by Lara Hunter
She wondered which day Zaakir would be married on. She’d never even asked if the ceremony would take place in New York or in Al-Sharrabi. Was Saturday the traditional day for weddings there as it was here? And how long would he and his new bride wait to have kids of their own? Would they have kids before she did? Maybe they’d both become parents at the same time. Maybe he’d find that, despite whatever the traditions were in his country, he’d be able to love his children like he’d never been loved. Maybe he’d break the cycle of heartlessness and show them how to have the type of love and family he longed for. Maybe she was overthinking all of this! Thoughts of her future and his kept getting mixed up in her head.
She resolved to trying not to think of Zaakir. Of him dancing with his wife, of him kissing her. And especially not of him on his wedding night, even if she had on several occasions pictured what the rest of his muscles might look and feel like.
At the end of the teaching day, as Megan was doing her cool down, the familiar chatter of her phone told her it was time to go. Time to move to the business end of her day and attend to the emails and phone calls she had been able to put off during class time. She walked over to her phone and began scrolling through her notifications.
To her utter surprise, there was a waiting message from Zaakir. She tapped the icon immediately to open it.
Megan, would you have time for one more lesson? I know your weekend is about to begin, but I would appreciate just a little more of your time.
Another lesson? After two sessions he was already more than proficient in the tango. He did not need another lesson. There was no reason for her to accept, and with the feelings she’d been having for him, she knew she should turn him down. But the fact that he wanted to see her excited her. She wondered again if maybe he had feelings for her like she had for him. Then she quickly erased the thought and replaced it with a thought of his future wife. What did she look like? What would she be like?
Well, Zaakir would know soon enough. So, why did he want to spend time with Megan now? He was torturing her. Putting himself in front of her like a carrot she could never reach.
His phone number was at the bottom of the email and, biting her lip, she called.
“Al-Hosseini,” he said sharply.
“Zaakir? It’s Megan.”
“Megan.” His voice melted instantly. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize the number.”
“I just got your email.”
“Ah yes, I know it’s last minute, as they all have been, and that it’s a Friday. You are likely eager to get on with your weekend, but would you have time?”
Did she have time to see him again? She’d find a way to make time. Rachel’s comment returned to her; if she couldn’t have him forever, she might as well have him for as long as she could. Even if it would make things harder later.
“I think I can fit you into my busy schedule of yoga and TV.”
He chuckled. “I’d like us to meet at my home this time, would that be all right with you?”
“Are you sure that would be okay? Won’t people find it strange?”
“Why should they? I have staff coming and going all day. I have people to cook and clean for me, why shouldn’t I have a private dance instructor as well?”
“Oh, so I’m just another one of your hired hands, am I?” She smiled as she said it.
“Oh no, not at all,” he said with a chuckle. “You agree then?”
“If you’re sure it’ll be okay.”
“Perfect. My driver is on his way now. Has he arrived yet?”
She looked out the window as the black car pulled up to the curb. “He just got here.”
Well that was fast. And more than a little presumptuous, Megan thought hotly. What if she’d turned him down? Not that it would be difficult to just return the car in that event, but the fact that he had sent the car meant he’d assumed she would come.
“I’ll see you soon, then.”
Megan still needed to change out of her leotard and skirt. She went to the window and waved at the driver, then hurried to the bathroom where she had her bag with her street clothes. This was the second time she wished she’d had something to wear besides jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe she should start keeping something nicer at the studio, just in case.
She pulled off her dance outfit and hopped into her jeans, then yanked her T-shirt over her head. Her bun was a messy tangle, so she let her hair down, shook it out, then redid her loose bun. She quickly brushed on some of the powdered makeup she always had in her bag, inspected herself one last time, and returned to the front of the studio.
Megan turned out the lights, flipped over the “Open” sign, and locked the door behind her. She hurried to the car and slid into the backseat. She had half-expected Zaakir might be there waiting for her and was slightly disappointed to see the car empty, but for the driver.
The car drove off and she watched the city pass by, wondering what in the world she was doing. Was she really going to Zaakir’s house, to the house of a man she had feelings for, who was about to be married, to give him a private dance lesson? It didn’t matter what he said, she realized; this wasn’t right and she shouldn’t be going.
She took out her phone to text her primary source of sanity.
Rach. Freaking out here. Zaakir asked for one last lesson AT HIS HOUSE. I’m in the car he sent for me, being driven over there right now. This feels wrong. Help!
