“This is my room,” Aisha announces, pulling on the door’s golden handles.
Wow…just wow.
I had thought Holt’s compound was impressive with its separate two-bedroom guest house, just for Albie and me. But our whole guest house could fit into Aisha’s bedroom, and her interior decoration puts ours to shame. Oriental carpets cover the mosaic floors. All the mirrors are encased in braided gold. And, the bed is so big, I bet my whole family could sleep in it comfortably, without ever touching, even if we rolled over in the night.
There’s a mini-library on the other side of the room, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a movie-screen sized TV, and I, kid you not, two wraparound couches, arranged like stadium seating. It looks like something straight out of an Instagram fairytale.
“You have everything anybody could ever want in here,” I say, gaping at her abode. “All you need is a kitchen.”
“Oh no! Are you hungry?” Aisha rushes over to a wall intercom as if my possible discomfort is a matter of life or death. “We can have the kitchen bring up something.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, I’m good. How about we get you to bed?”
You’d think with this much money, Aisha would be the kind of rich brat who tried to command her servants and make them do what she wanted—basically Wes Calson before Sylvie came along and made him shape up. But Aisha just nods and asks for help getting out of her sari before heading into a room that turns out to be a very large closet to fetch a pair of light pajamas.
“Do you really like my room?” she asks as I tuck her in under a heavily brocaded red and gold feather duvet.
“I don’t like your room. I love it,” I answer with a teasing smile.
But instead of laughing, her expression becomes serious. “I like you, and I need someone to take care of me. Will you move here and be my nanny?”
My heart melts at her sweet request. But… “I can’t, sweetheart. My son still hasn’t forgiven me for making him move from Hawaii to Connecticut. He’d never talk to me again if I made him move to a desert.”
Aisha’s huge dark eyes grow sad. “I wish you were my mom. She never cares about what I want. Albie’s really lucky.”
“Thank you. Your parents are lucky, too, even if your mom doesn’t always see that.”
I stroke a hand over her long dark hair, that long-ago dream of a daughter, pulsing sad and tragic inside my chest. I should go, I tell myself. I should go instead of wishing for things I can’t have.
“Could you read to me until I fall asleep?” Aisha asks, cutting off that thought.
It feels like the least I can do. And I’m more than a little curious about what kind of reading material made the cut for the little Arabian princess’s floor-to-ceiling bookcase.
I go over to the impressive collection and scan the shelves. It’s mostly Arabic books, but I find a few English titles on the lower shelves. Just British books I’ve never heard of at first, but then I come to a hardbound copy of... “Harry Potter!”
I grab the book off the shelf. Whoa, it looks like an original hardbound first edition. The cover features a much more rudimentary rendering of Harry Potter. He stands with a stunned expression directly in front of a red train with a “Hogwarts Express” shield plastered across its front. And underneath there’s a review quote by someone named Wendy Cooling. I’ve never heard of her before, but she declares the book, “A terrific first read and a stunning debut novel.”
Even crazier, when I open to the title page, there’s the author’s name. Scrawled to the point of being illegible, but it’s a genuine J.K. Rowling autograph just the same.
“Whoa, you’ve got a signed first edition of Harry Potter just hanging out on your bookshelf? This is one of my favorite books of all time,” I tell her, looking around for a chair to drag over to the bed.
“Mine too! Could you lay with me?” Aisha asks. “I like to look at the pictures when my nanny is reading to me.”
I’m not her nanny, but I end up climbing into her huge, ridiculously soft, and comfortable bed with the book, nonetheless.
Just a few chapters, I promise myself before launching into the tale of how a little boy’s life is forever changed with one magical discovery.
5
RASHID
I never did find Aisha or speak with Zahir about the Kingdom Mall project. Instead, I spent the remainder of the wedding festivities, helping my cousin navigate the fallout from his now widely publicized kiss with the former reality star. And much to my shock, I end the night by serving as a witness for his temporary marriage to Princess Jones.
A strange and surreal evening indeed. It becomes even stranger when I enter my daughter’s room to find her asleep, with the first edition Harry Potter I bought for her personal library when she first started learning how to read....and an unknown woman curled up beside her. The latest in the fleet of nannies we’ve brought in to replace the one Mahirah fired, perhaps?
She is a stranger to me, but also attractive. Very, very attractive. Raven black hair falls in messy waves around her heart-shaped face, framing her slightly upturned eyes, flared button nose, and plump lips. And though the dress she’s wearing meets the technical standard of Jahwar’s modesty laws, it clearly outlines the lush curves of her body. I have never been one to ogle our servants, yet I find my eyes hungrily roaming over her flared hips and generous bosom. The woman may be unknown to me, but that doesn’t make her any less captivating.
And I can’t bring myself to look away even when her eyes flutter open.
A sleepy smile alights on her face when she sees me standing above her. Did I call her pretty earlier? That was before her smile revealed a pair of charming dimples. Upgrade that to enchanting. My heart, so worried and heavy prior to this moment, lifts unexpectedly at the sight.
