by Holly Rayner
“All right. If you won’t tell me everything about you, how old are you?” he finally asked, making me laugh.
“I’m 25,” I told him. “That’s the truth all day. At least, until my birthday. Then I’ll have to update you.”
“Keep me updated. It’s a pressing issue,” he said, snickering.
As we walked through the market, Rami began to speak a bit more about himself, about his abilities. With a wave of self-assurance, he appeared more and more cocky. I sensed a darkness in him.
When he yanked me to the side to look at scarves, I tried to read his face. I began to ask myself unnecessary questions, like why he’d asked me to the market at all. Was he trying to sleep with me? Why hadn’t he tried to hold my hand?
Rami began to unwind scarves from their hangers, showing the strength of the stitch, the colors. They featured all sorts, the reds and the purples and the dark greens. And the stitching was so precise, showing a level of commitment to artistry and to the traditional aesthetics of Al-Jarra.
“I can tell how much you like them,” Rami said, eyeing me.
“How could you not appreciate them?” I asked. “Each one is made so uniquely, with such love…” I trailed off, finding myself lost in the stitching of a dark turquoise one. I brought my fingers over it, feeling the texture.
“Let me buy it for you,” Rami finally said, taking the scarf from my hands and lifting it for the salesclerk to see. “We’ll take this one—”
“No, no,” I said, suddenly stricken. I’d just seen the price of the scarf. It was more than I made in a week at the school, and I couldn’t imagine anyone paying for such a present. Especially someone like Rami, who I barely knew. And who was being particularly cagey about who he was, having not opened up about his family or where he lived.
“Why not?” Rami asked me, his eyebrows high. “Don’t you like it?”
“Of course I like it,” I told him, scoffing slightly. “It’s just too much money…”
“Is it?” he asked, incredulous, as if he really couldn’t see the price. He waved his wallet through the air, passing several bills to the salesclerk. With a flourish, he put the scarf around my neck and whipped it over my shoulder, laughing. “See? It suits you. Can you imagine your life without it now?”
I felt suddenly off kilter. Taking a step away from him, I rearranged the scarf around my neck, shaking my head. I felt a strange mix of fear and intrigue. His eyes were fiery with a passion I couldn’t understand. Certainly the passion couldn’t be for me. Could it?
“Thank you?” I said, turning away from him. I bobbed out of the crowd, trying to find a space to stand alone. I felt Rami following behind me, knocking into people as he passed them.
“Hey. Hey!” He reached forward, gripping my elbow. “Where are you going so quickly?”
I sniffed, feeling at the texture of the scarf. I couldn’t meet his eyes, feeling the strength of his glare. “I just can’t stay out much later is all. I have to go home and prep for tomorrow’s lessons.”
“But we only just got here,” Rami said softly.
“It’s been two hours. And I didn’t really even want to come at all,” I heard myself say.
This time, Rami was the one who looked smacked. He drew his hands across his chest, crossing his arms. After a long pause, he said, “Well, at least agree to go out with me again in a few days. Wednesday, we could do dinner at a proper restaurant—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rami,” I told him, shaking my head. I felt myself crushing him. But it had to be so. I couldn’t link myself with anyone. Not with so much going on at home.
Rami’s face fell. With a rush of sudden anger, he said, “Well, you know, I didn’t buy you all these things for nothing.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He brought his hands through the scarf, feeling the weight of it. “I could take this off your shoulders right now, you know that?”
I stepped back, aghast. Suddenly, the other side of him was ringing true.
My lips opened, hunting for the right words to say. The right words to sting right back.
“You shouldn’t be so cocky,” I told him, hearing the volatility I’d so far managed to suppress. “You think you’re God’s gift to the world, but you’re nothing.”
Rami didn’t respond. His lips thinned out as color continued to drain from his cheeks.
“I don’t want to see you hovering around the school anymore,” I continued, my voice getting louder. I brought my finger through the air, feeling like I was reprimanding a student. “If you do, I can call someone to have you taken away. I can’t have your cocky sensibilities souring my students. You’re a bad person, Rami. I feel it coming off you in waves.”
Suddenly, I burst to the side of the market, following the trail around the back. I stormed away, the scarf whipping behind me.
I could still feel Rami’s eyes on my back, following me as I skirted through the crowd and back through the entrance. For a moment, I wondered if he was following me. My ears perked up, hunting for the sound of him. But after a few minutes, I knew I’d left him safely behind. I was on my own.
When I got home, I fell into my bed and shuddered, the scarf still wrapped around my chest and shoulders. I could still feel Rami’s eyes on mine, inhaling me. I could still sense him. And I could still feel my laughter on my lips, in memory of his sharp wit.
I wrote it down in my journal that night.
I just met the most perplexing man. And for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about him. Am I doomed? Will I ever fall in love with someone who suits me? Why did he fight so hard to see me—when I’m a literal nobody from South Dakota?
I had a million questions, but I knew that they’d never be answered. Rami was safely a part of my past. I forced myself to fall asleep, tucked in my bed alone. Wondering if I’d ever find happiness, or love.
