The Sheikh's Purchased Bride

by Holly Rayner

SIX

  As the door clicked shut behind her, Amie turned to marvel at her new bedroom; it was as extravagant as the rest of the estate. Beige and red carpeting covered the floor, complex patterns flowing through it. In the center of the room was a bed with a dark red canopy behind it. There was a large, antique vanity next to the bed, and next to that sat a group of chairs made with the same wood and fabric that decorated the canopy, all sat around a dainty tea table.

  Rummaging through the dressers, Amie found a tank top and pink pajama pants which she promptly put on. It felt so good to be out of her formal dress. She made her way into the attached washroom and stared at her drained face and fallen curls. She quickly washed her face but couldn’t quite be bothered with trying to remove her mascara.

  She stepped back into the bedroom and flopped into bed, hoping for some much-needed sleep. She settled into the comfortable down-filled blankets and quickly turned the lamp off.

  It felt strange being in someone else’s bed, and slowly Amie’s mind began to wonder. What kind of scandal had happened between him and his family that would make his sister and father so insanely resistant to getting to know her? What tension was there that Malik would take freezing Chicago winters over a palace and endless warm nights?

  She tossed and turned for hours, trying to get comfortable. She knew she’d have trouble sleeping; she always did. Throw in jet-lag, the strangest acting gig imaginable, and a rumbling stomach and you get one exhausted but unrelentingly awake Amie.

  After hours in purgatory, Amie finally gave up on sleep and started wondering if she might be able to find some herbal tea in the kitchen, or a bag of chips. Really, either would do.

  She tiptoed out of bed and made her way into the hallway. The whole house was quiet and dark. She did her best with the limited lighting to find her way down the winding, intricately-carved staircase. The more she looked through the house, the more she believed it had come straight out of a book of fairytales.

  Her feet hit the cold tiles of the foyer and within a couple of steps Amie was in the kitchen. Luckily for her, all the cupboards were well-stocked with food. She grabbed a plate from a shelf and began loading it with pita bread, carrots, hummus, a meat skewer, and a large helping of baklava. Juggling her large plate, along with a glass of milk, she walked into the living room only to be startled by the sight of Malik, sitting in an oversized chair.

  She jumped in the lamplight, spilling a dollop of milk as she did. “You scared me!” she cried, anxiously looking down at the stain spreading over the plush carpeting.

  Malik laughed. He was lounging back in an emerald green chair, watching an old black and white movie. He looked down at the mark on the carpet and slowly reached for the remote, pausing the film.

  With a smile he stood and moved towards the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”

  Within moments he emerged with a dishtowel and wiped up the spill, giving her a teasing smile.

  “What!” she laughed. “You scared me!”

  “My apologies for my terrifying… watching in silence,” he laughed again and returned to his seat.

  Amie sat down on the sofa across from him and set her plate down on the coffee table before her, letting out a tired laugh as she did. She sighed unevenly as she started ripping the pita bread apart and dipping it in the hummus.

  Malik watched quietly as she picked at her food, the faux-couple sitting in silence until he resumed his movie.

  “Anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” she said through a mouthful of food.

  “Anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to raid the entire contents of a host’s fridge?”

  “Here, I thought you were my husband,” she said mockingly.

  “Fiancé,” he corrected.

  “Then what’s yours is mine!” she joked, stuffing her mouth with baklava. “What? You said help yourself!”

  They both smiled sleepily, sitting quietly for a moment before Amie pointed to the screen and asked, “So what are you watching, anyway? You’re into old movies?”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  She laughed. “Like what?”

  “With shock and horror,” he grinned. “Not your cup of tea?”

  “Old, outdated, before my time,” she shrugged. “Uninteresting.”

  “All right, Amie Shaw, I believe it’s about time we had our first pre-marriage debate,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and taking a sip from his water glass. “I take your argument and will raise you a counter to every point you make.”

  Amie leaned forward playfully, cupping her hands together. “Perfect!” she said with a grin. “We betting on this debate?”

  He laughed. “Do you have money to bet?”

  “No,” she said bashfully. “But I heard I have half a million dollars coming my way if I pretend to be marrying this cute guy.”

  Cute guy? She clenched her teeth. Why, oh why did she have to admit that to him? Joking banter aside, you probably shouldn’t call your boss cute, no matter how, well, cute he is.

  If he thought her comment was out of line, he didn’t say so. Instead, he made a suggestion. “Okay then, we play for bragging rights.”

