He hobbled to the dining room, where most of his family had gathered. It was one of the rare nights when they didn’t have a formal dinner to attend. Both Yonas and Noel looked up at him as he entered. Yonas grinned.
“There’s my favorite cripple brother,” he teased.
“Oh, stop it.” Robel tapped his way over to the large, wooden table. Sheikh Yared sat at the head of the table, squinting at his phone. Sesuna and Winta looked glum at either side of him. “How is everyone this evening?”
“Good,” the twins mumbled.
Noel sighed tersely, fiddling with his napkin. “Just a regular day in holiday paradise. There have been some issues in the kitchen. Apparently our new chef doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘tradition.’”
“Funny,” Robel said, plopping into the empty seat at the other end of the table. Yared glanced at him, grunted a hello, then continued jabbing his index finger at his phone. Probably texting their mother, if he knew that man and his bevy of faces. “The event planner doesn’t either.”
Yared grumbled, glancing up at his sons. “Are you speaking to me?”
“Indirectly,” Yonas said. “It seems my brothers are dissatisfied with the Human Resources department of the palace.”
Yared huffed, finishing up his business on his phone before setting it aside. He peered over the rim of his low glasses. “Now what’s the issue?”
Robel shared a glance with Noel. He knew his brother would go to bat for him. If he could share his grievances about the foreign staff hired for this year’s holiday celebrations with anyone, it was Noel.
“Where did you find these American employees?” Robel blurted out, fanning his napkin out over his lap. “They seem as far removed as possible from how we do things here.”
His father’s jaw worked from side to side. Robel could be honest with him, but he might have crossed the line.
“And that is precisely the point,” Yared said succinctly, his words rimmed with tension. “Furthermore, the holiday is not planned by men. And it sounds like a few men are trying to plan how these holidays go.”
Robel clenched and unclenched his jaw, mulling over his response. He and his father often butted heads on the topic of traditionalism. It wasn’t that his father didn’t respect the traditions of Maatkare. But when it counted most—like in their very first Christmas with Mother away from home—his father tended to let things slide and waver too much from the true heart of the season.
But his father was right. Robel couldn’t argue about the tradition of women planning the holidays. It had been that way since the beginning of Maatkare.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t have brought in some women who might have adhered a bit more strongly to our ways,” Robel finally said through clenched teeth.
“Why do we want more of our ways when your mother isn’t even here to enjoy it?”
There was hurt in his father’s voice, which made Robel snap his mouth shut. The twins fidgeted uncomfortably, both frowning down at their plates. Yonas sighed dramatically, propping his arm up on the back of Sesuna’s chair.
“Can we dial down the issues, please?” Yonas pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I just want one holiday when I don’t witness a full-scale meltdown because someone disagrees with someone else’s choices.”
“Have you ever witnessed that?” Noel shot back. “You’re never home to witness anything.”
“Boys—” their father started.
“Oh, please,” Yonas sneered. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve been here. Or don’t you have eyes anymore?”
“I certainly do,” Noel muttered, swiping a piece of flatbread across his plate. He scooped up some hummus, and before he stuffed it in his mouth, he added, “It’s hard not to see how little you do around here.”
The air tightened over the dinner table. Yonas’s eyes narrowed. Their father sighed, slicing a hand through the air.
“Enough,” he said testily. Robel shook his head, reaching for flatbread for his plate. Storm clouds hung over the dinner table for a few more moments until Robel cleared his throat.
“I’m sure you won’t disagree, Father, that we should cancel the citywide ice-skating championship this woman has planned for us in two weeks.” He cast a sharp look at his father, while both Sesuna and Winta scoffed with indignation.
“No!” Sesuna cried out, while Winta crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t cancel that! That’s the best part of the holiday!”
“Oh. Perhaps that was your idea, then?” Robel arched a brow accusingly.
“Robel,” their father said, a weary edge to his voice. “That’s enough for now. We’re at dinner. Let’s just enjoy it.”
The Yared family ate in stifled amiability, but Robel couldn’t stop thinking about the absurd events Sondra had proposed. How could Sondra have been listening to a single word he’d said over the past week and still produce that proposal packet?
By the end of dinner, he was fuming again, and he tossed his napkin down before pushing himself up by the arm rests of his dining room chair. Grunting, he finagled the crutches into his arm pits and hobbled away, feeling more like a cripple than ever.
His crutches clicked down the long hallway leading toward the bedrooms. He wanted to talk to Sondra—now. But it was almost eight p.m. and who knew where she might be. Demanding she meet him for business now seemed…suspect. Maybe even inappropriate.
And maybe some of his darker thoughts danced that fine line of inappropriateness. But even though he had business to attend to, he was still a man. One who could recognize a beautiful woman even if she made poor event-planning choices.
Click tap. Click tap. He rounded the corner, the royal bedrooms further down the hall. A second later, Sondra whooshed into the hallway from a corridor just ahead, beelining for her bedroom door. She didn’t even see him before she slipped inside, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.
He paused, blinking. Now he knew precisely which guest room she was in.