Chapter 6
Rami
Angie darted from the market before I could process what was happening. I watched her go from afar, as her yellow dress danced through the crowd and out into the evening streets. I felt punched by her words. Staggering back, I blinked wildly, waiting for the anger to pass. But instead, it grew stronger in my chest, in my stomach.
You think you’re God’s gift to the world, but you’re nothing.
The words she’d used rang in my ears. Several women pushed past me, wine in hand, not giving me a second glance. I felt more invisible than I had in years. Didn’t they know who I was? Didn’t they see it? I stared down at my clothes, remembering that I wasn’t dressed in my typical garb. I looked like everyone else. And I hated it.
Turning my head toward the edge of the market, I caught sight of a familiar dark head. Staring, incredulous, I realized that Alim was perched next to his truck, watching me. He was laughing, holding onto his stomach. He’d witnessed the entire scene.
With my frown thick on my forehead, I marched toward him, anger throttling through me. When I reached Alim, I stopped a full foot away, staring at him.
“All right, all right,” I said. My words were firm. “You’ve had your fun.”
Alim wiped at his mouth, trying to stop his laughter. “I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “I just can’t help it. That was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen…”
“Come off it,” I told him. “We had a great date. It was going well…”
“Yeah. Until she called you an arrogant creep and stormed off,” Alim said, cackling now. “Don’t think everyone couldn’t hear it. Because they could.”
I stared down at my shoes, feeling shame spread across my cheeks. In the back of my mind, I told myself that it was all right—that no one had recognized me anyway. I’d been undercover. This wouldn’t ruin my reputation for good.
“Come on, now. Let’s grab a drink,” Alim said, opening the passenger door of his car. “It’s on me.”
I sighed and got into his car, watching as he cranked the engine. The sunlight was orange against
the windowpane. It was nearing seven in the evening and all I wanted to do was chase myself down an alcohol-induced rabbit hole.
“Tell me, did you at least have a good conversation?” Alim asked me, his eyes skirting down the road. Across from us, children were playing on a street corner, dancing barefoot on the sidewalk.
“She was pretty tight-lipped, actually,” I said. “Didn’t want to open up to me.”
“When normally women are falling at your feet, eager to tell you their entire life story,” Alim said, turning left, toward a bar. “Can we finally leave this to rest, then, and agree that most of your prowess with women is rooted in your title, your clothes—”
“No,” I responded, my voice firm. “Absolutely not. I think I just happen to have found the toughest cookie in all of Al-Jarra.”
“I don’t think another American girl would be any different,” Alim told me, shaking his head. “They demand more than the girls we’re used to. You’ve been with them before—”
“Sure, but I was never trying to get them to fall in love with me,” I said, my voice sounding whiny and strange, even in my own ears. “And this girl, I mean. She’s impossible… She has something to hide, maybe.”
“Or she senses that you’re up to something. That you’re trying to collect her, like a prize.”
“Trust me, I played it cool,” I said. But in the back of my mind, I was beginning to think I hadn’t. The scarf had been overkill—but my arrogance had bled through even in our initial conversation. How was I meant to reel it in? I wasn’t used to it. I was a sheikh, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t need to.
“Let’s just say that you lost, and call it over,” Alim said. “You don’t need to pay me, either. I feel too bad for you.” He scoffed, eyeing me.
“Let’s give it a few more days, okay?” I told him. “I don’t think it’s completely over. This is always that scene in the movie, you know? When the woman slaps you and tells you you’re the worst person she’s ever met, and that she never wants to see you again…”
“You mean American movies from the 1940s? Sure. You should definitely take your cues from them,” Alim smirked, sarcastic. “Face it, stranger. You’re done. Let’s go drink our blues away.”
But I wouldn’t let it go. Although I grinned and laughed through the drinks with Alim, in the back of my mind, I was developing a new plan. I wouldn’t be taken down, not like this. As I bantered with Alim, thankfully finding new topics, new conversations beyond my complete embarrassment, I began to restructure the “rules” of the game.
And as Alim smacked me on the back, mid-laugh, I felt a passion surge through me. One that told me I was going to win, no matter the cost. Even if it meant going behind Alim’s back. Even if it meant breaking the very basis of our bet.
I was too proud to lose. If I did, I’d never be able to look Alim in the eye again.
The following day, Alim had a business meeting at three in the afternoon. “Thank God your American adventure is over,” he’d told me the night before. “Otherwise, I’d have to reschedule so I could watch you fail!”
Armed with this knowledge, I dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, along with my favorite gold watch. At home in my penthouse, I gazed at myself in the mirror: the penetrating eyes, the dark wavy hair.
I knew that, dressed like this, Angie would have no reason to turn me down. This was the Rami that the world knew—the Sheikh. Finally, she would realize that the only way to move forward was to fall madly in love with me.
I walked toward my car, a Lamborghini I’d recently purchased, and hopped into the front seat, revving the engine. I felt the arrogance that Angie had called out pulsing in my veins. But I didn’t care, knowing that it suited me now that I was dressed the part. Maybe none of us could help where we came from, who we were.
But describing that to Alim wouldn’t make me “win” the bet. I had to find another way.