Her friend didn’t take long to respond.
His house?! This sounds like a booty call to me.
No, you think so?
All the other lessons were at the studio. Why is this one suddenly his house?
Megan didn’t have a good answer for that. She was wondering why herself.
Because he’s busy?
Right. Busy planning a wedding.
Megan let her head fall back in frustration.
Ugh! What should I do?
Well, you could just go and do the lesson and nothing else. No one’s forcing you to sleep with him.
I know, but should I even be there if he’s practically married? Wouldn’t his fiancée have an issue with that?
Maybe. It’s not like here, though. Have they even met?
I think once or twice?
So, it’s not like when Matt and I were engaged and were in love. Maybe in his country the groom can sleep with a beautiful woman right before the wedding. Who knows. It could actually be just how they do things.
I don’t know if I could actually sleep with him, though. I mean, I want to, but that just feels so wrong.
The thought alone made Megan squirm with heat, tingles running all over her skin. His muscles, the smooth way he glided over the dance floor, his strong grip as they moved together. He was probably a dream in bed.
Well, you know. This could solve your other problem, too.
Which other problem?
“You wouldn’t have to pay for sperm from a bank if you got pregnant the traditional way.”
Megan’s mouth dropped open when she read the text. Before she could respond, Rachel sent her another message.
Just kidding! Definitely don’t do that.
Sheesh. For a second I thought you were serious. Though it would be a gorgeous baby.
LOL. Okay. So dance lesson, and that’s it.
She could do that. Even if it would be tricky to turn him down should he want more than just a lesson, Megan knew it was the right thing to do. She couldn’t sleep with a promised man, no matter how badly she wanted him.
Right. Actually, this will still help with your baby situation, now I think about it. He’s going to pay you, right? And if he pays as well as he did last time, you’ll be much closer to saving up.
True. It will help a lot.
There you go, then. Teach the handsome sheikh to dance, take as many photos of his house as you can to show me later, and have a fabulous time! I’m jealous.
Thanks. Talk to you later!
Yes you will! I want details!
Megan g
rinned as she put her phone back in her purse. This is why Rachel was her best friend: she always knew what to say, how to say it to make sense, and how to make her feel better. Things seemed to be in much sharper perspective now. She was only going to teach him. The money would help her save for the baby, and that would be that. He’d go on and get married next week, she’d go on and get pregnant in a few months’ time. They’d have their separate lives and never see each other again. A little spot of sadness bloomed in her chest when she thought of it, but there was nothing to be done about it.
She was going to see him soon, though, and a burst of excitement overrode the sadness at the thought of it. What did his house look like, she wondered. He had a palace in Al-Sharrabi, so did he have a mansion here? Or the New York equivalent of a mansion—a penthouse? It had to be gorgeous. Tastefully decorated and elegant, like he was. He probably had a whole team of interior designers. Oh, how lucky his future wife was. Had she ever been to New York? Would she love it or hate it?
Megan didn’t know how far she’d expected to ride to get to his place, but it took more than a half hour until they turned off the road. She peered through the window, expecting to see a house, a mansion, a skyscraper—but instead, she found herself looking at an airfield.
NINE
A long runway lined with blinking lights disappeared into the darkness ahead of the limo. Several planes were parked off to the left, a few sat inside large hangars. Two jets were sat near the end of the runway with their lights on, as if they were ready to take off.
Megan pressed the button in the divider to the driver. “Omar? Is this right? I thought Zaakir wanted me to meet him at his home.”
“These were my instructions, Miss Van Lieden. To bring you to the airfield.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
What in the world was going on? Megan opened the car door in a daze. She looked around, waiting for something to happen. Then she saw Zaakir walking toward her.
“Megan!” he called out in delight and took her hand in both of his as he reached her. “I’m so glad you agreed to come.”
“Zaakir, what is this? I thought we were going to your home?”
“We are.” He grinned. “My home in Al-Sharrabi. This is my jet.” He motioned to the plane nearest to them.
“You have a private jet,” Megan said flatly. She was still in shock. It made sense, she supposed. Why wouldn’t he have a private jet if he had a palace? Why wouldn’t he whisk her away to his home land? Maybe the wedding was in Al-Sharrabi after all. Maybe he wanted her to give a lesson to his future bride.
