by Trish Morey
It was starkly delivered. The barest of information. Some of which he’d already told her. Heavens, she’d gleaned more color about him from what she’d heard from Eli over the years. Rakin had been enrolled in an English boarding school, where he’d remained in the traumatic aftermath of his parents’ sudden death. Once his schooling was finished, his grandfather had sent him to university at Harvard—which had brought him in touch with Eli… and ultimately into her life.
Yet the bare recital of facts gave her little insight into the people she was about to meet, and no glimpse into the man behind the suddenly guarded facade.
“Tell me more,” she insisted before he could retreat again. “I’ll be meeting your grandparents. I want to make a good impression.”
“You will meet them at a formal reception where it will be difficult to engage in intimate conversation, so it won’t matter if you don’t know all about my family. Try not to worry about making a good impression—just be yourself. They’re going to love you.”
Just being herself was easier said than done.
Laurel was starting to realize that she’d spent much of her life trying to be the person she thought other people wanted her to be. For her father she’d been the talented pianist, and later, the PR expert that The Kincaid Group needed. Her mother had brought out the responsible eldest daughter. With her sisters she’d been the role model. Only her childhood friendship with Eli had been free of all the posturing. Yet even that had changed once all their friends had started pairing up… and suddenly Laurel had again found herself playing to the expectations of others—that she and Eli should make a match of it.
It was curiously liberating to realize that with Rakin she could simply be herself.
He’d been completely honest about what he wanted from her: a wife who his grandfather would accept so that Rakin could gain control of the family business and stop it from being signed over to his cousin. Yet he was making it clear that he had no wish for her to pretend to be anyone other than the woman he’d promised to induct into a world of adventure.
She could still be herself.
And, the best thing about their deal, was that she’d had more adventure in the past few days than her somewhat staid, buttoned-up life had afforded her in the last three decades.
Raising his glass, he said, “Here’s to new friends and new destinations.”
It sounded hopeful as well as adventurous, and Laurel felt her enthusiasm rising. “I’ll drink to that.”
Their glasses filled with juice clinked together, and their eyes met over the rims in silent intimacy. The impact of it was profound. Laurel forced herself to glance away, not to reveal her sudden burst of confusion.
As the Learjet started its descent, Laurel caught her first glimpse of Rashad, the capital city of Diyafa from the air.
The city was built on a hilly outcrop and all around stretched an endless sea of sand as far as the eye could see. Shades of ochre and soft pinks with blocks of red clay dominated the city. Domed roofs and towering minarets gave the city a spicy exoticism. Yet interspersed between the traditional domes, Laurel could also see tall, modern structures of towering glass thrusting into the sky. A mix of ancient and modern.
Excitement surged. She swung around to Rakin, only to find he wasn’t looking out the window but at her. The divide between them appeared to have been bridged. There was an expression in his midnight-black eyes that caused all her reservations about what had happened last night to evaporate, and her face broke into a wide smile.
“It looks like something from Aladdin—or rather, Aladdin meets the twenty-first century. I can’t wait to see everything!”
The formal reception that Rakin had warned her about was held at a palace in the center of Rashad that resembled something out of Arabian Nights.
Laurel had never seen anything like it.
The floors in the immense reception room were made of colored marble arranged in intricate patterns. Gilded paneling carved by a master hand decked the walls, lit by sconces that cast a glow over the crowd. Around the edges of the immense room, large ancient urns added to the grandeur while lush arrangements of flowers gave the room extra bursts of color and a heady scent. The sheer luxury of the palace’s interior took her breath away.
Its owner, Rakin’s grandfather, was equally imposing.
Facing the man with his flowing robes and fierce visage, Laurel found herself unusually tongue-tied. Their meeting was brief, and Laurel felt as though the old man’s sharp eyes were staring into her heart.
It was a far-from-comfortable experience.
Tula, Rakin’s grandmother, was more approachable. Her wrinkled face bore the evidence of a lifetime spent smiling. And the hug she gave Laurel was as warm as her husband’s greeting was suspicious.
“You have known my grandson long?” Prince Ahmeer Al-Abdellah demanded.
“Long enough for her to know she wanted to marry me,” Rakin answered for her.
Determined not to be put on the defensive, Laurel smiled at Tula. “Your home is magnificent.”
Tula nodded. “We have spent many happy years here.”
“We should circulate among the guests. I have promised Laurel that I will introduce her to many people so that she can make friends,” Rakin said, stretching the truth, “I will bring her to visit again when you are alone, perhaps tomorrow?”
“Rakin, I wish to talk to your bride!” scolded Tula. “You have made us wait for so many years. Now that you are finally married, you cannot drag your wife away from us so soon.”
Laurel shot Rakin an I-told-you-so glance, which he ignored.
“Rakin tells me that your family is of some importance in America.” Prince Ahmeer went straight to the heart of the matter.
Laurel nodded. “My mother’s family has lived in Charleston for centuries.”
Prince Ahmeer nodded in approval. “Your family has roots—like we have in Diyafa.”
“Yes.”
