I Married a Sheik

by Sharon De Vita

  "Fine." She stepped around him, went to the table and gathered her notes, then walked toward the doors. She didn't look back at him, she couldn't. She didn't want him to see the tears she couldn't hold back any longer.

  Three

  "Ms. Faith, I apologize for disturbing you." Kadid stood in the doorway of the sprawling room that held the entire systems operations for El-Etra Investments.

  The walls and floors were a rather utilitarian gray, computer towers, monitors and printers in various states of disarray dotted every square foot of desk space. The hum of machines filtered through the air.

  "May I come in, please?" he asked politely.

  Turning from the computer she was working on, Faith managed a smile at the tray he carried. There was a glass full of ice, several cans of cola and a sandwich. "Of course."

  "I took the liberty of having the chef prepare a little something for you." He set the tray down on the desk next to her, nudging aside a keyboard she'd disconnected.

  "Bless you." She eyed the tray greedily.

  "If it is not to your liking, I will be happy to have him prepare something else."

  "You have a chef here?" she asked, picking up one half of the delectable-looking sandwich and taking a bite. She nearly swooned. It was the first bit of food she'd had all day and it was way past the dinner hour.

  "But of course," he said with a smile. "May I?" At her nod, he lifted the can of cola and began to pour it over the glass of ice for her. "Sheik El-Etra brought him with him when he came to America. He has been with the family for almost two generations." Kadid set the empty can down on the tray. "Sheik El-Etra is a very loyal man."

  The respectful tone of his voice and his careful words gave her the impression he was trying to tell her something.

  "Loyal, huh?" She chewed thoughtfully. That wasn't quite the word she'd have chosen for Ali after the scene they'd had yesterday afternoon. She leaned back against her chair, deciding to take a break. "Kadid, who is Mrs. Jourdan?"

  He handed her the icy glass of cola, then clasped his hands together in front of him. "She is a very old and very dear friend of the sheik's. He is not only greatly fond of her, but enormously grateful to her."

  Faith frowned. "Grateful?" This didn't make sense. "Why is Ali grateful to her?"

  Kadid was thoughtful. "When the sheik first came to America, he was only sixteen years old. There was political unrest in our country, and as an only son and heir and a descendant of the royal family, there was of course enormous concern for his safety, so his father sent him to America."

  "To live with the Coltons."

  "Yes," Kadid said with a slow nod. "Although English is a required language for all school children, Ali's English was not…shall we say, perfect." His wrinkled face creased into a smile. "As you know, children, particularly children of that age, can be cruel to anyone who is not the same as they are." He shrugged his shoulders. "The sheik was a foreigner, of royal blood, and not used to the language, customs or ways of your beautiful country."

  Intrigued, Faith reached for the other half of her sandwich. "Go on."

  "It was a…difficult time. He was at a very vulnerable age, an age when a boy is struggling to become a man, to show his strength, to develop his pride, and it was most difficult to be the object of cruelty."

  "People were cruel to Ali?"

  Having been the butt of cruelty herself as a child, Faith had grown to abhor any hint of cruelty toward anyone.

  Kadid nodded sadly. "Yes, I'm afraid so. The sheik has always kept his own counsel. As a member of the royal family, it is of course expected, accepted—"

  "But you knew?"

  His wrinkled face once again creased into a smile. "Yes. I have been with the sheik since his birth and perhaps know him as well as his father. It is the honor of my life."

  "So where does Mrs. Jourdan come in?"

  "Mr. Colton was aware of the difficulties the sheik was having. Mrs. Jourdan was a teacher at the private school where the sheik had been enrolled. Mr. Colton had heard that Mrs. Jourdan did private tutoring. She was a much-beloved, much-respected member of the community, as well as an excellent teacher, kind, loving, nurturing. With Ali's father's permission, Mr. Colton made arrangements to hire Mrs. Jourdan to help the sheik with the language, as well as with the difficult cultural adjustment he was having."

  "Maureen Jourdan was his teacher?" Faith asked in some surprise.

  "Ahhh, but not just his teacher. She was that, yes," he said with a slow nod and a sly smile, "but over the years, she became so much more to the young sheik. She became his mentor, his friend, and in his mother's absence, a substitute mother. She taught him not just the language, but how do you say…" He seemed to search for the right word. "The lingo of your country and the ways of your culture." He smiled again, revealing very white teeth. "The Big Apple." He covered his mouth to hide a chuckle. "We had heard this expression, of course, but we thought this was merely a large piece of fruit." He shook his head at his own foolishness and Faith thought about her trying to explain her Wizard of Oz reference to Ali yesterday. Now it made sense.

  She never thought about how difficult American pop culture or slang language could be for someone who had not been born in America.

  "Mrs. Jourdan became the sheik's biggest supporter and of course a surrogate mother to the young, and at times, very frightened young man. She encouraged him, taught him, believed in him, and yes, loved him. As he in turn grew to love her."

  Intrigued, Faith listened, chewing thoughtfully.

  "It was Mrs. Jourdan who instilled in Sheik Ali the confidence to know that one day he could return to your country, and start his business. She believed in him so much, in fact, that when he did return to America nearly ten years later, to open this business, she was his first investor."