  “Perfect,” she nodded. “All right, my first argument. Old movies are… old. No CGI, no special effects, just… black and white.”

  He nodded and scratched his chin as if considering her point. “Counter,” he said quickly, “Black and white films have better acting and better storylines because there’s no fantastical computer-generated scenes to distract from the story. Back then, if your actors were incredible, then your film was incredible, too.”

  She pursed her lips in an over-exaggerated manner and attempted to mimic how he’d scratched his chin. “Fair enough,” she concluded finally. “Second point: these fantastic storylines you just raved about may have been great at the time, but they deal with things which are now irrelevant to our culture. We simply can’t relate to the stories or scenarios anymore.”

  Malik extended his hand to the movie on the screen and shook his head. “I see them as historical portraits. Fascinating little time capsules for us to look back on. What better way to see an accurate portrayal of the 1940s than to see a movie made in the 1940s, by people who actually lived in that time period? The stories were full of substance, because they had to be. They had little else to fall back on.”

  “Okay,” she conceded with a groan. “But can you relate to them?”

  “Sure! These were films being made back when there weren’t a thousand other films like them with the exact same storylines. They were original, and they dealt with stories that are still the forerunning themes for movies today: love, pain, the human spirit. They’re timeless.”

  “And not a werewolf or vampire in sight,” Amie said, raising her brows sardonically. “All right,” she shrugged and continued picking at her plate. “So why do you like them, really? It can’t just be for the history lesson.”

  “I’m something of an insomniac by nature…” He took a long breath in and watched the actors on the screen; their steps perfectly in-time as they danced together through a field of sunflowers. He smiled as they did so and, almost out of nowhere, Amie felt a flash of attraction for her new boss. “They… make me feel something indescribable. There’s a spirit in these films that you can’t find today.”

  She snapped her fingers slowly and joked, “But they sure don’t help you sleep.”

  “Unfortunately not,” he said with a smile. “So what about you, Amie? What brings you down here, besides your apparently insatiable appetite?”

  Amie watched Malik, illuminated in the half-light of the television, and couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked. His eyes were tired, yet bright. His skin was perfectly tan, and he was well-built in frame, much taller than her, with the most enviable thick brown hair that she wouldn’t dare admit she was jealous of. What drew her in most was his smile; straight teeth, white as a cloud.

  Snap out of it!

  She shook her h
ead suddenly before dropping her carrot stick and leaning back on the couch. “I just couldn’t sleep,” she said lamely. “I guess I’m still full of questions.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Do you mind?”

  He made a sweeping gesture with his arm and nodded. “Not at all.”

  “Okay, how about we start with… why you’re doing all this? I mean, we’re taking the whole parental acceptance thing a bit far, aren’t we?” The words came out somewhat harsher than she intended and she winced slightly.

  “I guess you could say that,” he laughed and gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes. “You want the truth?”

  “Always,” she said softly.

  “I moved to Chicago about nine years ago,” he explained, leaning back in his chair. “My father sent me there to make a name for myself.”

  “And did you?”

  “Oh, yes.” He gave a disappointed laugh. “Maybe a bit too much of one. I quickly discovered my passion for real estate; the market’s constantly changing, and you have to move fast to stay ahead of the competition. I was grabbing opportunities wherever I saw them, and within a couple of years I was at the top of a multi-million-dollar company. I used my savings to buy the owners out, and two years later, the business was turning a multi-billion-dollar profit.”

  “Real estate, real estate, rah-rah-rah,” Amie said with mock enthusiasm, not allowing the genuine admiration she felt deep down to show. “What’s so bad about that? It sounds to me like you’re killin’ it!”

  “Well, that’s not the reputation my parents were concerned about.”

 

  “Ah…”

  “Ah,” he repeated in the same tone. “You see, I’ve developed a reputation as something of a…”

  She blinked and watched him fumble over his words. “Skank?” she said frankly.

  “Playboy,” he corrected.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Um, yeah, that’s just a fancier word for it.”

  He shrugged with a chuckle. “What can I say? I love American women. I love wining and dining them, selling them houses, doing business with them…”

  She raised her brows and frowned. “Probably not something you should be telling your wife-to-be.”

  “Unfortunately, American dating culture isn’t exactly accepted in my country,” he continued. “Somehow, a few months ago, word got back to my parents. My father was furious; he felt I was bringing shame on our family. So I came up with a plan. I reasoned I could dispel any rumors they were hearing—”

  “—No matter how well founded,” Amie interrupted.