Before long, he was asking shrewd questions about the business interests of The Kincaid Group. His knowledge of container shipping was extensive, and Laurel was challenged to answer his questions. Within minutes, he was smiling and nodding, looking much more at ease.
Finally he clapped his hand on Rakin’s shoulder, “I was concerned when you called to let me know you were married. But it appears that you have chosen well. I am satisfied. You may visit us tomorrow alone.”
As the sheikh and his sheikha strolled away, Rakin murmured to Laurel, “My grandfather is not easily satisfied—you have worked a miracle.” His mouth curved up. “But then I never doubted for a minute that you would.”
And then there were the guests.?…
Men wore a mix of European-tailored suits, a sprinkling of tuxedos and dishdashas with white headdresses embellished with beautifully knotted cords. Most of the women wore Western fashions—only a handful in traditional dress. The women were beautiful, dressed in the finest designs that made Laurel feel almost dowdy. She’d played it safe in a black halter-neck gown, adorned only with the diamond pendant Rakin had given her to celebrate their wedding. She felt as wide-eyed as a child in this lavish gathering.
Half an hour later, Laurel found herself alone for the first time. She’d been fed delectable morsels of Diyafan food. And she’d been introduced to dozens of people—and her face hurt from smiling.
Rakin had been swept away by two men to meet a third whom he’d invited here tonight. He’d promised to return in minutes, and Laurel had urged him to go, assuring him she would be fine without him.
“You are Rakin’s new wife.”
She turned at the statement. A tall, dark-haired man clad in traditional robes was standing behind her. He stepped forward and smiled. “I am sheikh ibn-Ahmeer.”
Laurel found herself smiling back.
“Yes, I am Rakin’s wife.”
“I had not heard about you before I was invited to welcome you—how did you meet Rakin?”
She should have foreseen this
. She and Rakin had not agreed on the fiction that they would spread. Telling this man that they’d met for the first time, less than a week ago, would not do. Desperately she cast her gaze around the room searching for inspiration—or Rakin’s return.
Rakin was no longer with the trio of men; instead he was talking to his grandfather, and it looked like the conversation had grown stormy. His grandfather was frowning, and Rakin’s body language told her that he, too, was tense. That worried Laurel. She was getting the sense that he and his grandfather did not have an easy relationship… and that did not augur well for Rakin’s plan to stop his grandfather from ousting him.
“So how did you meet?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t answer your question.”
Laurel focused on him.
He was only a little shorter than Rakin with dark, liquid eyes that had a way of connecting to make her feel like the only woman in the room. After the way Rakin had ignored her and caused her to be a little hesitant, to be listened to, to feel interesting was a balm for wounds she hadn’t even known she nursed.
She stuck as close as she could to the truth. “We have a friend in common.” Let him believe that Eli had introduced them.
“So you have known Rakin for a while then?”
Help! How was she supposed to answer that? And, more to the point, what had Rakin led his grandparents to believe? Laurel did not want to contradict his version of their romance, but nor did she want to tell an outright lie, so she compromised by avoiding his question.
“It was at my sister’s wedding that we finally realized we were fated to be together.”
He gave her a searching glance. “Rakin is a fortunate man.”
The expression on his face warned her that “fortunate” hadn’t been his first response. Did this man suspect that her and Rakin’s marriage was a sham?
Or was she being paranoid?
“Rakin and I have something special.”
That was certainly true. No man had ever made her laugh, shown her what her life was lacking, in the same way as Rakin had. He appeared to accept her statement and their conversation became more general as she recounted her impressions of Diyafa.
Within minutes, they had discovered common ground. Her new friend had a sizeable property portfolio, and with her family’s interests in developing the old container yards down on the battery, Laurel found herself telling him about the plans for the new development. A development that was currently stalled due to Jack Sinclair’s interference which had resulted in a loss of investors.
“The returns will be good,” she said enthusiastically. “The whole area is coming to life, being regenerated.”
“You do know about the business.”
She gave him a questioning look. “But of course. I’m the director of public relations for the company.”
“Forgive me, I assumed it was a puppet position when you first told me what you do, a role without any real meaning.”
For a moment she felt affronted; then it passed. “At least you are honest. No, I worked hard to get where I am today.”
A flicker passed over his face, and Laurel wished she hadn’t been so sharp in her retort. Then she shoved her regret aside. Wasn’t this exactly what she was trying to get over? It was time to be her own woman, not to worry about what everyone else thought of her.
“Then I must certainly apologize for my rude assumption. You must be thinking I am a chauvinist.”
It had crossed her mind, and Laurel held off politely denying his charge—as she might have in the past. Instead she said, “If you are interested in learning more about the project I can put you in touch with my brother, Matthew—there is money to be made.”
“Yes, please do have him contact me.” He fell silent for a moment as he studied her. “I think Rakin has chosen very well. You are going to be an asset to the Al-Abdellah family.”
Where did he fit in to the family? But before she could ask, Laurel sensed Rakin’s dark presence behind her.
When he spoke, his harsh tone jarred. “I see you have met my cousin.”
“Your cousin?” She glanced between the two men with some confusion. “But I thought your surname was Ahmeer—not Abdellah.”
