“I…but she’ll get one if she’s on the list, right?”
“That can’t be guaranteed. With dialysis, she can live at least five more years and that might open her up to a donor or to even other advancements in treatment. We’re making them all the time.”
“That’s not what I asked. What are the odds she’ll get her donor to give her a kidney in time?” she asked, balling her hands up at her side, wishing she could beat up the whole damn world for how unfair everything was, how twisted.
Dr. Singal looked down at his clipboard and then back at her. “She’s young and she’s managed her condition well. She doesn’t have other complicating factors should she stay compliant. I’d say at least a sixty percent chance.”
“I…”
She didn’t even know what to say to that. It was an even greater than one-in-three chance that her sister wouldn’t get better and she’s lose her within the next five years. It was as if someone saw her have five minutes of damn happiness last night and decided that was far too much for Jennifer Wilde to have. God, the devil, Zeus…whoever…had decided to curse her all at once and rip everything out from under her. But a job was just a job. This was her baby sister.
Suddenly, it was like a jolt of electricity had whizzed through her. Standing up from her chair, her hands still balled into fists at her side, she glared at the doctor. “There has to be another hospital, though, or a foundation that can help her. Syd isn’t going to die.”
“Miss Wilde, I didn’t say that’s what was going to happen.”
“But you’re telling me percentages, giving me an estimate of when her time runs out. That’s not good enough,” she said. “There’s got to be something else. Isn’t there any way to get up higher on the list?”
“No, it’s not manipulated like that.”
“Then we have to figure out a better treatment, Dr. Singal. I know she’s on Mom’s crappy stuff from working at Walmart, but we have to do something, please.”
“Miss Wilde, I advise you call your mother and take some time to digest this news. What I can tell you is that as we stabilize her, the staff here will do the best job we can, and we’ll help you find a good regime back home in Kentucky. The university is in your town. That should help. UK has its advantages.”
“But it’s…there has to be something else we can do.”
“Call your mother. You both need to understand how fully this is going to impact your family.”
“Believe me,” she said, “I couldn’t be more aware of it. Not at all.”
When he was gone, she slipped into the hall and went first to Rose, standing guard like the perfect and most loyal sentinel outside of her sister’s room. Her friend looked up at her and reached out and held her tightly.
“What did he say?”
“I…she’ll need dialysis until they can find a donor. Mom and I have the wrong type.” Suddenly all those jokes about being A-plus people because of their blood type weren’t funny anymore. She’d do anything if she matched with her little sister, but she didn’t. Hell, if they were the same type, she’d strap herself to the gurney right now and ask the doctors what they were waiting for. “I need to call Mom but I can’t even think. It’s like my brain’s on this weird, fuzzy autopilot, like none of this is real.”
“But I’m here for you, and I’m not the only one,” she said. “It seems someone’s sheikh is here, and you so have tons more to tell me about Bahan later, girl,” she said, pointing Jennifer to the waiting room in the corner.
Bahan was there, sitting alone. Maybe he’d arranged for that—another rich-guy trick that she couldn’t fathom. Or maybe it was just the way the world was today. She and her sister alone and feeling adrift in a cold, cruel universe. Either way, she’d only left him a few hours ago. It seemed like it had been longer. Her life had fundamentally changed since their night together and the relaxed brunch they’d shared with his brother, Fareed. Still, it warmed her heart to see him there. It was something her dipshit of a father had never done for her or Sydney, and it was nothing that Dustin would have done either. It gave her hope that her heart hadn’t chosen poorly this time around.
“You’re here,” she said. Then she looked back at Rose. “Can you go and watch over Sydney? I’ll be there in five minutes. I just need to talk to him and then call Mom.”
“You know I can, boss,” Rose joked, winking back at her before she hurried back to Sydney’s room.
Bahan didn’t say anything, just swept her up in a fierce hug. She needed that, needed to feel the steel cage of his arms around her, giving her the security that the rest of her life lacked. Inhaling deeply, she took in that addictive scent of him that seemed to follow him everywhere. It was already like coming home, and she wasn’t sure what that said about her. She’d tried her whole life not to be dependent on anyone else, and she barely knew this man. But he felt so safe, like he could give her the shelter she seemed to lack currently.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my sister…I…she has kidney failure. Mom and I aren’t a match.”
“Then we can get her a new kidney,” he said dismissively, almost as if he could go buy one at the local grocery store.
That made her angry.
“God,” she said, pushing away from him, heat flaring in her cheeks. “I know things just happen when you’re the royal head of a whole country. People fall in line and say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘how high, sir,’ but in reality we can’t just have an underling murdered for a good available kidney.”
“That’s not what I’d do and don’t make those assumptions about my culture. We’re not so completely different from you. But I do have the influence. I can get her what she needs with a donor and the best surgeons in my country. You have no idea what I could get for her.”
“Why would you do that? I’m just some girl you met at a club. I’m nothing to you,” she said, her anger draining out of her. It was all too much, the stress and pressure and that crushing reality seeming to close in all around her.
