The Sheikh's Illicit Affair

by Lara Hunter

  “Then you should forgive him. Talk about the lying stuff, obviously. Don’t let him get away with that. But if you love him, you’ll regret not giving it a shot. And if he turns out to be unworthy of your forgiveness, then at least you’ll know and you’ll have gotten to experience him for a time. But if you don’t give him a shot, you’ll always wonder, what if.”

  “Right. You’re right.” Megan took in a few deep breaths and let them out. “I think I’ll wait another day to call him. I want to catch up on some sleep and make sure my mind is clear first.”

  “Good idea. You have a business to run anyway.”

  “Oh, right.” She looked at the time. “I need to get ready.”

  They stood up and hugged. Megan rubbed Rachel’s belly, then walked her to the door.

  “Thank you, Rach’, it means a lot,” Megan said.

  Rachel turned and blew her a kiss on her way out. “Love you. Keep me posted! And posted better than you did this weekend.”

  Megan stuck out her tongue and Rachel stuck hers out back.

  FOURTEEN

  Megan went to the bathroom to change. She slowly slid her legs into her tights, and through the stretchy fabric of her leotard, letting herself be comforted by the familiar feeling of the fabrics. She pulled her hair up, staring at her puffy eyes as she made her bun. She shoved her feet into her pointe shoes and they molded around her toes, gratefully accepting her foot’s unique shape. She tied the ribbons around her ankles and made her way through to the studio en pointe.

  She turned the lights on one switch at a time, watching the bulbs glow brighter as they lit across the ceiling, filling the large room with light. The music came through the speakers when she hit play, soft and gentle, bouncing off the mirrors and hard floor. She went to the barre, rested her foot on it and began stretching in the empty room.

  When the time for her first class neared, Megan turned the front door sign over to read “Open,” and waited. Within minutes, the studio was filled with small children and harried parents, their chatter taking over the thoughts in her mind. “Quick, hurry up, Addie.” “Don’t forget your shoes, Eva!” “I’ll see you after class, Marissa.” The normality of it all seemed absurd compared to her weekend, but she loved it. It was exactly what she needed.

  And then, just as her first class was ending, it happened. One of her students in the morning pre-school class looked up at her as they were packing up to go.

  In her tiny, innocent voice, Claire asked, “Miss Megan, what’s wrong? You look sad today.”

  Megan smiled and hugged the little girl. “Oh, I’m okay, thanks.”

  She waved to Claire as the class left and had to dash to her office before the sobs began. She sat in there for too long. Ten minutes maybe? The next class was about to start, but she couldn’t stop crying. What if she had stayed and forgiven him? They would be together right now. She might be in his arms.

  Her students were more important than this silly love affair, though, weren’t they? She couldn’t just cancel on them to stay in Al-Sharrabi, enjoying the life of a rich sheikha. She would have had to come back anyway. She pictured her students, waiting in the studio for her, and wiped away her tears. She poured some water into her hand from the bottle on her desk, and slapped it on her face. With a deep breath, she left the office and went into the studio.

  This time, no one asked what was wrong. Maybe they sensed something, or maybe she was hiding it better now, but she made it through that class and the next and before she knew it, it was lunchtime.

  She hadn’t had time to pack a lunch, so Megan grabbed her purse from her office and got ready to head out into the busy New York streets. She pulled her jeans on over her tights and leotard and changed back to her sneakers. When she checked her phone, she saw that her mother had called again, and left a message this time. She pressed play to listen to it.

  “Megan. Call me back.”

  Well, at least it was quick and to the point, Megan thought glumly. With a heavy heart, she called her mother back.

  “Megan,” her mother answered, in a far too cheerful tone. “Are you at your studio?”

  “Yes. Hi, Mother.”

  “Oh, lovely. Have you had lunch yet?”

  “I’m about to head out now,” she said warily. Her mother’s friendly tone had her instantly on alert. She hadn’t been so nice to her in years. Not since Megan had started refusing to do things her mother’s way and instead taking her own path through life.

  “I’m in the city for the day. Come and have lunch with me. There’s this adorable little café on Green Street.”

  “What’s this about? Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”

  “Well, I thought about what you said during our last call. I don’t want to have grandchildren floating around out in the world. I want to be in their lives and be a grandmother. And that means you and I have to get along, now doesn’t it?”

  “Okay…”

  “I’m almost at the café now.”

  “I’m walking out the door.” Megan turned over her sign, locked up, and walked down the sidewalk, confused.

  “See you soon!” her mother said brightly before ending the call.

  What in the world was her mother up to? This was so far from usual and, given Megan’s bizarre weekend, was one more thing in her life that didn’t make sense.

  Megan entered the café and saw her mother sitting at a small table toward the back. She waved and smiled—actually smiled—at Megan when she saw her. Megan approached with caution, like she expected her mother to jump up and attack. She slid uneasily into the seat across from her.

