The Nanny and the Sheikh

by Barbara McMahon

  Each evening, if Surim was home, he had them join him in the dining room for dinner—even little Nadia.

  Melissa was pleased with the way the family was growing. Surim wasn’t always home, and she tried not to worry about whom he was meeting and how the great marriage stakes were progressing.

  The evenings he was home, he insisted she spend time with him in the salon after the children went to bed—ostensibly to review what they had done during the day. But while the conversation started with the children each night, it soon ranged to current events, to books they’d both read and talk of the new resort.

  Melissa was emboldened to speak her mind when talking with Surim, as he seemed to like what she had to say, even when he didn’t agree with her. Some evenings there were lively discussions when they opposed each other on a particular topic.

  Always feeling revived and refreshed after spending an evening with Surim, Melissa wondered how he was faring in finding a wife. She hated the nights he was away, worried each morning he’d greet the children with news of his engagement.

  He had not kissed her again. She knew she should be grateful not to get her emotions clouded over by the physical attraction she felt. Yet she wished he’d touch her, kiss her, hold her again. She’d never felt like that before, and was afraid no other man would make her feel exactly like that.

  Yet she was being selfish. The children would benefit by having a new mother. It would make their family stronger, just as Surim had said. But until he announced an engagement, it would hurt no one if he stole a kiss or two.

  Tonight he’d eaten with the children, but instead of leaving after the meal he sat in one of the large chairs brought up to the nursery.

  “I thought tomorrow we would go shopping,” he said.

  “Shopping?” Melissa sat in the chair opposite his, cuddling Nadia in her lap. The child was looking at a picture book, pretending to be reading.

  “Hamid, for one, needs some new clothes. And a haircut wouldn’t go amiss either,” Surim said. “I have arranged my schedule to have several hours free in the late morning. That way Nadia will be home in time for her nap.”

  He never forgot anything, she mused. And he was trying. The children seemed to be much more relaxed around him, but Surim himself needed to unbend a little more for her satisfaction. He didn’t romp with them, or get silly. Was he too lost in protocol to bother?

  “That would be wonderful. Would we shop the souks?” she asked.

  Surim frowned, then shrugged. “If that’s what you wish. I thought one of the stores on Amir Street, but we can see what the souks have.”

  “It’ll be a good chance to practice our Arabic,” she said.

  “Indeed,” agreed Surim. “How is your Arabic progressing?”

  “Slowly coming,” she replied in that tongue. “I do not have tenses in verbs. I can talk simple sentences. I can ask for food, the directions to the police station and a bathroom.” She laughed, switching back to English. “I have a long way to go if I want to become fluent.”

  “And the children?”

  “Hamid is fastest; he and Annis actually converse for several minutes. Alaya is getting the hang of it. Nadia can make simple sentences, but loses interest quickly. Once we know more, we can spend time each day speaking Arabic, which will help her adjust. It’s a bit confusing, but there are bilingual children the world over. It’s really easier to learn young.”

  “Tomorrow you can try your skills at the souks.”

  Melissa smiled. “That’ll for sure brand me a tourist, then they’ll raise the prices.”

  Surim was always amused by Melissa’s practice of economy. Had she no idea how much money he had at his disposal? The children in their own rights had enough income to live comfortably even if they never worked. But she looked for bargains, and seemed more conservative of his spending than he.

  “I believe I can talk them down to a reasonable level,” he said.

  “They won’t recognize you, will they?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. I haven’t visited the souks since I was a teenager.”

  She gave it some thought. He’d love to know what she was worried about now.

  “Maybe the children and I should go alone,” she said a moment later.

  “I assure you I can manage at the souks.”

  “But won’t the crowds be dangerous or something?”

  “I doubt most of the people will recognize me, or expect me to be shopping for rock-bottom prices.”

  She smiled at that, and Surim was again struck by how lovely she was. Her green eyes fascinated him. Sometimes they were as clear as glass, other times they reminded him of mossy stream beds, deep and mysterious.

  Alaya came and climbed into his lap, snuggling up against him. For a moment Surim savored the feeling her trust gave him. She was warming up the fastest, because of his stories of their mother.

  “Tell me another story about Mummy,” she said.

  “How about when she was eight years old and fell down the stairs?” he began, recounting the story with some embellishments to make Mara look heroic. He and his cousin had been close growing up—at least during the summer months when he’d been home from boarding school. His love for England had filled her head and when she’d had the chance to move there, she’d jumped at it. She’d loved the freedom and excitement of London and had often talked to him over the last few years about her experiences.

  She had raised her children more British than Qu’ Arimian. He didn’t begrudge her her happiness, especially in light of her early death.

  He watched Melissa as he talked about his cousin. What kind of mother would she make? From what he’d observed over the last few days, she’d be very involved with her children.

  At least she wouldn’t be a doormat or yes-woman as the last couple of women he’d been seeing had proved. Yasine, the woman his Tante Tazil had introduced to him, had seemed the perfect match at the beginning. She was beautiful with dark eyes and long dark hair. Her manners were perfect. Her ability to make conversation on any topic would stand her in good stead in official functions.

