by Holly Rayner
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Zarina asked her finally, her voice coaxing. “You’re freaking me out a little bit.”
“I’ll explain later,” Tiffany said, rushing toward the shower. “Thank you for calling me, Zar. You might have saved everything.”
“Everything?” Zarina asked, crying out with confusion.
But before Tiffany could elaborate, she stamped her finger on the END button and jumped into the shower, scrubbing her hair and skin. She dressed quickly, in the slinkiest little black dress she could find, and raced down the steps of her apartment building.
After hailing a taxi, she found herself bolting down the highway in the direction of that massive, yellow billboard which had spouted news of the car show for the past three weeks. Knowing it was an event for the upper echelon of Al Barait, Tiffany had more or less ignored it, making a point to suggest it to some of her clients, and that was that. Now, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else in the world she’d rather be.
The taxi lurched to a halt in front of the car show. Tiffany peered from the back window, watching as men wearing immaculate suits and dark sunglasses escorted pretty women down a walkway. Cameras flashed from all directions, taking stock of the sleek cars that were on show. Tiffany glanced forward, realizing that the taxi driver was extending his hand, requesting cash.
Quickly, she paid him, sputtering her apologies. She stumbled from the side of the car, placing her thick heel onto the pavement. Righting herself, she slid her hands down her waist, smoothing the dress down over her hips. She felt prime for this kind of interaction. Ready to stand alongside the richest women in Al Barait.
She gave herself a brief pep talk, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. She lifted her chin and strutted, hoping that she was displaying the same kind of confidence as the people around her. Pausing at a bright red sports car, she pulled her shoulders back, glancing through the crowd. Surely, Kazra wouldn’t be hard to spot. He’d be surrounded by his entourage, the guys from the restaurant: all of them flocking around him.
Far in the back of the long field, she spotted him. He was wearing another immaculate suit, strutting around a sleek sports car, whipping his hand up to smooth his hair. Immediately, Tiffany’s heart began to hammer with excitement. She remembered snippets from the evening before: the way those lips had kissed her. The way those hands had gripped her waist. The way he’d kissed her neck, inhaling the scent of her. That was him! No one else.
Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, Tiffany began to stride towards the sports car, the Sheikh, and his entourage. She swept her hands through her hair, ensuring not a strand was out of place. She needed to look her best. She needed to make him regret his every decision since leaving her that morning.
As she approached, one of the men in the entourage noticed her. His eyes grew wide and bright, and he turned to another member in the group, muttering to him. And then, it was a cascading effect, with one after another of them whispering, informing each other of her arrival. Tiffany couldn’t place it. It was the strangest sensation in the world, being discussed in such a way. But she was already ten feet away, and then she was eight feet away, and she felt she couldn’t turn back.
Suddenly, she was standing in front of him.
The Sheikh was addressing his friends, without yet noticing the hubbub behind him. He gestured with wide arms, taking in the sleek shape of the red vehicle. Shaking his head, he said, “It was a hard road, gentleman. But someone had to fight down it. Someone had to win. And I knew, all along, that I would succeed. Several of you suggested I might not.”
Tiffany frowned. She pressed her arms across her chest, glancing toward the last member of the group, the youngest-looking man, thinner than the rest. His eyes were filled with anguish. Why? What was this all for?
But Kazra continued, without yet knowing she’d arrived. No one dared interrupt the Sheikh.
“I will drive this car knowing that I earned it,” he continued. “And know that the ones who doubted me will be treated as such. You know the punishment.”
Punishment? Tiffany couldn’t align this voice with that of the man she’d spoken with, so sincerely, the night before. She shifted her weight on her heels, which were growing more and more painful by the second.
“What kind of punishment?” she finally blurted out, unable to take the anticipation any longer.
The Sheikh whirled around, making direct eye contact with her. For a moment, Tiffany felt that spark once more. That electricity that had existed between them. But as the seconds ticked by, she watched a smirk draw across his face. He chuckled slightly and clucked his tongue. “Well, hello there, Tiffany,” he said, his voice dry, and cold.
