandfather’s house, it seemed like every member of Khabib’s family was there: his parents, his brother, along with two dozen other people. All of us ate the endless dishes placed before us—the kibbeh, hummus and pita, chicken and rice, tabbouleh—while we drank the fresh-squeezed juice and cucumber water. Only once we were all stuffed and quiet with happiness did Khabib rise.
“I want to make an announcement. It has been an honor and a pleasure to see you all; it’s been over four years now, and to say that seeing my beloved family again has delighted my heart would be an understatement. So, here’s to that.”
He raised his glass and we all clinked glasses.
“All of you have been more than generous with your kind hospitality and your warm advice. Being around such close and dear family has just reminded me just how precious family is. And, with that, I have something to say…or ask, really.”
Then, Khabib’s gaze was on me.
“I’ve talked to my father about this, and he has agreed that I am making the right choice—and, moreover, that if I don’t make it, he’ll smack me himself.”
Laughter sounded around the large wooden table.
“This amazing woman, Lucy Morrison, has been there for me this past year in ways no one else ever has, or ever will. But enough about that—I don’t have to convince all of you that this woman is worthy; I have to convince this woman that I’m worthy.”
Now, rising, Khabib came to a stop in front of me. My heartbeat was thrumming like that of a hummingbird’s.
“Lucy, even when I’d just met you, I knew there was something about you. I could never say what, could never put my finger on why I stopped to chat with the new receptionist each and every day. Sure, you were cute, but it was more than that—although, only how much more I didn’t realize until I got to know you better.
“Despite your best efforts, we grew closer, until our attraction was undeniable. And, one of the things that astounded me about you, all the while, from our first kiss to even now, my love, is how you’ve never demanded anything of me. How you’ve never expected me to be anyone other than who I am—a flawed but determined man. One who would do anything to make you happy, the woman who’s made me grown, and challenged me just by simply loving me and refusing to see anything but the best in me, time and time again.
“I could sit here and talk about all the wonderful dates and experiences we’ve shared—restaurants, volunteering, picnicking, that gondola ride, so long ago—but that’s only the start of it. It isn’t what we’ve done, it’s who I’ve had the honor of doing these things with. And, for me, Lucy Morrison, that’s you—the kindest, most fun, most surprising miracle of a woman I’ve ever met.
“I don’t know why, and I certainly don’t know how, but you get me, Lucy—you get me, through and through. You understand me and like me, even when I have trouble doing so myself. Yes, to say that I love you wouldn’t be doing this feeling pounding in my heart justice, to say that I’ll love you as long as I live would be low-balling the timeline.
“You, Lucy, are the making of me. Every day I wake up next to you, I’m the most ecstatic I can remember being. I’ve already asked so much of you, I know, but if you could do me one last honor, then I’d be the happiest man in the world.”
Khabib took out a little blue felt box from his pocket, the kind that held rings. Opening it revealed, sure enough, a gold beauty of a ring, with three hearts made of dazzling diamonds.
“Lucy Morrison, will you marry me?”
A hush has settled over the room. It took me a few seconds to realize just what everyone was in suspense for: my answer.
“Yes, of course, yes!”
Khabib slipped the ring onto my finger, then took me in his arms and swung me around, while his family applauded and roared their approval.
The rest of the night was a haze of joy. More food, more drinks. Everyone was dancing and laughi
ng together. It was like that night when Khabib had coaxed me into dancing, into venturing out of my comfort zone.
So, here I was, grooving away with my husband-to-be and my family-to-be, shaking my hips and smiling so hard my face hurt. And the whole time, all I could think was: could it get any better than this?
The End
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