“Yes,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Ready? To leave the country at a moment’s notice? She quickly thought through the rest of her weekend. Did she have anything planned that couldn’t be easily rescheduled? No, but even still, should she really leave the country in a private jet with him?
“No, Zaakir. This is… You really want to fly me all the way to Al-Sharrabi for a dance lesson?” Megan shook her head. “This is too much.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“I don’t know, I… I’m shocked. Flattered that you would want me to, but just… This doesn’t feel right, Zaakir.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dancing. Or with insisting upon having the best instructor. We are ready to take off, if you want to join me. Come.” He held out his hand and Megan took it, despite her reservations.
They climbed the short set of stairs and entered a world of white leather luxury. The seats were wide and comfortable, more like a reclining chair in someone’s living room than anything an airplane usually had. Tables sat between a few of the chairs, shining dark wood with places cut out to hold drinks. Small TV screens perched by each chair. There was a long couch off to one side, and a bouquet of flowers sat on the ledge under a row of windows.
Zaakir led Megan to one of the chairs and she sunk into it. Just as she had assumed, it was more comfortable than her couch at home. Zaakir sat across from her and pulled out a bottle of red wine from a counter beside him. From a row of glasses dangling by their bottoms in a cabinet above them, he selected two and handed one to her.
He uncorked the wine and poured a small amount into each glass. “Just for now, until we get in the air. I’ve spilled many a glass during takeoff.” He tilted his glass toward hers. “To our friendship.”
She clinked her glass against his. “To our friendship.”
If it can really be called that, Megan thought. It certainly wasn’t a business relationship, and she didn’t feel like his hired help, either. Friendship was, she guessed, the closest thing to what they had. But she wanted it to be so much more than that. Again, she wondered why she was doing this, putting herself through this when he was about to be married. Would she see his wedding photo in a newspaper somewhere? If he was so well known in the city, would the wedding be publicized somehow? What a horrible sight that would be; Zaakir with some anonymous beauty in his arms.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he said softly.
The jet started to move. There was a small jerk, then a steady rolling.
“You’re not afraid of flying are you?” he asked.
“No, not at all. I grew up flying all over the world with my parents. Vacations, business trips, that sort of thing.”
He nodded. “Of course. Then what is it?”
The plane sped up and Megan looked out the window for a moment as the plane took off, sending the New York City skyline askew. Within seconds, it looked like shining diamonds stuck on a black curtain. She wondered briefly if she could recreate the look for the backdrop of her students’ recital in a few months.
“How long is the flight?”
“About eleven hours.”
“Eleven hours?”
“If you’d like to sleep.” He motioned to the couch across the aisle from them.
She shook her head. “So, 22 hours of flying for an hour-long dance lesson? Why are you doing this? We could have had the lesson in New York.”
“I wanted you to see my home.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I thought it might be an experience you would enjoy. A chance to get out of the city for a little while.”
There had to be an ulterior motive. Other than him wanting to sleep with her, what could it be?
“When is your wedding, by the way? I keep forgetting to ask.”
“Oh.” He dropped his gaze and inspected his fingers. “It’s a few days from now.”
“And it will take place in Al-Sharrabi?”
“How do you like the wine?”
“It’s lovely.” She leveled her gaze at him, waiting for him to answer her previous question.
“Yes. In Al-Sharrabi. I’d really rather not discuss it.”
The look on his face was one of pain, which surprised her. Sure, he’d talked about finding love, but he had surely known all his life that this was coming. Was he not used to the idea by now?
Maybe Zaakir’s ulterior motive was the same as hers, Megan thought: maybe he just wanted to spend as much time together as possible before he was married.
“Did you want to learn another dance?” she asked. “Something other than the tango? I’m not sure there’s much more I can show you.”
“Perhaps. You’re such a great teacher, I think you could teach me anything and I would learn it well.”
“Only if you learn every dance as quickly as you learned the tango. I’ve never had a student pick up the moves so quickly. You really never had a dance lesson before that?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t had much occasion to dance. It’s not something my family appreciated.”
She almost laughed at that. “That’s just one more thing we have in common, then.”
“Sadly, yes, but here we are, pursuing our passions in spite of them.”
“Right you are.”
She took a sip of her wine, letting the flavor sit in her mouth for a moment before swallowing it. It had a smooth texture, she thought, and
she wished now that she had gone to a wine tasting or two with her mother. Just to learn something about it, and appreciate it a little more.