by Holly Rayner
Still, he couldn’t risk Brooke. No matter how unlikely it seemed that any harm would come to them, he knew he couldn’t take a chance with her. It wouldn’t be fair. She still didn’t know who he was. She would have no idea of the kind of risk she was taking by traveling to Shunayy with him. He couldn’t do that to her.
But what if he could tell her the truth?
This would have become an issue anyway, he reasoned to himself. Brooke might not know much about the royal family of Shunayy, but when she saw where his parents lived, she was bound to have some questions. There was a difference between the well-appointed home of a wealthy businessman and a palace. And besides, he liked Brooke. He cared for her more and more with every passing day. He wanted her to know the truth about him—who he was, where he’d come from, and what his future held. And if she was going to stay in his life, as he increasingly hoped she would, then at some point she would have to know the truth.
Could he tell her?
He knew he wasn’t supposed to. When Wellers had handed him the Blaine Mustafi profile, he had made that abundantly clear. Deviating from the story that had been prepared for him would put Ali at risk, and in order for the security team to do their jobs, they would need his cooperation. There was no point in appealing to Wellers, since he was following orders that came directly from the royal family. Only one person could give Ali permission to go against instructions here.
He would have to call his father.
This wasn’t going to be easy. Every time Ali spoke to his father, it seemed, the conversation devolved into an argument. The two of them barely agreed on anything. Ali knew his father took security seriously, but beyond even that, he was a stickler for royal tradition. The procedures that were followed when death threats were issued had their origins so far back that Ali didn’t even know when they’d begun. He could recall their being put into motion at various stages throughout his life. Though Ali himself had never before been the protectee, there had been multiple occasions during which his father or one of his uncles had been forced to disappear for a while. When Ali’s father was the protectee, his mother had always taken him and his siblings to a separate safe house in case the potential assassin thought the Sheikh was still at home.
In all that time, his father had never been attacked. His mother and the rest of the family had never been attacked. Not even the emptied-out palace had been attacked. Ali would make this point to his father when he spoke to him. But he didn’t think it would carry much weight; while his father had faith in the ability of the security procedures to keep the family safe, what he truly cherished was the fact that he had been following the same protocols as his father and his father’s father. This love of tradition showed up in every aspect of royal life, from the way holidays were celebrated to the way meals were eaten. It irritated Ali sometimes, but it usually didn’t bother him.
But it was becoming too much. To have a permanent wall between himself and Brooke, simply for the sake of preserving tradition? That was something he couldn’t stand. He deserved the opportunity to get to know her. He deserved to let her in. He wasn’t asking for the tradition to be dismantled permanently. He wouldn’t even ask to be allowed to go back to New York, or to settle in Shunayy. But a weekend trip, and the ability to be honest with Brooke…surely they could grant him that.
Ali pressed his hands to his face and exhaled slowly. Why did it all have to be so hard? If his father would have allowed it, he would have gladly handed over his place in the line of succession to the throne to his brother or sister.
He would have jumped at the chance to live a normal life, a life in which he and Brooke could be together. A life in which they could go wherever they wanted without worrying about security details, about asking for permission or the threat posed by assassins who were probably just kids playing a prank. In that life, he would have been able to tell Brooke the truth about himself from day one. She would know Ali, not Blaine. She would know the true stories of his past, not the jumbled-up ones he’d cobbled together from his own history and the Blaine Mustafi file. And he would know that her feelings for him were true, not based on lies.
The fact was that Brooke Bailey had changed Ali’s life. Though he wouldn’t have been able to articulate it, he realized now that he hadn’t cared about much before he’d come to Vermont. He’d had friends, of course, and he’d loved to go out and enjoy himself. But with Brooke, it almost didn’t matter what they were doing. He loved driving on country roads with her. He loved walking through the woods with her.
Even now, sitting in bed agonizing over his family and what the future held for all of them, Ali felt better with Brooke by his side. He glanced over at her as she sighed and shifted a little, dislodging the comforter and exposing her bare shoulder, and he was torn between the urge to leave it uncovered and the desire to tuck her back in so she wouldn’t be cold. He had never felt like this about any woman.
His parents would see the change in him. They would have to. The moment he called them, they would be able to tell that something was different. And they would be glad. Ali knew his father despised his New York lifestyle. He wanted Ali to settle down, take on some responsibilities, and grow up. The news that Ali had fallen in love was sure to be well-received.
He would tell them how Brooke had changed the way he saw the world. He would tell them he was ready to make serious changes in his life. It was the truth, after all. And then he would tell them he wanted them to meet the woman who had inspired him. They couldn’t say no.
Ali slid himself slowly off the edge of the bed. Brooke didn’t stir. He grabbed his laptop from the desk by his window and headed out to the balcony to make the call.