  But she didn’t appear to have a thought of her own. Either she parroted what her father said, or waited for Surim to express his opinion and then concurred. Nice to a degree, but he found he liked a more stimulating discourse. And talking with Melissa was guaranteed to give him that.

  In fact, he was in danger of letting his pursuit of a wife dwindle, looking forward more to spending the evenings with the children and their guest.

  One of his aides had commented on the fact that time was passing and had asked if he’d found a suitable bride. The ministers wanted the succession assured. It was not fair to the country to leave it in chaos if he should die suddenly.

  Yet he hesitated. Maybe he’d absorbed more of western philosophy than he’d expected. He was not looking for love in a mate, but he did want someone compatible. Someone he could see himself spending fifty years with.

  Melissa had planted that thought and now he couldn’t shake it.

  She looked up then and smiled at the picture of Alaya sitting on his lap. The little girl was thrilled to learn more about her mother. Even Hamid had left the train set he was building to sit near Surim’s chair, enraptured with the tale. Who would have thought twenty-some years later Mara’s breaking her ankle would make such an enthralling tale?

  “You’re good at that,” Melissa said when he finished.

  “Telling about the past?”

  “And making it fascinating. Did Mara really do all those things?”

  “She was an amazing young girl. So, now, off to bed. I see Annis at the doorway,” Surim said, rising. He gave each child a hug, wishing again his cousin had lived.

  “If you have time, perhaps you would join me in the study,” he said to Melissa.

  They needed to discuss plans for the next day. And he had another question to ask. One that would likely surprise her.

  She joined him a short time later, having rea
d the children a short story.

  “Tomorrow, I have to leave early. The limo will come for you at ten, swing by and pick me up and we’ll head to the souks. Practice your Arabic.”

  “Great, but please don’t throw me to the wolves. They’ll see I’m British from a mile away so you’ll need to do the bargaining. I think the children will be thrilled.”

  “The children or you?”

  She laughed. “Okay, I confess, I’ve been dying to go since I arrived. How perfect to have a translator with me.”

  “My services don’t come cheap,” he said, finding the perfect lead into what he wanted to ask.

  “Oh?” Her merry smile brought one from him.

  “I have an invitation to a reception at the British Consulate Saturday. I thought you might like to attend with me.”

  Melissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, if that’s OK…Yes, I should love to. What time?”

  “It begins at eight. Apparently the Consulate General is being replaced and his successor will be presented. He has already called on my office and I think he’s brighter than the one leaving. You’ll enjoy meeting him.”

  “Wait,” she said suddenly. “Shouldn’t you be taking one of your prospects?”

  “Prospects?”

  “Prospective wife. Over the last week, your evenings have been spent more and more with the children, leaving little courting time. Maybe you should ask someone else.”

  “I ask whom I wish and for this event it is you.” How dared she second-guess him? Or tell him who to invite? She was as bad as his aides.

  “Yes, Your Excellency.” She gave a mock curtsey, which should have annoyed him, but almost made him laugh. “So what shall I say to the new Consulate?”

  “Easy. You can tell him how much you love living here and never wish to leave.”

  She paused for a moment. Surim wondered what he had said to cause that odd look on her face. Then she smiled. “That’s fair enough. Especially after I have a chance to go shopping and see more of Qu’ Arim. You realize I’ve been here several weeks and have only raced through town, and seen the resort site a few times?”

  “How remiss. I shall take a day or two off and take you to the desert, as we once spoke of in the gardens. How would you like that?”

  “I should love it. When?”

  “After the reception. We’ll leave the children with Annis and fly to somewhere special.”

  “Your secret oasis?”

  He nodded.

  Melissa smiled brightly. “I’d be thrilled.”

  Surim wasn’t sure he was doing the wise thing. Once she was there, he’d forever picture her when he visited. Still, he’d like to share that part of himself with her. He had a feeling Melissa would truly love it, just as she’d said.

  He wanted Melissa to like Qu’ Arim. To stay to keep the children happy.

  “Saturday I thought we’d explore one of the pearl farms, and then attend the reception. The children shall spend the day with Annis.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “No buts; it is decided.”

  Surim needed to work on his autocratic manner, Melissa thought wryly, then looked at him. He was the leader of an important country. He’d had the role thrust on him when he should have still been enjoying being a teenager. If he was a bit over-bearing, it was excusable. But if she was staying for long, they would surely clash more than once.

  “Tomorrow the limo will arrive at ten,” Surim repeated in dismissal.

  “Thank you, that would be lovely.” Melissa rose and headed for the door. “I’ll see you then.”

  He looked at her with his dark eyes and her heart flipped over. Did he have any idea what he could do to a woman’s equilibrium? She bid him good night and hurried off to her bedroom. Saturday he wanted to spend the day with her. And the evening. Without the children. She could hardly wait.

  Reaching her room, she closed the door and did a little dance of excitement. She was going to see a pearl farm, and be escorted to a Consulate reception by the world’s sexiest man. And then see his desert oasis. Just the two of them.

  Would he kiss her?

  Would she kiss him?