  A waitress came over immediately and took their drinks orders. Megan opened the menu to avoid looking at her mother.

  “I’m going to go with the chicken salad sandwich. I hear it’s wonderful here.”

  “Thanks for the recommendation,” Megan mumbled, knowing she would be ordering her usual: tuna over greens. She set down her menu and finally looked at her mother.

  “Oh, Megan, why don’t you wear makeup when you teach? I bet the parents would appreciate you taking pride in your appearance.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes, but restrained herself. “I do, usually. I just had a rough weekend.”

  “Oh?” Her mother laced her fingers and set her hands on the menu in front of her.

  “Yes.” Megan looked over to where the waitress was taking another table their drinks. She met Megan’s eye, then came to their table with the water and tea.

  “Ready to order?” she asked with a friendly smile.

  “I’d like the chicken salad sandwich,” her mother said.

  When it was her turn, Megan smiled and said, “The tuna over greens, please. Balsamic on the side.”

  “I thought you were getting the chicken sandwich, too,” her mother said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  “I never said that, Mother, you just assumed.”

  “Well, yes, I assumed you would order something I know to be good instead of taking a chance on what you want.”

  “Doesn’t that just sound like the story of my life?”

  The waitress looked unsure of what to do. Megan smiled at her and asked, “Could I have some walnuts sprinkled on top of my salad, please?”

  “Sure thing.” She jotted it down in her notepad. “I’ll put those right in for you.” She looked relieved to be able to walk away.

  “So, did you really just come here to critique everything I do and order me around or what?” Megan asked.

  “Certainly not. As I said, you spoke about having children the last time we talked. I want to be a part of their lives.”

  “Well, when I do have kids, you won’t get to order them around. They’re going to live normal lives without anyone trying to force an agenda on them.”

  Even if her kids might grow up in a palace with a father who was a sheikh, Megan would still make sure that neither she nor Zaakir made ridiculous demands on them, and that no one else did, either. Were Zaak
ir’s parents as difficult as hers? She wished he’d talked more about them. As much as she wished she could have fabulous in-laws, it didn’t sound like either of Zaakir’s parents won out in that department.

  Megan realized how often she’d been thinking of him and their hypothetical family. When the thoughts came, it all felt natural and right. Maybe Rachel had been right. She could forgive him, so long as he promised never to lie to her again. So long as she knew that whatever his dishonorable intentions had been, they were long gone now. She wanted to love him and let him love her. The idea of it made her chest warm with joy.

  “I don’t know why you think so little of me, Megan. You had a wonderful childhood.”

  “Yeah, but anytime I didn’t do what you wanted, it was awful.”

  “Well, you’ll learn when you’re a parent that kids need to be given direction sometimes, and they don’t always listen.”

  Megan shook her head. “No, Mother. I’m not talking about some simple discipline. I’m talking about you choosing everything in my life, from my clothing to my friends, then you trying to choose my college, career and husband for me, too. I’m not putting my kids through that.”

  Her mother pursed her lips. “Just wait. You’ll see. You’ll want nothing but the best for your kids. There’s no crime in that.”

  The waitress came with their food and set plates in front of them. Megan quickly stuck a forkful of salad into her mouth and chewed. This lunch needed to be short if she was going to keep her sanity. With all that had happened in the last few days, she needed something that wasn’t going to make her more confused or worn out than she already was.

  “So, what did you get up to this weekend?” her mother asked. She picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite.

  “Same old stuff,” Megan said, chewing another forkful. No way was she getting into all this with her mother.

  “Really? I was under the impression you’d done some traveling.”

  Megan set down her fork and narrowed her eyes slightly. “And how did you get under that impression, exactly?”

  Her mother shrugged. “People talk, you know.”

  Was there any point in resisting? Her mother was playing that game where she asked questions that she already knew the answer to. Testing her to see how open she’d be.

  “I went to Al-Sharrabi with a friend,” Megan confessed.

  She braced herself. Here it comes. How could she talk about this without actually telling her mother anything? She was not going to get into a whole explanation of the messy Zaakir situation. Megan herself didn’t know what was going to happen there.

  “That sounds like quite an adventure. Who is this friend?” Her mother looked at her with too much interest.

  “Just a client at the studio. He got private tango lessons from me and we struck up a friendship.”

  “And you flew there on his private jet?”

  Megan closed her eyes, feeling the sting and ache in them. She could use a nap. “Yes, it was his private jet.”

  “You must tell me more about this man.”