Sure enough, the remnants of dinner were still there. Ali made a quick pass at tidying up. He threw away the food—a shame, but there was no way any of it was still good after sitting outside overnight—and put the dishes in the sink. Then he picked up the bottle of wine. His old self, back in New York, would have gone ahead and taken a swig from the bottle. But then, in New York he would have been hungover and looking for something to take the edge off. Shaking his head at the man he had once been, Ali recorked the bottle and put it away for later. He and Brooke could share a toast after he’d finished telling her the truth.
He took a deep breath, then opened the laptop and requested a video chat with his parents.
11
Brooke
Brooke drifted awake slowly, rising so gradually from dreams into reality that she wasn’t sure, at first, that she actually had woken up. It was the sound of the oscillating fan Blaine had placed by the bed that convinced her. Once she knew she was awake, she lay still, eyes closed, fingers twisting the hem of the top sheet. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
Last night had been amazing.
Brooke couldn’t remember ever feeling so loved. To think he had taken the time, paid the attention, to learn all her favorite foods like that. And then he had learned how to cook them. It was so romantic. Brooke had never imagined a guy would do something like that for her. What made it even more special was that Blaine seemed to consider it no big deal. He wasn’t crowing about his achievement or waiting to see what she would do for him in return. He hadn’t done it to impress her. He had done it because he’d wanted to. He’d wanted her to have it.
And then, after dinner…
She stretched deliciously in bed, toes curling at the thought of it. He was masterful. She had truly been able to forget herself when they were together. The thought awoke a yearning for second round, but for some reason, Blaine wasn’t in bed. Maybe he had gone to make breakfast. That would be nice.
But then she heard his voice, coming from the living room. It was faint and somewhat distorted, so she couldn’t make out what he was saying, but the tone sounded angry, possibly even distraught. He didn’t sound like a man happily cooking breakfast to share with a loved one. He sounded like he was arguing with someone.
Had he had a bad time last night? Her sto
mach swooped in alarm. But no, that couldn’t be it. Why would that lead him to be arguing with somebody other than her? Something else must be going on, but whatever it was, it was clearly upsetting to Blaine. Was he all right?
Maybe there was something she could do to help.
Brooke pushed back the covers and eased herself out of bed, moving gingerly in case the sound of her footsteps gave her away. It wasn’t spying, she told herself. Not really. She hadn’t been told that his conversation was a secret. And he was talking fairly loudly if he didn’t want her to overhear.
She reached the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner. The living room was empty. She looked the other way, just in case, but the kitchen was empty too. Where was Blaine?
Then she spotted him. He was standing out on the balcony. She could see the tension in his muscles, the rigid way he held himself. He was clearly upset. As she watched, he began to pace back and forth. Every time he passed the door, which was cracked open, she caught snippets of his conversation.
“Not even…no…totally making…problem…stubborn…none of…mother’s…if you don’t…father…forget it.”
His voice rose in volume and pitch as he spoke, and by the end of his tirade he was practically radiating frustration. She could see it all the way from here. She longed to go to him, but suddenly her argument to herself that this wasn’t eavesdropping felt paper-thin. He wasn’t out on the balcony because he’d wanted her to overhear. Guiltily, she slunk back to the bedroom.
Moments later, Blaine entered. He looked anxious and irritated, she noticed, but he immediately brightened at the sight of her. “You’re awake.”
“So are you.”
Blaine sat beside her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. She returned his embrace, feeling instantly drawn back into the blissful feelings of the night before. Whatever had been going on with that call, she decided, it couldn’t have been too serious. She felt him inhale and rested her head on his shoulder, unwilling to put an end to the moment. Maybe if she waited long enough, he would come back to bed…
But he pulled away. “How are you feeling?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Wonderful.” She slid over so she was right up against him. “Thank you so much, Blaine. Last night was amazing.”
“It didn’t exactly go the way I planned,” he said, laughing lightly.
“You mean you weren’t planning to get me into bed?”
“I can’t say I hadn’t been thinking about it, but planning? No.”
“Well, for future reference—” She leaned over and kissed him. “—lamb works.”
“We didn’t even eat the lamb.”
“Yeah, but the fact that you cooked it was really hot.”
He threaded his fingers in her hair. “I’ll make it for you again sometime.”
“So who were you on the phone with?”
She hadn’t meant to ask. She had been planning to respect his privacy, since he had clearly intended to make the call out of her earshot. But she was feeling some lingering guilt about having overheard, and she wanted to confess. And besides, she was curious. He had seemed so upset on the phone, but he was apparently fine now. What had happened?”
“Oh.” Blaine looked awkward. It was the same old awkwardness he’d always had, from the day she’d met him. It seemed to crop up from time to time without warning, and it never failed to confuse Brooke. Blaine was a charming, charismatic, witty guy. Why did he sometimes seem as though he had no idea how to answer a question?
He stood and walked several paces away from her, now facing out the window. “I was calling airlines,” he said, but there was something funny in his voice, something she couldn’t identify. “I wanted to take care of those plane tickets. We forgot to do that last night, in all the excitement.”
“Right,” she said slowly, remembering. The trip to Shunayy.