“I was only supposed to read her a couple of chapters. Did I fall asleep?” she asks, her voice confused and drowsy. Yet another surprising reveal. She has an American accent.
I can’t help but smile down at her, as I answer, “Yes, it seems you did. I am Aisha’s father. And you are?”
“She’s Mika.” My daughter comes to a sleepy rise on one elbow behind the American, her eyes cracked only half-open. “Mama gave me to her, and she took care of me all night. I asked her to be my nanny, but she said no because her son doesn’t want to move to the desert. Make her stay. Please, Baba.”
That all relayed, Aisha immediately falls back to sleep, leaving the woman she called Mika and me to regard each other awkwardly in the silent aftermath of her plea.
She has a son. Perhaps a husband too. My inappropriate attraction takes on a guiltier wash, and I cut my eyes away as she rises to sit all the way up in bed.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble by coming here.”
“No, I am sorry,” I answer. “And thank you. It was very kind of you to take care of my daughter in my wife’s stead.”
I take out my billfold. “You must let me compensate you for your time. I believe I have some American dollars…”
Her eyes widen and she waves her hands as if I’ve insulted her. “Oh no, that’s totally all right. I’ve been taking care of just boys for a while now as the Calsons’ nanny. A little girl is a nice change of pace. Plus, we had so much fun dancing. Lil’ Aisha can really get down.”
I glance past her at my most precious gift and nod. “She loves to dance. I am glad she found a worthy partner.”
Mika dips her head with a shy smile. “I don’t know if I would call myself worthy.”
I would. I try not to stare, but it’s hard not to let my eyes roam over her creamy brown skin, lush curves, and the dimples that reappear when she smiles shyly. I find everything about her charming. Even her hair, mussed and flattened on one side.
Mahirah would never let me or anyone else see her in such a state, but suddenly I get it. Get what other men find attractive about a woman who has just woken up.
The air crackles between us. Filled wi
th a tension neither of us should acknowledge.
“Um, well, I should go,” she says.
It is forbidden for a man to touch a woman who is not his wife in Jahwar. But I find myself wishing I could do just that as I watch her struggle to climb out of my daughter’s large bed.
I would like to say that seeing her standing up kills my inappropriate attraction. Her make up is long gone, and her simple jersey dress looks like it was bought off the rack at one of those unfortunate American chain stores filled with disposable clothing. But, unfortunately, the cheap dress does nothing to detract from her allure. In fact, I have to fight the urge to step toward her. Toward something that’s real in a way my flawless beauty of a wife will never be.
“If you wish to attend to your hair, the facilities are through there,” I say, waving a hand toward the door of my daughter’s bathroom.
One hand flies up to touch her messy tresses, and she gives me an embarrassed smile when she feels the uneven mat. “Yes, thank you.”
The door clicking behind her when she disappears into Aisha’s bathroom snaps me out of my mesmerized daze. Temptation pooling in my stomach, I make the wise decision to depart before she comes back out.
My personal attendant, Faizan, is still waiting for me directly outside of my daughter’s room. Was it only just a few minutes ago that he had followed me up here after I announced my intention to check on my daughter? It feels like I’ve entered an enchanted realm and have finally returned after being released from an enchantress’ spell.
“Your Excellency, may I be of any further service to you tonight?” Faizan asks.
I inwardly grimace at the use of the title my grandfather decided I should have when I moved back to Jahwar. I didn’t have one before I left Jahwar to attend boarding school in the States. And though I married into a UAK royal family, Your Excellency seems like a stretch after years of being called everything from “Sheedy to ‘bro’” during my time abroad.
But this is your life now, I remind myself. “My wife?” I ask, going along with the expected script.
“She retired much earlier tonight, complaining of a headache,” Faizan answers after a quick check of his work phone. “Would you like me to have her night attendant wake her?”
I think about it. Shortly after our return to Jahwar, we’d agreed to start trying more aggressively for another child. It was supposedly perfect timing since I would no longer be consumed with the 24/7 work of running a start-up. My grandfather had also made it clear that he did not wish to step down from his CEO position until he had a great-grandson to dote on in his sunset years.
And even if Mahirah was stupid enough not to use protection with Zahir’s guard, I would have to pretend the baby was mine, I remind myself. Many of The Tourmaline Group’s most lucrative ongoing UAK deals hinged on the state of our union. It doesn’t matter how miserable we are. So in any case, I should at the very least pretend to be enthusiastically attempting for a male heir.
But I can’t bring myself to participate in the kabuki theater of sex with my wife. Not tonight.
“I will spend some time in my study before retiring for the night,” I answer Faizan.
Good choice, I decide. My grandfather has already texted me several times. I should update him on what happened tonight in the aftermath of Zahir’s kiss with the former reality starlet making the national news. Also, my study is where I keep the whiskey, and I’ll be needing a shot or two after tonight.
Yet, instead of heading toward the stairs, I beckon Faizan forward.
“When the woman who brought my daughter here comes out, bring her to my study,” I tell him, keeping my voice low and quiet.
6
MIKA
“His Excellency would like to speak with you further before you go.”