Click tap. Click tap. He stood outside her door, his ankle throbbing. The time for more pain pills had come and gone. He should just go straight to his room and lie down, prop up his ankle, and calm the hell down about this.
But now that he knew she was so close…
Robel knocked before he could talk himself out of it. He studied the marbled floor tile as he waited. A slight scuffle behind the door, then the door creaked open slowly. Sondra peered out with wide eyes.
“Robel?”
The sight of her vaporized all the frustration that had been simmering since the afternoon. In fact, he was entirely unable to remember the small monologue he’d prepared during his stewing at dinner.
“Sondra. I’m sorry to bother—I just saw you come in here and thought maybe we could have a word.”
She straightened, the door swinging open slightly to reveal the room behind her. It was a palace guest room he’d seen plenty of times, but with her things occupying it—dresses laid out on the bed, a row of shoes tucked along a wall, books stacked on a dresser—it looked entirely new.
“Is everything okay?” Her brows knit together, and she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come inside. He maneuvered across the threshold, and she shut the door behind him. Fragrant silence filled the room; something like incense lingered in the air, but more than that, her womanliness weighed heavily in the room. His skin prickled. In a different world, he’d find the quickest route to pressing her against that soft king-sized bed.
“Yes.” He shoved the lascivious thoughts to the side, studying the wooden floors draped with golden and mauve rugs as though this might help clear his mind. All his vehemence had evaporated, only to be replaced with…the scent of lavender. The way her sweater hung off her shoulders. The roundness of her breasts under that ruched fabric.
“Come sit down. Get off that ankle, sheesh.” Sondra tipped her head toward the set of small arm chairs crowded around a low coffee table. She patted the back of one of them, urging him to rest. Robel hea
ved a sigh and obeyed her—his ankle was throbbing, and he couldn’t have this conversation while standing. He eased down into the chair as gently as he could, groaning slightly as he propped his foot up on the coffee table she brought nearer.
“That’s better,” she said. “Is it bothering you? You’re grinding your teeth.”
Robel stiffened. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s a little painful, yes. I haven’t taken my pills today.”
“Why not?”
“Too busy.”
She tutted, heading for her dresser. “Can I at least give you some ibuprofen? Here.” She returned a moment later with a glass of water and two pills in her hand. “Take it.”
He didn’t dare contradict her. He scooped the pills up and swallowed them quickly. She settled into the seat across from him, looking pleased with herself.
“The mothering is unnecessary, but thank you.” He downed the rest of the water and set the glass on the table. Truth be told, he liked that she looked out for him. Had since day one. It made it harder to write her off.
“Now what’s with the late visit?”
He checked his watch. It was buying him time to think of an appropriate excuse. It was more than just I dislike all your ideas. He could have told her that tomorrow. No…there was a little bit more to it than that.
“I had been thinking during dinner,” he began slowly, scanning her room. He noticed some papers next to her seat. An open pen. Maybe she’d been working. “When I saw you come in here, I thought it might be fine to drop by. It’s not too late, is it?”
“Of course not.” She waved her hand, tucking a leg underneath her on the chair. She reached for the notebook beside her. “I was just drawing up some more ideas actually.”
More ideas. His chest tightened. “Good. I had a chance to review your last batch, actually. They, uh…” He cleared his throat, yanking his gaze away from the perfect curve of her neck. “They weren’t quite what I was expecting.”
Her face hardened slightly. She flipped through pages in her notebook. “Oh? What exactly was the issue?”
He watched her for a moment. She wasn’t going to like this. “They’re not traditional enough.”
Sondra tipped her head, like quietly urging him to continue.
“We’ve spoken at length about what Maatkare needs. And a community ice-skating competition is not one of those things.”
Sondra flipped through pages, quiet so long that Robel wasn’t certain she’d even heard him. When she finally looked up, her pen was poised, eyes focused on him like a laser beam.
“All right then, Robel.” A brow lifted. “Tell me. What have Christmases been like in the past?”
3
Sondra transcribed just about every damn word the man uttered. It was easier that way—otherwise, bathed in the golden light of the bedroom, with all her sexy-adult-time incense burning, which for her signaled the relaxing end of her day, she might not be able to do anything other than stare at his perfect face.
Robel spoke. A lot. So much, in fact, that she filled three full pages with her notes. He waxed nostalgic about quiet Christmases with low lighting and candlelight ceremonies; ones that involved much storytelling around fires. Other Christmases tended to and organized exclusively by his mother, which had been some of his favorite memories. And others still where the highlight had been serene yet stoic parades that sounded more boring than memorable.
But the man was a staunch traditionalist. A fact she couldn’t keep from dwelling on while trying to discreetly absorb his handsome features.
She shouldn’t even notice how sexy he was. The way he dragged his teeth over his full bottom lip as he thought back on Christmases long gone. The dark stubble dotting his jawline. The steely edge to his gaze that had her rooted to her chair, hanging on his every word.
No, she shouldn’t notice a single thing about him. Because a traditional man like him would never want someone like her, the least traditional of them all.