  “No matter how well founded,” he conceded, “by bringing home my beautiful, successful, and wholesome American fiancée.”

  “And you thought of me?” She feigned flattery, fanning herself with her hand and in her best Southern accent giggled out, “Why, you do make me blush!”

  Malik offered her a genuine smile; staring into her eyes in the same charming way he had at the gala. It all made sense now, Amie thought. He knew how to make a girl feel good.

  His eyes left hers and became fixed on the floor beneath him; his jaw set, looking sullen. She gave him a quizzical look and wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe these family-shaming rumors went further than he was letting on; maybe they bothered him more than he was saying.

  Why else would anyone hire a fake fiancée?

  “But…” Amie started, her brows drawing together. “Why go through all the fuss? Are you scared they’ll take away some impending fortune, or, like, your house or something? If I lived in this place, I sure would be.”

  “You do babble,” he said with a grin. “No, they can’t take away anything—my fortune was granted to me when I turned 18. And my American funds are all my own.”

  “Then… why?”

  “A reputation isn’t as easy to buy as a home,” he said, a hint of sadness behind his usually jovial tone. “My family is important to me; I would never want to bring shame on them.”

  “Ah…” Amie nodded, staring down at her plate. She decided a subject change was in order and her face brightened as she offered him a big smile. “Well, Mr. Playboy, I’m flattered you chose me as your star cast member.”

  “The choice seemed pretty clear to me,” he said, seeming less tense now that the conversation was taking a different turn. “You’re brilliant. You really roll with the punches.”

  She wrinkled her forehead with disbelief and gave a tired laugh before rubbing her eyes with her hand. “I wish you were a real casting director, in that case.”

  Malik seemed puzzled but didn’t move to speak; his eyes alone asking for the rest of the story. When none came, he finally bit, “Your performance in Carolina and the Bridge was fantastic.”

  “Yeah?” she blanched. “You know, I was only the understudy.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Really,” she repeated. “You see, Malik, like you, I also grab opportunities when I see them. But, apparently my judgment sucks and those opportunities rarely grab back.”

  He grimaced briefly and then looked hopeful once more. “I’m sure success will come in time.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but it’s already been two years. How long am I supposed to spend pursuing a career that pays nothing and never gives back? What if I’m just throwing my life away?”

  Malik gave a coy smile and walked over to the couch to sit with her, and Amie thought fleetingly that it felt strange being so close to him, despite having been around him all night.

  He sat beside her and looked into her eyes, the way a helpful friend might. “You got this job, didn’t you?”

  She blinked, but said nothing as she watched him.

  “And from what I hear it pays pretty well.”

  Finally, Amie laughed. “Yeah, not nearly enough. Note to self: always read the small print.”

  The two locked eyes and then looked away from one another. Despite the awkward tension, Malik didn’t get up. Instead, he leaned back into the couch and Amie instinctively leaned back against him. He resumed playing the movie and the two sat up for an hour or more watching the rest of the film.

  By the end of it, Malik made sure to mock her for getting emotional, insisting that deep down she was an old film lover, just like him.

  Amie laughed, just as she noticed she was leaning into the crook of his neck, and the two of them sat up suddenly.

  Sensing that she was about to leave, Malik grabbed Amie’s hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm. “I really do think you’re a brilliant actress,” he said lowly. “Anyone who can pretend to adore me for an entire evening deserves an award, for sure.”

  She offered a wry smile. “Isn’t women adoring you what got you into this mess in the first place?”

  He let out a bested humph noise and the two locked eyes once more. Suddenly Amie felt overwhelmed with unprofessional feelings towards her new boss. Either she was ridiculously exhausted, or he looked absolutely handsome—even more so than she’d realized before.

  She blinked and reached up to brush her hand through his hair. As soon as she made the move, she knew she shouldn’t have, and a moment later she could see his lips moving closer to hers.

  Great job, Amie. You finally meet an attractive billionaire who makes you laugh. One problem: he just so happens to be your boss. Don’t. Be. So. Stupid!

  Amie backed away from the oncoming kiss with extreme effort not to make the movement too awkward or hurried. She breathed out and mentally patted herself on the back for practicing some willpower. She smiled at Malik then got to her feet.

  “I should probably get some sleep,” she said awkwardly.

  “Of course, yeah,” he said as he stood from the couch, sounding equally as awkward. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She nodded. “Goodnight, Malik.”

  “Goodnight.”