That’s all the nameless servant waiting for me outside of Aisha’s room says before turning and heading toward the stairs. Not the ones I hiked up earlier with Aisha, but a narrow set of wooden steps toward the back of the hallway. They are so much less ornate than the marble staircase at the front of the house, I can tell without asking that they’re meant for the exclusive use of the servants.
His Excellency. That must be what they call Rashid Zaman, Aisha’s father. The gorgeous former tech wiz, I’d found standing above me when I woke. Like a dream. Had I just imagined that hungry look in his gaze?
It doesn’t matter, Hayes. My inner drill sergeant cuts that question off with a sharp whistle. He’s married. I could never hurt another woman like that—not to mention his sweet daughter. And even if he wasn’t already taken…
An image of Leon in that hospital bed floats across my mind. Beaten and broken, barely breathing. Reminding me of what could and would happen if I ever tried to get involved with anybody else.
Still, I follow the nameless servant down the stairs and through the open door of His Excellency’s study. More curious than afraid.
I’m either being polite or very, very stupid.
I still haven’t decided which when the door closes behind me, with the nameless servant on the other side.
His Excellency’s study is just as jaw-dropping as Aisha’s room. He doesn’t have merely one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf but a whole wall filled with books. Everything my eyes touch looks expensive and important, from the intricately patterned carpet to the painted portraits encased in chunky gold frames and the museum-quality statues hanging out on stands.
No, I definitely would call this place a home office. In fact, the label study feels like a bit of an understatement.
The room doesn’t even have a desk as far as I can see. Just a huge marble conference table that looks like it could seat at least twenty people. And Aisha’s father is standing beside it, with a crystal tumbler of dark amber liquid in his hand, like he’s been waiting here for me this entire time.
Maybe he has.
I swallow, electric tension buzzing through me, even though nothing’s changed. He’s still married. And I’m still not free.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks, his tone warm and polite. He indicates a mirrored tray sitting near the edge of the table. Another tumbler sits on it and a tall decanter with the Jahwar Emirate crest etched across its front.
“No, thank you,” I answer, my tone even more polite than his. Not because I couldn’t use an adult beverage right about now, but because the offer feels like being asked to open a box with Pandora written across the top.
“I’m good,” I tell him and to remind myself. Then I clear my throat and ask, “You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes, Mika—is it all right to call you Mika, or do you prefer your married name?”
“Oh, I don’t go by my married name. I mean, I used to, but I stopped. After my husband died.”
His expression turns sober. “You are a widow, then. I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say, not sure how to answer that. I’m not, since everything I thought was true about him turned out to be a lie seems like a bit of an overshare.
“Should I call you Mr. Zaman? Or His Excellency?” I ask.
“Mr. Zaman in public, but Rashid is fine for when we are alone,” he answers.
When we are alone...why is my heart beating so much faster? So loud it feels like thunder in my ears? I haven’t had a reaction like this to any guy since Alberto’s death. Even Leon didn’t make me feel like I had a set of drums in my chest when he sweetly asked me if I’d like to hang out sometime.
Married man…married man…you’ve got to remember he’s a married man, I chant inside my mind, surprised at myself. Holt Calson literally made the Big Money Magazine list of Hottest Billionaires last year and I’ve had zero inappropriate thoughts about him. Plus, what happened to Leon has been enough to keep me from looking at any other man twice. Until now…
“I’ll call you, Mr. Zaman, just to make it easier,” I rush out, putting at least a little metaphysical distance between us. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
A b
eat. Then Mr. Zaman sets his glass down to say, “My daughter is quite smitten with you, unlike most of the other nannies we’ve brought in for a test run. How much will it take to lure you away from Holt?”
Oh….
He called me in here to offer me a job, not to proposition me, or anything like that. Relief washes over me, along with something else. Something I refuse to label as I open my mouth to answer.
RASHID
“Sorry. Aisha wasn’t kidding about me not wanting to upset my son. I really couldn’t move him to another country just when he’s finally stopped complaining about having to live in Connecticut. Also, Holt and Sylvie have been really good to me. I wouldn’t want to leave them in a lurch now that she’s back in school.”
I nod, letting her know I understand and respect her decision. “They are very lucky to have you. I’m afraid Aisha is still upset about losing her last nanny. She still hasn’t deemed anyone acceptable for anything but short-term care.” I give her a faintly chagrined smile, playing the role of a frustrated father to a T. Trying not to let my gaze linger too long on her enchanting features.
“Just keep on throwing nannies at her. Wear her down. That’s what Holt did with Wes.”
I might have laughed at her suggestion, but then she once again unleashes that smile. Those dimples...
An urge to cup her face lights across my palms. What it would be like to touch her? Let one thumb slip into the groove of her dimple, while the other brushed across her full, soft lips? I can almost see myself, feel myself leaning down to—
I cut those dangerous thoughts off with a turn of my head. What the hell is wrong with me? This morning I beat my wife’s lover within an inch of his life, and now here I am eyeing the impromptu babysitter and considering the same behavior.
RASHID: HER RUTHLESS BOSS: 50 Loving States, Hawaii Page 4