  The light and hope in her mother’s eyes sickened her. She wasn’t interested in Megan or in reconciling so that she would know her grandkids. She was interested in finding out if Megan really was dating a sheikh. Who knew how she heard about it. As she’d said, people talk. Someone at the airport might have told her. She might know too much already. And likely, she wanted nothing more than to make sure Megan married Zaakir. Because that, of course, would highly benefit her parents. His wealth and name would restore them in a way that nothing else could. Her mother had brought her here for information, hoping to find out that her daughter would do something right for once and marry someone the society would envy, someone with plenty of money and fame. Someone that would make the Van Lieden name great again.

  Her mother didn’t want her back. She wanted her old life back. The one where they didn’t have to borrow money to look like they were still rich. The one where business deals went well and money was coming in again. The one where they were respected and envied.

  Megan remembered how her mother had bragged. The Watsons from the Country Club’s girl wasn’t half as pretty as Megan was as a young adult. Her mother bragged about her beauty all the time, as if it were her own doing. People had envied her for that. When Megan was still a girl, winning awards for dance, she bragged. It had been acceptable then. Praised even. They were making lots of money, had a beautiful house, and wonderful staff.

  It was when Megan’s big decline happened that it all started to fall apart. She had a major dance competition the day of the debutante ball. She and her mother had done nothing but fight until Megan refused to go to the ball. She could not let her teammates down for a silly dance. Her mother had sat in the audience, fuming. That was strike one.

  Then, Megan didn’t choose an Ivy League college. Harvard, Yale, Princeton. Any of these would have been acceptable. No. Megan sent her applications to the top dance schools in the country. All her friends and dance teachers, those in the dance world or who had any understanding of art in any form, had been proud and elated at her acceptance into Julliard. Megan had been overjoyed. But her parents had been disappointed. Dance school was not prestigious. It was only the most famous and notoriously difficult to get into school that there ever was, but it wasn’t good enough because it was an art and performance school. It wasn’t a real school with business degrees.

  But that was only strike two. Strike three, the third and final strike that caused her to be forced out, was her refusal to marry into society. Her parents had essentially arranged a marriage for her. They’d spoken to several families and had found a small number of acceptable boys. Then, they had all been invited to dinner to see which of them Megan would choose. She wasn’t interested in any of them. Found them all to be boring and pretentious. She’d instead begun to date a cellist that she went to school with. Someone who did not come from money or fame. And her parents had done all they could to get the relationships to end, to find more suitable boys for her to date. One by one, the boys from “good” families were married off and she was still dating beneath her, as her parents claimed.

  And what was maybe the very final nail in her coffin. After dance school, she didn’t settle down and get married and start a family. She didn’t wise up and start a real career. No. She moved to the city and opened a dance studio. “With crying little girls and tutus?” Her mother had asked, shocked. “All that glitter and, ugh, those parents.” But Megan had blown off her mother’s callous words and made her dream come true. Her dream. Her parents’ nightmare.

  If her parents’ fortune hadn’t been fading at the same time she was letting them down, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. Perhaps Megan would have been labeled the eccentric and exceptionally gifted artist of the family. Societies could appreciate that if done right. But for Megan, it wasn’t so easy. Her parents needed her to reestablish themselves. Needed her to marry well and go to a good school so she would have a good job with connections. Everything they wanted her to do was to their benefit. For the family, they claimed. For all of them. They were a unit. Until Megan didn’t want to be responsible for her parents’ failings.

  And now it seemed that little Megan Van Lieden was finally about to make her parents proud. Oh, that Megan. Remember her? The one who went to dance school and opened that studio in the city? Yes, her. Well, it turns out she’s dating a sheikh, can you believe it? Her parents must be so proud. To think, to end up married to royalty after we’d all written her off. Her lucky parents.

  She hated it all. The idea of it made her sick and now that she saw it, knew what her mother was up to, she couldn’t eat. She motioned to the waitress, who came over after a minute.

  “Could I have a box and the check please?” Megan asked.

  “Sure, I’ll bring them right away.”

  The waitress left and her mother gave her a stony look.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving, Mot
her.” She dug in her purse and pulled out her debit card. When the waitress returned a moment later, Megan handed her the card immediately. It was almost as if the waitress understood her plight and moved quickly to help her. She’d get a big tip for sure.

  “Stop this nonsense. What is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with you?” Megan hissed. “You invite me to lunch, saying you want to be a part of your grandchildren’s lives, but you really want to find out who I’m dating and how it will benefit you. You make me sick. All you care about is money and your name. Did you ever even love me? You know what, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter.”

  Megan scooped the remains of her salad into the box. “I don’t need you. I don’t need you to be part of my kids’ lives whether I decide to go to my appointment at the sperm bank next week, or whether I marry the rich sheikh who’s in love with me. And you know what, it won’t matter to you, either, because you’re no longer a part of my life. I’m glad you cut me off when you did. You forced me to stand on my own, and now I’m going to do just that.”