“What kind of punishment?” she asked again, her nostrils flaring. “Bring me up to speed here.”
The Sheikh gestured toward the car, his eyebrows high. “What do you think of this beauty, Tiffany?” he asked, sounding arrogant once more, performing for his friends.
“I’m not really into cars,” Tiffany said, her smile faltering.
“Strange place to appear, then. A car show,” the Sheikh said. He adjusted his weight, taking a step back. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
“It was his prize.”
The words came from the left. Tiffany turned her head quickly, catching sight of the younger, thinner friend: the one with the sad eyes.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice a whisper now. “A prize for what?”
“We had a bet,” he continued. One of his friends elbowed him in the side, but he kept talking, his voice not losing its strength. “A bet about whether or not he could get you to go on a date with him. The only woman in the entire country who seemed to hate him.”
“Shut up, Maddi!” another friend blurted.
But Maddi only shrugged his shoulders. “We can’t let it go on like this. It’s over.”
Tiffany felt her heart beating in her throat. After a long, horrible moment, she turned back toward Kazra, looking for any kind of indication that this wasn’t true. That he had actually meant everything that had happened between them. But the Sheikh was unable to make eye contact with her.
Without waiting a moment more, she whirled back toward the road. She walked quickly, her hands curling into fists. Rage pumped through her veins. She’d been a bet, a way to prove to his friends that he could get literally any woman he wanted. Even her.
The only man she’d been able to open up to in years. The only man who’d seemed to see her—really look at her—had done it all in jest.
As she walked, she felt her heels faltering on the pavement. “Screw it!” she yelled to no one, removing her heels and running barefoot toward the road. Flailing a single arm through the air, she hailed a taxi and bounced into the back, feeling the tears begin to fall.
“Oh dear,” the taxi driver said to her, his voice gruff yet melodious, not unlike her grandfather’s had been. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t worth all these tears.”
“He wasn’t worth all these tears, you mean,” Tiffany sighed, leaning her head against the window. “I know that, now. I know that I was right all along about him.”
The taxi driver gave her a knowing look in the rearview mirror. He drove along sadly, taking her back to her apartment in the heat of the afternoon. When he dropped her in front of her door, he waved his hand when she tried to pay him.
“Sometimes, all we need is just one person to look out for us. I can be that person today,” he told her, with a long, even sigh. “This won’t be the last time you feel this bad. I know it’s not the first time, either. Be safe out there. Keep yourself well.”
With that, the taxi driver skirted back down the road, carrying that heart of gold along with him. Tiffany felt warmed for a singular moment, before darting back into her apartment, which still smelled of the Sheikh’s cologne. Diving between the sheets, she let herself fall into sobs. She clung to the pillow, holding it tight, and trying to wish the past 24 hours away. But she couldn’t.
They had happened. And now, she had to deal with the consequences.
Chapter Six
On Monday morning, Tiffany dressed in a black dress, donned sensible heels and trudged to work. She felt weighted down, dark. She gave Mallory a small smile upon entering, but didn’t answer when the older woman tried to chase her down regarding her “date.”
“How did it go? Aren’t you going to fill us in on the juicy details?”
“I can’t right now. I have a ton of emails to go over,” Tiffany sighed, falling into her office chair.
“Those can wait five minutes, can’t they?” Mallory asked, her eyes searching Tiffany’s.
“I’m afraid not.” Tiffany’s voice was quiet and mousey.
Mallory hovered by the edge of her desk, leaning closer. “If it went badly, you can rant to me about it. We could even go for drinks after work, if you think that would make you feel better. I just hate seeing you like this.”
“Like what?” Tiffany asked, feeling a million miles away. “You know what, I changed my mind. I called it off. So there was no date. Nothing to talk about.”