  Stopping dead, she shook her head. That would only lead to disaster. He was doing all this merely as a courtesy to Max. A sheikh certainly didn’t take out a nanny! Unless—for a moment she wondered if he was showing her all the advantages to living in Qu’ Arim so she’d stay. Was it a bribe to get his way? Maybe she should give him her answer one way or the other and see what happened.

  Surim drew a folder close, prepared to do a little work before retiring. Salid, one of his trusted aides, entered through the opened door, a sheaf of papers in hand.

  “I have the reports on Yasine bin Shora and her family, Excellency. There is no subversive activity that we could find.”

  Surim held out his hand for the report. It was unfortunate that the ministry insisted on a background check for any woman he showed an interest in. He knew it was for the future good of the country, but it felt invasive and in bad taste.

  He had not read the one for Delleah and her family; he would not read this one.

  In fact, though he knew the importance of getting married, he was losing interest in the entire process.

  He’d much rather spend time with Melissa. Wouldn’t that interest the ministers?

  “Thanks, Salid. Get to bed. I will not be working tomorrow. You may take the day off as well. Spend it with your family.”

  The aide looked surprised. “Thank you, sir. I shall.”

  Surim contemplated the outing tomorrow. It had been a long time since he’d taken a day off for pure foolish pleasure. Maybe he was working too hard, as Max had suggested.

  His pet project was the new resort. He was constantly battling those who opposed it; those who wished to keep foreigners out. They didn’t realize how much money would pour into the country with a lively tourist trade. Schools would be a primary benefit. And health care for the nomads who still roamed the desert. The proof would come, but until then it was an uphill fight.

  He planned to discuss the possibility of tourists viewing the pearl farm Saturday, combining business with pleasure. Melissa would be a good source to learn what would appeal and what wouldn’t.

  Melissa awoke with anticipation. She’d wanted to visit the souks since she’d first learned she was coming to Qu’ Arim. The exotic open-air markets had long fascinated her. She’d visited open-air markets in Spain and Germany, but couldn’t wait to see what the local one had to offer.

  She reviewed her clothes, wishing the box of things her mother had shipped would arrive. If it didn’t get here soon, she might be leaving before it arrived. She had one sundress that she could wear without the jacket, making it a bit more informal. Other than that, she had little to wear. Maybe she’d find some clothes for herself as well as for the children.

  For Saturday night, she wondered if she’d have time to find another dress and not have to wear the blue gown she’d worn to the reception Surim had given. She still had her dress from home, but would love something special.

  But at the same time, she had to keep her feet on the ground. She could not start daydreaming about being the woman of his choice. He’d said the reception was at the British Consulate and he’d invited her to mingle with some of her countrymen. He was being kind. She would not read anything more into it than that.

  By the time Melissa arrived at the nursery, the children were halfway through their breakfast; Surim was nowhere to be seen.

  Annis greeted her and for several stilted moments Melissa practiced her Arabic. The older woman never laughed, but her eyes twinkled quite a bit with Melissa’s attempts.

  “His Excellency told me to remind you he would be sending a car at ten to transport you and the children to the souks.” Annis frowned. “It is crowded with unsavory persons there. Why would he take you to the souks?”

  “I asked. I think it will be great fun.”

  “Is easier at the boutiques,
I think.”

  Melissa smiled and shook her head. “This will be an adventure, for me and the children,” she replied.

  Promptly at ten she shepherded the children downstairs to the waiting limousine.

  Hamid had a thousand questions about the vehicle. Ascertaining the driver spoke limited English, Melissa prevailed upon him to allow Hamid to ride in the front seat, securely belted, and answer all his questions.

  She and the girls sat in regal splendor in the back.

  “There’s even a television,” Alaya said, flicking on the unit. The program was in Arabic. She watched for a moment, then flicked it off. “I miss our telly. All of these are in Arabic.”

  “Oh, come on, Alaya, we have much better things to do than watch TV.” Melissa smiled. “Do you remember your lessons in deportment at a souk?”

  “Don’t seem interested; don’t touch anything. And always smile and say thank you if we buy something. It’s the same as Mummy used to say.”

  “Good, you want to act as your mum wanted.”

  Alaya rummaged in the small purse she carried and fished out a photo. “This is the last picture I have. It’s sort of small.” She handed it to Melissa.

  The young couple looked happy, smiling into the camera. Their dark good looks had been passed to their children. Melissa’s heart ached at their deaths. How sad for all that the children would grow up without their parents.

  She couldn’t imagine growing up without her mother. Granted, now her life took her far away from the small flat they’d shared off Fleet Street, but she’d had the strong grounding of her mother’s love as she’d grown, and they were only a phone call away these days.

  With her mother’s recent marriage, Melissa felt as if a big step had been taken away from her. Her mother loved her dearly, she knew that, but Melissa was no longer the sole light in her mother’s world.

  Melissa wondered if she’d ever find love, marry and raise a family. She loved working with children. Couldn’t imagine not having kids of her own. But the man would have to be very special.

  The limousine slid to a stop. The driver jumped out and ran around to open the passenger door with a flourish. Surim stepped into the vehicle.