Rayyan

by Marian Tee

  “Understood, Your Highness.” And Gadi was true to his promise…but only for as long as the sheikh was within earshot. The moment his employer closeted himself in his office, however –

  Rayyan winced as he heard the female members of his staff squeal in excitement from the other side of the door. Damn Gadi and his big mouth. He really had to teach that boy a lesson one of these days, but more importantly, he had to do something about her.

  Right now, only the palace staff and those who worked closely with the finance department had taken notice of Hyacinth, whom many likened to a kitten that followed the sheikh around wherever he went. And just like a cherished pet, Hyacinth was known to be sweet and charming to those who sang praises of the sheikh, but also wild and feral to those who spoke ill of him in her presence.

  Although Rayyan was secure in the knowledge that none of his loyal staff would even think of publicly voicing whatever opinions they had about the nature of his relationship with Hyacinth, he also knew that it would be careless of him to let things continue as they were.

  One of these days, the inevitable would come, and…

  The faint sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and the sheikh winced, having no trouble identifying the culprit behind all the commotion.

  Silent as a mouse, dammit.

  That was what he had always advised Hyacinth to do when walking through the palace’s secret tunnels, but here she was, making as much noise as a marching band.

  Minutes later, the secret panel in his wall slid open silently, and Hyacinth stood by the doorway, a gamine smile flirting with her lips. “Surprise!”

  “La, anisdi.” No, milady. “Galloping horses are a thousand times better at being stealthy,” he said dryly, “so no, it’s no surprise that you’re here.”

  She stuck her tongue out. “Spoilsport.” And then she ran towards him at full speed.

  But the sheikh was more than ready for her, as always, and before she could even stand on her toes to steal a kiss from his lips, he already had her in his trap, his arms closing around her in a caged embrace.

  “Spoilsport,” she mumbled even as her toes curled hard at having her body pressed against the sheikh’s powerful form. And when she felt his broad shoulders shake in silent mirth, her toes could only curl harder even as she mentally despaired the hopelessness of her situation.

  You have it so, so, so ridiculously bad, H.

  “I guess I am,” the sheikh said softly. “But…”

  “I knew there’d be a but,” she muttered.

  “You love me anyway.”

  Shit.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I fucking hate you,” Hyacinth snarled, “and that’s---” Her voice died, her body tensing when she felt the sheikh’s lips move to her ear. And then she felt him breathe, and it was all she could do not to swoon.

  God help me.

  I’d rather fucking die than swoon.

  “Thank you for doing what you did, majamira.”

  “Hmph.”

  The sheikh grinned down at her. “Are you pouting?”

  Oh shit.

  Realizing she was indeed pouting like a silly high school girl (which she was, but he didn’t need to be reminded of that), she hastily rearranged her features into a scowl, saying snidely, “You’re mistaken. You need to have your eyes checked. And anyway---” Hyacinth rushed to change the subject. “Don’t think I didn’t know you were late.”

  “Maehdina.” I’m sorry. “I didn’t want to be, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “How do I make it up to you?”

  “Say you’re in love with me,” she said without hesitation.

  “I’m in love with you,” he conceded just as promptly.

  She stepped on his foot – hard – and the sheikh winced.

  “Say it like you mean it.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Hyacinth didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The truth was in his eyes. He might not be in love with her, but he was working on it, and God. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel about that.

  Insulted that he had to work on falling for her – or hopeful that he wanted to fall in love with her?

  “You drive me crazy,” she muttered. “You really do.”

  “Maehdina.”

  “And stop that. We both know you’re only saying you’re sorry because you know what it does to me.”

  The sheikh studied her with feigned puzzlement. “What does it do to you?”

  “Ha!”

  “Do the words make your heart race, is that it?”

  A strangled gasp escaped her.

  “Or maybe…” The sheikh’s voice turned husky. “The words make you want to take a whip out, put on a pair of leather thongs---”

  “Rayyan!” She squirmed in discomfort, red-faced at the images the sheikh’s unexpected words brought to mind. “How could you---” Hyacinth stopped speaking, noticing too late the strange look on the sheikh’s handsome face. “What is it?”

  But he only stared at her, and she started feeling uneasy.

  “What’s wrong? Sheikh---”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  And now she was completely bewildered. “No?”

  “You didn’t call me sheikh earlier.”

  Oh.

  He was right.

  Rayyan saw the uncertainty in her gaze, and his chest clenched. “Don’t.”

  Hyacinth sucked in her breath at the harsh tone of his voice. It hurt. But even so, she made herself ask. “Don’t…what?” If he wanted to play the jerk, she wasn’t going to let him do it half-assed. She would –

  “Don’t look at me the way you’re looking at me now.”

  What?

  “You’re looking at me,” Rayyan said quietly, “like you believe you need my permission to say my name.”

  OH.

  “Because you don’t.”

  Her head dropped to his chest.

  “If anything---”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’d be honored---”

  “I said shut up.” And that was when he felt it.