It was clear that Mallory didn’t believe her, but she nodded and turned back toward her own desk. As she did, Karen, the receptionist, appeared in the doorway holding a bouquet of blood red roses. Tiffany felt her heart sink in her chest. Karen’s grin was a mile wide as she walked the flowers toward her, dropping them in the center of her desk.
“How about that!” Karen piped. “Things must be going well?”
“Nothing’s going on at all,” Tiffany said, feeling rage pumping through her. She reached for the card that was pinned to the side of the roses. With nostrils flared, she opened it, knowing that no matter what the Sheikh said to her, she couldn’t forgive him. She couldn’t look past the fact that he’d fooled her. He’d shown her that he was precisely the type of man that the press portrayed him to be.
She began to read the note.
Tiffany.
I’m so sorry for the horrendous way things went at the car show. I had a fantastic time with you on Friday evening, and see no reason why we should remember it differently. Please, take these flowers as a token of my apology.
Yours,
Kazra
Gasping slightly, Tiffany ripped the letter to shreds, allowing the pieces of the paper to fall across her desk. Karen and Mallory gaped at her. After a long, dramatic pause, Mallory lifted the flowers from her desk and carried them to another office space, whispering, “These are too pretty to throw away. Let me take them off your hands. And we won’t speak of them again.”
Tiffany fell into her desk chair once more, trying to focus on the spreadsheet on her screen. She stared at it harder, narrowing her eyes. But still, thoughts of the Sheikh wouldn’t be banished from her mind. She’d been wronged. And she knew it would be a very, very long time before she trusted anyone ever again.
Perhaps this was a good thing. She could focus, wholly and completely, on her work. Worry about whether or not she was “living her life to the fullest” was no longer valid. Especially as “living life to the fullest” meant putting yourself up against people willing to destroy your very way of life.
Chapter Seven
Over the next few weeks, Tiffany busied herself, flying from dinners with Zarina to vigorous exercise routines at her local gym; throwing herself into work and spending long weekends with her father, Mike. As her father had been in Al Barait for years, as the U.S. Ambassador, he was assisting her with the language, helping her with her pronunciation.
Their relationship was, on the surface, a very good one. The pair never dove into “real” conversations. They didn’t talk about her mother, and they didn’t linger on the fact that Tiffany never discussed her personal life with him, or that her eyes had grown sad and withdrawn over the last few weeks. Her father didn’t ask her questions about that. And perhaps, more than anything, Tiffany appreciated this dividing line.
One Friday, about a month after the car show, Tiffany and Zarina arrived at Tiffany’s father’s house. Mike had been slaving over the stovetop for hours, preparing one of their favorite American dishes, fried chicken. He opened his arms to the girls, hugging Tiffany tightly and welcoming Zarina warmly.
“Happy weekend, girls!” he said, his voice boisterous. “Come on in. I’ve poured us some iced tea.”
“Thanks, Mr. Ashworth,” Zarina said.
“Zarina, we’ve been over this. Call me Mike.”
Zarina’s cheeks burned red with embarrassment, but she chuckled in return. “All right. Mike.”
They sat on the couch, their plates on their laps. The smell of fried chicken filled the air, making Tiffany’s mouth water. In recent weeks, she’d been insatiably hungry. As her father dropped a dollop of mashed potatoes and gravy onto her plate, she inhaled her first bite of chicken, closing her eyes.
She almost missed the words that came out of her father’s mouth next.
“The Sheikh’s in really poor health,” he said. “I’ve been in meetings all week about it.”
Zarina frowned. “That’s horrible. The last time I saw him on TV he didn’t look like he was aging so well. He looked pale.”
“Yes, he’s quite ill,” Mike continued, taking a contemplative bite of his chicken. “In fact, I wanted to check the news. See if there was anything—” He lifted the remote and clicked it, igniting a press conference on the screen.