Brooke felt a sudden flare of excitement. It had been hard to process last night, with everything that had been happening, but now she was able to think about the trip with a clear head, and she found she couldn’t wait to go. She had only been outside the country one other time, on a trip to Ireland last year. And now she would be going much farther, all the way to Shunayy, and with Blaine. “Were you able to get tickets?”
“Yes.” He still wasn’t facing her.
“You sounded upset on the phone.”
“It was just a little more…complicated than I expected. I had to pull some strings.”
Brooke thought back. She had heard him mention a problem. Perhaps he’d been talking about the airline having a problem fitting them on a flight? And he’d said something about his father. She didn’t know much about Blaine’s family, other than they were wealthy. Was his father’s money enough to persuade an airline to open up some last-minute seats for them?
She approached Blaine and wrapped her arms around him from behind, expecting him to turn in her embrace, expecting the strange tension to melt from his shoulders. But he didn’t. He kept his back to her and kept looking out the window as if it held the answer to a question she couldn’t name.
12
Brooke
Brooke went back to her own apartment to pack for the trip. Blaine had promised to come and collect her in a few hours, when it was time to leave for the airport, and Brooke knew she’d need every minute of that time to prepare herself.
What should she pack? She didn’t know what to expect. She took care of the essentials quickly—toothbrush, toothpaste, socks, and underwear—and then stood staring into her mostly empty suitcase, hoping the answers would come to her. Would she be needing formalwear? Should she pack a swimsuit? After mulling it over, she packed both. But would one fancy dress be enough? And how many nights were they planning to stay?
If only Blaine were the sort of person who provided more answers. If only he weren’t so mysterious! Brooke knew that the mystery was part of what had initially drawn her to him, but the maze of questions was starting to become impossible to navigate. There was so much she still didn’t know about Blaine. What was his family like? He had mentioned siblings, but she didn’t actually know anything about them apart from the fact of their existence. Was he close with them? Would she be meeting them in Shunayy, or did they live here? She didn’t even know their names.
And what were his parents like? Okay, they were wealthy, but how? Were they successful businesspeople, or was their wealth inherited? Would they like her? What if they disapproved of her for Blaine? She wished he had better prepared her for that.
She had been asking herself questions about Blaine since she’d met him, that was the problem. And instead of getting answers, more questions just kept cropping up. Why had he moved in with next to no possessions? That still didn’t make any sense. And what had his job actually been in New York? He’d only ever referred to it as “business,” but of course there were thousands of businesses. It was weird that he’d never gotten any more specific about it.
And there was the matter of that phone call this morning. It was out of character for Blaine to be angry with an airline employee just trying to do their job. Brooke couldn’t help feeling that something else had been going on there. But what?
Enough was enough. It was time to do some detective work.
Brooke sat down at her computer and pulled up a search window. Blaine shouldn’t be too hard to find, she reasoned. If he was a high-powered executive from a wealthy family, he must be all over the internet. At the very least she could probably find out what company he had come from. She typed in his name and hit the Search button.
She tried images first. It was immediately clear that the search engine hadn’t known what to do with the name “Blaine Mustafi.” It had returned several pictures of white men, most of whom appeared to be athletes of some kind, and a few Arabic men who were definitely not her Blaine. She tabbed back over to the “all results” part of the search. None of the links offered seemed to be for business pages. That was stran
ge. Maybe his company had removed him from their website when he’d left.
She tried social media next. He must have a profile on some social media platform. She searched for his name on all the platforms she used herself. Though she did find a few Blaine Mustafis, it was clear that none of them were the one she was looking for—they all lived in different parts of the world, or were too young, or too old, or had pictures of themselves that didn’t match Blaine.
Was it possible that he had no internet presence at all? In this day and age? It seemed unbelievable. Everyone was on the internet somewhere. To prove her point to herself, Brooke did a search for her mother. In addition to her father’s obituary, the search turned up several online databases that just happened to have her mother’s information on record. Brooke searched her own name and found that the same thing was true. Shouldn’t Blaine be listed, too? What was going on?
Brooke sat back in her chair, staring at the screen and pondering. This certainly added a new layer to the mystery. She knew Tana would have ordered her to do an internet search on Blaine the day she’d met him. Tana was like that. Brooke, though, was more trusting. She wanted Blaine to be who he’d said he was, and she’d given him the benefit of the doubt.
Had she been wrong?
And if she had been wrong, what was really going on?
Was it possible that Blaine was mixed up in something shady? That would certainly explain some of the mystery. He wouldn’t have wanted to tell her about the company he had worked for if it had been mixed up in unethical dealings. Maybe that was why he was taking time off—he was lying low until the heat from his misdeeds died down. He had taken himself off social media to avoid the hate he would have gotten from…
No. It didn’t check out at all. If that had been true, there would have been a different kind of online presence about him. There would have been news articles, possibly even police records if whatever it was was bad enough. You couldn’t be a disgraced executive in New York City and then completely disappear without leaving a trace. If he’d done something wrong, someone would have had something to say about it.