“Because…” he said, getting down on one knee, and Jennifer felt her eyes bulge out of her head. This couldn’t possibly be real. “I want you to be my sheikha. You won’t just be ‘anyone’ anymore. You’ll be royalty too, and there are things that you can expect. And one of those things is that there are no limits on what the world can offer you and what you can have. If you need a kidney and great surgeons for Sydney, then we’ll be able to find them. It won’t be a problem.”
“But you don’t even know me,” she objected.
Then he pushed open the small velvet box’s top, revealing the large diamond inside. Seriously, it would put the average princess or movie star to shame. It was princess cut and set in a ring base of filigreed silver.
“Well, then, Jennifer, uh…”
“Wilde,” she supplied, chagrined that he didn’t even know her last name.
“Yes,” he said, composing himself and starting over again. “Miss Jennifer Wilde, would you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you be my sheikha and rule Yemen faithfully by my side? Will you let me care for you for as long as I live?”
It was hard to swallow when he said that last part. The lump in her throat came out of nowhere, but seemed to take up half the space there. He was offering to take care of her, to be what she needed, especially now. So it gutted her to give her answer.
“Of course not.”
Chapter Six
Rejection.
This was a new sensation for Bahan. He’d never had any woman refuse him. It would be intriguing if it weren’t also annoying. They didn’t have much time to dither, and yes, he could still try and keep his title by marrying the sheikha of Lebanon, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Not that he was ready for a full marriage, but he agreed with his brother’s plan. There was no one he’d want to at least work with and make love to for a couple of years outside of Jennifer. He loved the taste of her on his lips, the feel of her body—so soft and feminine—in his arms, and he want
ed to pursue this fragile, budding relationship.
So he was completely dumbfounded when she said that she didn’t want to marry him. Yes, it was beyond sudden, but he was a sheikh and one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet. Surely he’d just misheard her.
Staying on his knees, he presented the ring to her again. “I’m serious, Jennifer, would you marry me?”
“We’ve known each other for a weekend.”
He nodded and stood, but not before handing her the velvet box. “Perhaps I need to explain. I didn’t realize how sick Sydney was or how terrible a time this is for you, but I think we can truly help each other.”
“Because if you’re a sheikh you can just get important organs down at the KidneyMart or have an underling get on the operating table for you,” she drawled.
“No, because I need a wife in order to comply with arcane laws in our country, and I need one before my ailing father dies. You need someone who can cut through the red tape and who can make sure that with the right donations and the right political influence, Sydney gets that special organ within the month.”
“You could do that?”
“I can make it possible. They want you to think that no matter how rich or powerful you are that you can’t jump the list, but I can call in some favors that some senators and others owe me here. If you marry me…hell, even if you don’t…I’d do anything to help your sister survive. I’m not lying, though, when I say that if you also had the title of royalty surrounding you that it would help you to speed up the process even more. But, Jennifer,” he said, taking her empty hand in his, “I care about you and I don’t want your family to suffer.”
“You barely know me.”
“Well, I might have a playboy reputation and I might be a ruler—or will be someday—but I can see people in pain and suffering. I can see how stricken you are, and even if you were just a member of my kingdom asking for help, I’d want to assist you. The fact that we’ve already shared a connection…”
“It was more than that,” she said, adding a wry smile despite the seriousness of their situation.
“Exactly, so let me make this deal with you. You only have to stay married to me for a couple of years, to fulfill the contract. If you feel it’s too odious a duty, then we can always divorce. Yemen isn’t as strict as some kingdoms. It never has been. I need to obey the spirit of the law,” he added, winking at her. “Not the letter. Please, can you help me? Hell, will you let me help your family?”
She nodded and swallowed hard, then slipped the ring onto her finger herself. It wasn’t what he wanted. A big part of her soul already wished that he could have slipped the diamond ring on, done it all the old-fashioned way, but there was nothing old fashioned about this. Frankly, his immediate family and hers would know it was all for show, a farce to get them both what he wanted.
It didn’t make the feelings in his chest any less sharp or genuine.
“Well,” she said, tears welling up a bit in her eyes. “I have to call Mama and explain to her everything that’s going on. I…we’ve always been terrified this would come, even when she was just a baby and the doctors figured out why she was so sick all the time.”
He gathered her to his chest; it was the most natural motion he could have made. Jennifer felt right nestled there, tight against his body. If he could protect her from the uncertainty to come, Bahan would. He would offer his money and influence, make sure that Sydney was cared for by only the best doctors and surgeons in the world. But even he couldn’t buy fate. Hopefully the medical intervention would work, but even that was beyond his power and reach. For right now, he could hold her, rock her closely and promise her that he’d be by her side as they navigated this tough time of illness in both of their families.
Bahan only wished the marriage were as real as their pact to take care of each other and their relatives. But at least she’d said yes, and that was a start.
***
The wedding had to be in New York. They were having it in the deluxe hospital suite he’d arranged for Sydney at the best facility in Manhattan. With his machinations, Sydney would be receiving a kidney by the week between Christmas and New Year’s. If any of them had been a blood and tissue match, they’d have done it sooner. But even testing him and Fareed on the off chance there was a match had yielded nothing.
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 ru
shed 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.”’
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