“Zafar ibn Ahmeer is the name I go by within the family—in honor of my grandfather. But I am also Zafar Al-Abdellah.”
This was the man who Rakin’s grandfather had threatened to give control of the family business to if Rakin did not produce a wife? Zafar had been civil, pleasant even. He’d made her laugh—he was nothing like the ogre Laurel had expected. She cast her mind rapidly back over their discussion to check if she might have been indiscreet. Then she stiffened her spine.
Why was she worrying? There was no earthly reason why she shouldn’t promote The Kincaid Group to anyone she met in Diyafa. Hadn’t Rakin assured her that by marrying him she would gain access to his business contacts? And didn’t she want to help her family protect TKG from any harm Jack Sinclair might do by gaining as many new clients as possible? Zafar’s business interests dovetailed with that of The Kincaid Group. If he wanted to invest, his money would be welcome.
An aide appeared behind Zafar and murmured something to him in Arabic.
“I will ask that you excuse me, I have something to which I must attend.” He dug into the voluminous dishdasha he wore. “Here are my contact details.” He handed Laurel a card. “We will have plenty of time to talk again later, I am sure.”
With an unsmiling nod in Rakin’s direction, he followed the aide.
Rakin glared after his cousin, and it gave his features a harshness Laurel had not seen before.
Since their arrival in Diyafa, Rakin had changed.
At first Laurel had not been able put her finger on exactly how he’d changed; she’d only known that the difference was marked.
He was distant. He was aloof.
And it was not merely the tension between them as a result of the night they’d shared together in Vegas. This was different. It was complex. He’d lost that lightness of spirit that had captivated her, made her laugh, and assumed a mantle of authority and become increasingly remote.
Now, having met his autocratic grandfather, Laurel was starting to fathom what was happening.
Diyafa was his birthright. He was part of the ruling royal family. With his return, Rakin’s persona had changed. He’d become more than a man; he’d become a sheikh.
The sight of his cousin staring into Laurel’s eyes had goaded Rakin into returning to his bride’s side. He’d cut his grandfather’s complaints short, and hastened over to see what mischief Zafar was wreaking.
“What were you two talking about?” Rakin growled into Laurel’s ear as he watched his cousin depart in a hurry. “Why did he give you his card to contact him?”
His wife’s chin came up in a gesture he was starting to know too well.
“We were talking about real estate.”
“That is all? Then why did he rush off as I arrived?”
“He didn’t rush off, he was called away. You’re seeing a conspiracy where there is none.”
Her exasperation only made the knot that had started to form in his stomach pull tighter. “I have plenty of reason. You do not know Zafar like I do.”
Her expression changed instantly. “He has done you harm?”
Rakin hesitated. Almost reluctantly, he said, “He has always been my foe.”
He could see his response had surprised her. “Always?”
Wishing he’d kept silent, Rakin said with even greater reluctance, “From childhood we have been in conflict.”
“You look like you are near in age.”
“I am three months older.” But he’d been sent away to England—while Zafar, his grandfather’s favorite, had stayed.
“How sad! I would’ve have expected you to be friends.”
“We were never encouraged to be friends.” The brusque statement was not intended to illuminate the tensions that had existed between him and his cousin. Rak
in waved a dismissive hand. “Talking about Zafar is of no interest. I came to find you because I want you to meet Ben Al-Sahr. He imports large quantities of cotton from the United States. Presently he ships mostly from other areas, but if the Kincaids can introduce him to a supplier in Charleston, that could change.”
“Thank you, Rakin. I would certainly like to meet him—and I’m sure Matt would love to connect with him, too. I’ll have to let him know to expect a call.” She placed her fingers on his arm, and the smile she gave him was brilliant.
“Matt? It’s Laurel.” Across the world, her brother sounded half asleep. “What time is it? Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay.” His voice sharpened. “Laurel? Is something the matter?”
“No, no. Nothing’s the matter.” She crossed her fingers. “I got married.”
She shut her eyes… and waited.
The eruption she’d anticipated wasn’t long in coming. “You got married? When? To whom?”
“To Rakin. In Vegas.” Before he could interrupt she added in a rush, “But we’re in Diyafa now. Rakin wanted to introduce me to his family.”
There was a long silence. Laurel found herself staring out of the window, over the planted garden outside the palace windows. The rosebushes were in bloom. Red. Yellow. Orange. All the fiery colors of a desert sunset.
“Does Mom know?” Matt spoke at last.
The pointed question caused a stab of guilt. “It happened so suddenly. You’re the first to know.”
“Oh.” Matt fell silent.
“I’ll call Mom next,” she said quickly as the pause again expanded beyond what was comfortable. “Then I’ll call Kara and Lily—and RJ.”
“Kara and Eli have gone away for a few days.”
“Oh.” It highlighted how out of touch she was. It felt as if more than a few days had elapsed. Why should it surprise her? After all, more than the view out the window had changed—her whole life had changed.
“Why?”
This was the question she’d been dreading. Somewhere outside she could hear children laughing. “Because he’s an attractive man?” she suggested tentatively. “Because—”
“Not why did you get married—why are you telling me first and not Mom or RJ?”