I drove toward Angie’s school, the route now a familiar one. After parking at the entrance, I remained in my seat, watching as the kids swarmed the yard and began to dive into their parents’ vehicles. Sure enough, Angie was amongst them, dressed in a light purple dress. Her dark hair whipped around her as she said goodbye to the kids, waving her hands. My stomach felt squeezed, remembering that just yesterday, I’d made her laugh like that. I’d made her smile. Until I hadn’t.
When the last of the children had filtered out from the building, I stepped out of the car. I knew my presence was imposing, especially when contrasted to the tired parents and the older woman who worked alongside Angie, perched on the top step. After a pause, I began to move down the sidewalk, toward the entrance. Immediately, I knew that I’d caught Angie’s attention. She stood, frozen, staring at me.
I didn’t allow a smile to stretch across my face. I knew I had to remain cool, poised. I held my chin high, exuding confidence. Angie had her hands on the shoulders of one of her students, before he darted out to his car, leaving her behind. She swallowed sharply, showing her fear.
But moments before I arrived at the steps, she spun around, waving her finger. “Don’t come any closer,” she hissed. “I told you not to come here.”
“Hear me out,” I pleaded. “I need to talk to you. It’s important. And it’s not about my ‘love’ for you, or whatever.”
The difference in my voice was palpable. Finally, I was being genuine with her.
She spun round toward me, blinking at me with curiosity.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice filled with angst. She eyed my suit and shoes for the first time, really looking at the quality. “And what are you wearing?”
“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” I told her, my voice deep. “But I’m prepared to do that now. And if, at the end of it, you still want me to leave you alone, I will. But hear me out first, okay?”
Angie nodded, her expression still bemused. With a firm hand, she waved goodbye the last of the kids leaving with their parents, and then gestured for me to follow her into her classroom. I did, rolling my shoulders back and striding confidently down the hallway. On all sides, bulletin boards were decorated with animals and robots and plants, sparkling with life.
Inside her classroom, the words “Miss Peretti” were written in cursive across the blackboard. I felt a stab of longing, wanting to know more about her. But I still sensed the divide between us. She looked at me quizzically, her eyes still burning with curiosity.
“All right. What is it?” she asked, closing the door behind us. We were alone.
“Like I said,” I began, suddenly doubting myself. This was her territory. Her world. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, and I want to rectify that. In fact, I’m Sheikh Rami of Al-Jarra. My father is the ruling sheikh.”
I saw a flurry of recognition across her face. She had heard my name before, but hadn’t put the pieces of the puzzle together. After a brief nod, she shrugged questioningly.
“Then why the hell were you hanging outside my school the past week?” she asked, chuckling slightly. “Wearing street clothes?”
“You’re going to laugh,” I said, my eyebrows high. “But you were a part of an elaborate bet with my best friend.”
“Ah. So you were making fun of me,” Angie said, her voice growing hollow. “I should have known. Tell me, why don’t men ever grow up? It’s horrible. They just play game after game…”
“We weren’t making fun of you,” I said sincerely. “Seriously. It was… My friend Alim said I couldn’t get just any girl if they didn’t know that I was a man of royalty. If they didn’t see my clothes. And…” I shrugged my shoulders. “It appears he was right about you. I wasn’t able to get you. You were stronger than most. And definitely on the side of being tight-lipped.”
“Don’t insult me while you tell me this,” Angie said, her shoulders falling. She looked wounded, almost fragile. “You’re not helping your case.”
“Well, you hated me, didn’t you?” I asked. There seemed to be some
thing of an understanding between us, although I couldn’t have placed it with words.
“Now, you have this extreme wealth. This bet,” she said, her voice quivering. “Am I just meant to forget all of what I thought about you, and give into your every whim?”
“Absolutely not.” I shook my head. “In fact, I would think less of you if you did. I want you to know that my opinion of you is incredibly high.”
“And why should I care about that?” she asked. “In fact, now that you mention it, I don’t care about you at all. Or your status. Or about your stupid bet. In fact, I’d really like you to leave my classroom as soon as possible.” She pointed toward the door. “I have a lot of work to do. And the likes of you, a man who’s been given the world, are not welcome here. Not when I have my own life to deal with.”
She pointed a finger at the exit again, directing me out. I shook my head.
“Please,” I implored her, raising an eyebrow. “Just five more minutes of your time. Five minutes, and then I can be out of your life for good. I swear.”
Chapter 7
Angie
The rage filled my stomach, making me want to tear at my hair. I couldn’t believe his persistence, his enduring arrogance. Rami stood before me in that immaculate suit, looking dapper and charming in my sad little classroom.
He was telling me about this bet he’d had with his friend. A bet that said he could get anyone to fall in love with him. Even an American, he said. But I’d been too tough for him. I’d been “the wrong woman” for the kind of bet he was up against. But he was too proud, and he wasn’t willing to go down without a fight. Even if that meant including me.
“All right,” I told him, when he asked if I’d let him have five more minutes. I had nothing else to lose. The call from my father that morning had been tearful, heart-wrenching. Again, the students had crowded around my desk, patting my arms and asking me what was wrong. What could they do? They were children. They couldn’t help me. But they were trying their best to comfort me, if nothing else.