The three of them sat in horror as they realized, all at once, that Kazra’s father, the ruling Sheikh, had passed. The Sheikh of Al Barait was no more.
Tiffany’s chicken fell out of her hands and onto her plate. Despite her rage for the man’s son, she couldn’t help but think back to their conversation from the night together. That last, wonderful night, when she’d allowed herself to believe that he was far more than he seemed.
She remembered how upset he’d been about his mother’s illness and death. His eyes had been wet and wounded, deep and dark. Tiffany had held him close, and felt the weight of his past. And now, with the death of his father—how would he go on?
“That playboy Kazra will have some big shoes to fill,” Mike said, shaking his head. “The death of a great man. It’s hard to believe.”
Tiffany continued to gape. She felt Zarina’s hand on her arm, squeezing it tight.
“Are you okay?” Zarina whispered.
“Of course,” Tiffany murmured, still incredulous. “I just can’t believe it.”
As the press conference continued, a man announced that the Sheikh had arrived for comment. The three of them watched as Kazra walked onto the stage. He was wearing traditional, colorful robes. His eyes were somber and tinged with red, as if he were drunk, or tired from crying. Tiffany assumed that both were true.
“He’s drunk. Look at him,” Mike said, scoffing slightly.
“No. He’s just sad,” Zarina whispered.
Kazra reached the microphone and cleared his throat. Around him, cameras were flashing wildly. “Good evening,” he began, sounding somber. “My father, as you know, fought valiantly the past few weeks against a horrible, sudden illness. I couldn’t have imagined, only a month ago, that it would soon be time to say goodbye.”
Tiffany shifted uncomfortably, remembering the arrogant man from the car show. That wasn’t the man she saw before her now.
“My father was a man of honor; of diligence. He loved his country more than I could possibly describe here today. And I will do my best, as I ascend to the throne, to take on his love and passion. I will say goodbye to my old life, and make peace with the new. Thank you.”
The silence that followed was heavy. No longer hungry, Tiffany shoved her plate to the side and leaned back in her chair. Letting her head hang down, she listened to Zarina and her father discuss Kazra—his past exploits, his potential.
“I’m just not sure he has it in him. His father was always such a strong-willed man,” Mike said.
Zarina eyed Tiffany with curiosity. “What do you think, Tiff?” she asked, her v
oice low. “Do you think a man like Kazra can change his ways?”
Feeling suddenly energized, Tiffany burst up from the couch, collecting her plate. She placed it in the sink and then scrubbed it, calling back to them from the kitchen. “I don’t think a man like that could ever change. But I guess it’s up to him to prove us wrong.”
“Agreed,” her father said, taking a final sip of iced tea. “That’s my girl. Never giving anyone an inch.”
After dinner, Tiffany and Zarina sped back toward Tiffany’s apartment. They sat in the back of the taxi, both lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Zarina reached across the middle and gripped Tiffany’s hand, forcing her to whirl around.
“Hey,” she said. “You haven’t really talked about Kazra in a few weeks. Do you want to work through anything right now?”
Tiffany pressed her lips together, feeling suddenly, horribly exhausted. “It doesn’t matter, Zar.”
“It does matter,” Zarina retorted. “You’ve already said to me, countless times, that you’re never dating again just because of him, what he put you through. That’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t give him more power over you than he already has.”
“You mean, I shouldn’t give him more power than he has as ruling Sheikh?” Tiffany asked, rolling her eyes sadly. “Zarina, that sounds insane.”
“Look. He was an arrogant asshole to you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust anyone,” Zarina sighed.
“It does to me,” Tiffany said, her voice low. “At least for now.”
The taxi stopped in front of Tiffany’s apartment building. After tossing a few bills in the driver’s hand, Tiffany walked into her apartment, her shoulders rolling forward, making her look defeated as well as exhausted. She sensed Zarina following her, despite not having invited her in. After a long, terrible pause, she whirled around.
“And now you’re not going to leave me alone, are you?” she asked.