Her ears pricked as she thought she sensed rustling from the other room. She cleared her throat, setting her notebook down. “Will you give me a minute?”
Robel obliged, and she scurried to the room adjacent to hers. She stepped carefully into the dark room, listening for anything amiss. All clear. She imagined noises far too often from the baby’s room. Nessa was only eight months old, but those early months had taught Sondra to be on her toes at all times.
Sondra returned quickly to her seat, grabbing for her notebook once more. She wanted to continue as though nothing had happened. Because now didn’t seem the time to drop the bomb: not only was she a non-traditionalist in her work, she was also a non-traditionalist in her life.
She was a single mom who wasn’t even a mother. Or rather, a mother thrust into the position by accident. By fate. By a totally fucking horrible accident that stole Sondra’s sister’s and brother-in-law’s lives and robbed their baby of her parents.
She knew better than to expect that the heir of Maatkare would want to get involved in something like that.
Sondra rifled through pages to find her previous spot. “Okay. So, tell me more about the weird things your mom would insert occasionally.”
“Yes. Each year there was something different. One year, I remember she included an Advent calendar. A different year, there was Hawaiian Christmas music playing during the evening one night; which, from what I understand, people love in your country.”
Sondra laughed. “Sure. I guess we do. Or some of us, at least.” She paused, tapping the pen against her lips. Robel’s childhood memories of Christmas were about as somber as they came. But maybe she could still find a way to merge the fresh with the expected.
“What about this?” Sondra flipped to a new page, started writing out new ideas. “We can do a fashion show of Christmases around the world. That would be fun for your sisters. They could even help me with picking out the models and the outfits. But it would be a great way to show the different traditions of the world and all the different ways people celebrate. And highly educational, too.”
Robel arched a brow. Entirely unimpressed. Her stomach pitched downward.
“Aren’t you trying too hard?”
She flattened her lips. “It’s my job to try hard.”
“What I mean is…” Robel’s jaw ticked as he studied something beyond her. “The important thing is the faith. That is what’s at the heart of the holidays.”
“I get that. But look. You need to know something about how I work.” She flipped through her pages, searching out some notes she’d made earlier in the week. The notes that spawned the proposal packet she’d handed into him that morning. “See this? These are all ideas. I write down, I bat things around, I talk to people, we refine the ideas, certain things get approved, others get nixed.”
“But a fashion show? Everyone will get caught up in the clothes. The guest list. The media coverage.”
“Like the majority of these dinners at the palace don’t have the same end?”
Robel didn’t laugh, or even smirk.
“Listen, if you don’t like the idea, fine. But don’t discard it altogether. Let’s see what we can take from that to move forward.” She paused, sensing him soften. He ran his thumb back and forth over his other thumb, like a metronome keeping rhythm. “The best ideas often come from collaboration. So that’s what we should do.”
Robel sat back in the chair, almost like he was defeated. His gaze darted along invisible points on the floor. “I like the idea about showcasing various religious traditions.”
Score. She fought a pleased smile and instead busied herself with scrawling exclamation points next to her pageant notes. “It’ll be a good way to blend the Maatkaran with the faith, which extends of course beyond this country.”
Robel grunted, like maybe he didn’t want to admit how right she was.
“What did you think about the living nativity scene?” she asked slowly. That was her pride and joy. T
here was no way she was leaving this country without availing herself of the camels and rich theater traditions to produce her very own live nativity scene.
Robel sniffed. “I rather liked that one.” He attempted to move his leg, wincing slightly.
Sondra leaned forward, helping him move the big ankle cast. An idea sprang to life, sparking hot and bright. “Good. Because I’ll need your help for that one.”
It wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t need help with any of this. With research and her own ingenuity, she could event plan the hell out of this palace. But the only way forward was with Robel at her side. And if she could get him to soften up, all the better.
“I agree.” Something like mischief flashed over his face. “You’ll need all the help you can get when it comes time to haggle the price of the camel rental.”
Sondra grinned. It felt like something had cracked between the two of them. Perhaps the glacial ice that had been coating Robel’s personality.
“You don’t think I can do it?” Sondra cocked her best sexy grin. Maybe this could be fun after all. Maybe Robel had a flirty side buried underneath the stern exterior. “I bet I could get a better price than you.”
Robel hefted with a laugh. “Maybe. And if so, only because you’re pretty.”
Sondra cast her eyes back down at the notebook. So he thought she was pretty. “I’ll use my assets to my advantage then.”
Silence stretched between them, somewhere between mischievous and tense. Finally, Robel spoke. “Well, you’ll need my company then. However slow and disabled it might be.”
“Definitely.” Something tightened in her chest, and she fought a smile again. Now she was doodling hearts in the margins of her notebook. “Seems like it’ll be helpful to have a Yared sheikh at my side.”
This time, she swore a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. But she didn’t revel in it long. Robel slid his foot off the coffee table a moment later and pushed to standing. Meeting adjourned. She closed her notebook, grabbing his crutches for him.
The Sheikh’s Christmas Lover: Christmas With The Yared Sheikhs Book Three Page 2