  “To have you say my name.” Her tears on his heart.

  “So say it.”

  Her body shook against him.

  “Say it, Hyacinth.”

  So many tears.

  “Do you want me to beg---”

  “Shut up, Rayyan.”

  His eyes closed. “Good girl.” He heard her choke back a teary laugh, and he tightened his hold on her.

  If only…God, if only he could give her more than his name –

  If only.

  But some things were beyond even Al Afea.

  Chapter Ten

  With Rayyan turning thirty the next day and Hyacinth wanting to make it the best birthday ever, she had thought long and hard before deciding on the best gift she could give to the man who had everything.

  “Ta-da!”

  She turned the laptop around so Mrs. B. could see what she had secretly burned the midnight oil on for the entire week.

  Her homeroom teacher’s brows shot up to her hairline. “What in the world…”

  “Fuck Being Politically Correct.” Hyacinth read the name of her blog with pride.

  “And that is your gift for the sheikh?” the older woman asked blankly.

  “It’s the best way I can serve him,” she explained simply. “The sheikh’s the only one who doesn’t have his own public relations team---”

  “By choice,” Mrs. Bauer reminded her.

  “Which is stupid, don’t you think?” she retorted. “It’s almost like he deliberately wants the public to see him as flawed.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Well, I don’t care what his reason is. It’s time for someone to make all his critics shut up---”

  “And that someone would be you?”

  “No other person could be more suitable for the job,” Hyacinth bragged. “I’m the one closest to him, being his secret girlfriend
and future bride---”

  “Until you have his ring on your finger, you can’t be certain of anything.”

  “Mrs. B.!”

  “I’m just being truthful.”

  “You’re being pessimistic, that’s what you’re doing. As always.” Hyacinth stared at her homeroom teacher in exasperation. “Honestly, Mrs. B. Why do you have to be so…so…so like Deadpool?”

  The older woman choked. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re just so snide all the time even though we both know you’re a marshmallow on the inside.”

  A shudder of disgust wracked the other woman’s slender frame. “I am no such thing.” And because such talk was beginning to grate on her nerves, she quickly changed the setting of her alarm, and a moment later, her phone started beeping loudly.

  Hyacinth let out a gasp. “I saw that!”

  Mrs. B. blinked innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You changed---”

  “Oh, look at the time.” The homeroom teacher began pushing her to the door. “I’m so sorry, but I have an appointment with another student in the next few minutes.”

  “Liar. I’m the only one who can tolerate---”

  “Please say happy birthday to the sheikh for me.” And then Mrs. B. slammed the door on her face.

  Hyacinth grinned. There really was no one like Mrs. B., and she wondered if it was possible to convince the other woman to teach in college, too, once she graduated.

  As soon as she got home, she scrawled a note for Anisah and pinned it to the fridge before quickly making her way to the finance department.

  Everyone in the finance department started grinning the moment they saw Hyacinth. “Someone’s super happy,” one of the encoders teased her. “What did you get the sheikh for his birthday?”

  Before she could answer, a senior accountant piped up, saying wickedly, “Herself, what else?”

  Hyacinth let out a gasp of feigned dismay. “What a malicious thing to say!”

  But not one of the sheikh’s staff bought it, with everyone snickering as Hyacinth went on her way.

  While the rest of the world still remained thankfully blind to the growing closeness between Rayyan Al-Atassi and his young intern, the members making up the finance department were not as dense.

  Or rather, such a thing was impossible not to notice, seeing how the sheikh and Hyacinth were at work. The sheikh never smiled as often as he did when the girl was around, and the palace ward only seemed to turn into a little tigress when defending her beloved master. Both individuals were deeply private: the sheikh with his aloof reserve and Hyacinth able to fly under the radar with her sunny smiles and feminine gestures; they were not the kind to call other people in public with terms of endearment, and yet…with each other, they were different.

  Within the walls of the finance department, the sheikh had taken to calling his intern majamira while Hyacinth was the only one brave enough to teasingly call the sheikh ‘alsyd’. The word translated to ‘master’, and just how it was in English, the term meant one thing in its traditional context and then another thing altogether when used by a certain type of female…for a certain type of male.

  Hyacinth couldn’t help whistling to herself as she used the secret passageways to sneak into the sheikh’s bedroom. It would be her first time to do so, and it was yet another thing she had secretly worked on in the past week.

  Naughty or not, ever since Rayyan had mentioned about the tunnels also having a direct connection to his bedroom, the thought of enjoying forbidden trysts in his very bedroom had never left her mind.

  And now, definitely, the time had come to make that particular fantasy a reality. Whether it was making out or making love – it didn’t matter. She just knew now was the right time to take things to the next level.

  Rayyan’s bedroom was dark and empty when she finally arrived, but it was just as she expected. After placing her homemade cake and laptop on the table, Hyacinth planted herself in the armchair next to the window and settled down for what she knew could be a rather long wait. The sheikh’s Geneva-based parents had flown in to celebrate their son’s birthday, and Hyacinth expected their dinner to last until the wee hours of the night.

  To while away the time, she took her phone out, and the first thing she saw was a notification about the latest articles written about the sheikh. She clicked on the tab, thinking that it could be photos of the sheikh with the rest of the royal family.

  Al Afea: Serpent or Snake?

  Photographs of Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi having dinner with Ms. Jemima Black, the sheikh’s long-rumored mistress, have recently been leaked to the public. Black is also the ex-wife of Sheikh Abdel Ghulam, and prior to this development, speculations have risen about the couple getting back together.

  But with the royal sheikh back in the picture, who could blame Ms. Black for having her head turned by a worldly prince such as Al-Atassi?

  Where the fuck was she? The moment he had seen the news about him and Jemima getting back together, his first and only concern was of Hyacinth. He had called Aisha, the undercover agent posing as a high school student and whom Hyacinth used for sleepover excuses, but all Aisha could tell him was that Hyacinth meant to celebrate his birthday with him. As for Gadi, the only thing his assistant could say was that she had used his office to access the palace’s secret tunnels.

  Knowing there was only one other person he could ask about Hyacinth’s whereabouts, he reluctantly excused himself from the table to make a call to Cecile in private.

  Hyacinth’s homeroom teacher answered right away, demanding shortly, “Is the news real?”

  “It’s not.” His voice was just as taut. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I don’t right now, but I’ll try calling her.” A pause, and then she said stiffly, “She might not show it to you anymore, but I think you should still know.”

  Rayyan’s face hardened as he listened to what Cecile had to say, and as soon as the call ended, he swiftly typed the URL she had given him.

  Ah.

  His jaw clenched tightly as he started reading her posts, with each one presenting a passionate but concisely written and meticulously structured defense of the more controversial economic policies he had helped pass. And as for every unfair attack launched against him by the international media, she had rebutted them point by fucking point –

  It was Hyacinth wearing her heart on a sleeve – with a loaded gun right next to it.

  All of a sudden he knew exactly where she was, and when the sheikh returned to the party, he used the news about Jemima to excuse himself early from dinner. In half an hour, he was in his bedroom, staring down at the girl foolish enough to love a man like him.

  When Hyacinth woke up, it was to see the sheikh himself stepping out of his fancy bathroom, hair still wet from the shower, bare-chested, and dressed only in a pair of loose lounge pants. She scrambled to a sitting position just as the sheikh crouched down in front of her, his gaze capturing hers.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about having dinner with Jemima.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was being stupid. And stubborn.”

  Oh.

  “If you told me,” she said slowly, “it would mean that I really did have a chance.” Even without Rayyan saying a word, she knew this was the truth, but what she just couldn’t figure out was why.

  The way he was looking at her now – like she was someone he could never have, and she just didn’t understand it.

  The sheikh didn’t seem the type to let something like her age hold him back. Maybe that was an issue with someone like Sheikh Malik and Kyria, but they were different people in a different situation.

  But with her and Rayyan…

  “Why?” She hated the way her voice shook, hated that this man could make her feel so easily weak and fragile when she had always been strong. “Can’t you just tell me why?”

  I want to be yours, so why?

  Why?

  Why?
<
br />   Hyacinth tensed when the sheikh slowly reached for her.

  His knuckles grazed her cheek, the trail mark left by her tears making it slightly wet.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “I made you cry.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “The last thing I ever want is to hurt you, but it seems the only thing I’m capable of doing where you’re concerned.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Now who’s flattering whom?” This time, she deliberately made her voice light, making it clear without words that the last thing she desired was a post-mortem on the things he did and couldn’t do.

  After checking her watch to make sure it was already past midnight, she said brightly, “Happy birthday!” She pointed to the cake behind him, already misshapen and halfway to becoming a sweet, soggy mess. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize it would melt so quickly---aaaah!”

  Hyacinth was frozen, unable to believe she was suddenly sitting on the sheikh’s lap.

  He had never let her get this close before.

  Never.

  Rayyan cupped her chin to make her look at him. “I saw the blog.”

  She grimaced. “Mrs. B told you, didn’t she?”

  “It’s one of the best birthday gifts I’ve ever had.”

  “One of the best?” Hyacinth couldn’t help bristling. “You mean there’s something better than my already viral blog, which at last count was already shared 10,000 times?”

  “Nem.” His voice was solemn.

  “Fine. I’ll bite. What’s better---”

  “You.” The sheikh’s blue eyes gleamed at the way color stole over her cheeks. “You, in my life – nothing compares to it.”

  Oh. Shit. Someone pinch her. Quick.

  Not wanting him to know just how much those words made her want to swoon, she made herself pout, saying, “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Then why have you never been tempted to unwrap your gift?”

  The sheikh choked.

  “Well?”

  “Because you’re like wine,” he finally said. “It’s best to let you age…”

  She made a face. “Who knew you’d be such a prude?”