  Finished with her sandwich, Faith was thoughtful as she reached for her cola, offering the unopened one to Kadid. Something didn't add up.

  "So why would Ali lie to her if he cares so much for her?"

  Kadid's dusky skin all but paled and his slender body stiffened as if she'd offended him. "You must be mistaken, Ms. Faith." His white head shook slowly. "Sheik El-Etra would never lie to anyone, let alone to Mrs. Jourdan."

  "Kadid," she said carefully. "I was there. I heard him lie to her face. He told her that she would never have to worry about Alfred's—By the way, who is Alfred?" she asked with a frown, taking a greedy sip of her icy soda.

  "Mrs. Jourdan's beloved husband." Kadid sighed sadly. "Mr. Jourdan is suffering from an incurable illness, one that requires constant care and round-the-clock hospitalization. It is such a pity, and pains the sheik deeply."

  "Kadid, I heard Ali tell Mrs. Jourdan that she would never have to worry about her or Alfred's expenses, when in fact the woman has barely ten thousand dollars. He lied to her." Her voice held the venomous emotions she'd been trying to bury since yesterday afternoon.

  He looked totally perplexed. "But that is not a lie, Ms. Faith. It is the truth." Relieved, his shoulders seemed to relax. "Mrs. Jourdan will never have to worry about any expenses, medical or otherwise."

  "On ten thousand dollars?" One brow rose. "Come on, Kadid, this is America. Do you have any idea what round-the-clock medical care in a first-class facility costs?" Because of the cost, her mother had to go to a state-run hospital.

  Kadid looked perplexed. "But it does not matter Ms. Faith. The sheik personally takes care of all of their expenses and always will."

  "Wait." Shaking her head, she held up her hand. Her headache had suddenly returned. "Are you telling me the sheik uses his own money to pay for Alfred's care and Mrs. Jourdan's living expenses?"

  "But of course. The sheik is a loyal, honorable man. His deep affection and gratitude toward Mrs. Jourdan cannot be measured in dollars. She gave him so much, he feels it is his privilege to be able to give something—even something as insignificant as money—in return. He feels it is an honor for him to do so."

  Speechless, and fe
eling slightly sick to her stomach, Faith recalled her conversation with Ali yesterday, recalled her accusations, her condemnation.

  He'd never defended himself, never said a word. He'd simply let her go on thinking…She glanced at Kadid and was heartily afraid she was going to lose her lunch.

  "Oh, Kadid," she moaned.

  "Are you ill?" Alarmed, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Shall I phone the sheik's physician?" He patted her back nervously. "He can be here momentarily."

  "No," she said weakly, mortified, humiliated, and more embarrassed than she'd ever been in her life. "I'm not ill, just an idiot."

  "No, Ms. Faith." He patted her back. "Most certainly you are not an idiot."

  "Yes, I am." She glanced up at him. "Kadid, I accused Ali of all kinds of things. Basically called him a liar and—"

  "You called Sheik Ali a liar?" Kadid's eyes had bulged. "Oh dear." He clasped his hands together. "Oh." He sighed. Loudly. "Dear."

  "Exactly." Miserable, Faith shut down the computer she'd been working on, knowing she'd never be able to concentrate now. It was late in the day, and she was totally drained, partially because she'd been in an outrageous emotional uproar ever since her confrontation with Ali yesterday.

  Miserable, she pushed the keyboard across the table so she could rest her head on her hands for a moment.

  "Kadid." She lifted her head. "Why on earth—Never mind. I think I understand." She wasn't exactly sure she did understand anything about this, except that she'd made a complete and total fool out of herself. "So Mrs. Jourdan was a mentor and surrogate mother to Ali, so that's why he's grateful, and why he's doing what he's doing."

  "Yes. Mrs. Jourdan is more than just a mentor, or a surrogate mother. Ten years ago, when the sheik returned to America, it was she who helped him get over the heartbreak of Jalila's death—"

  Faith's head came up. "Wait a minute. Who's Jalila?"

  Kadid hesitated. "Forgive me, Ms. Faith. I spoke out of turn. I should not have—"

  "No, please." She touched his arm. "Kadid, it's important to me. Who is Jalila?"

  He sighed, looking torn. Finally he sighed again. "She was the sheik's intended."

  "Intended what?" Faith asked with a frown.

  Kadid struggled to find the right words to explain. "They were betrothed." He searched for another word. "They were to be married."

  "Ali was going to be married?" She had a hard time envisioning the playboy whose picture she saw in the paper almost every morning, sporting a new woman like a shiny, new toy, with a man who would settle down with just one woman. "What happened?" she asked softly.

  Kadid stared straight ahead for a long moment before finally speaking. "After his schooling, the sheik returned home to prepare for his wedding. It was to be a joyous, gala celebration for the family, and the country." His voice was soft, echoing with sadness. "Three weeks before the wedding, Jalila was killed when a buried landmine exploded under her vehicle. She was killed instantly." He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "That was ten years ago."

  "Is that why Ali came to America?"

  He nodded. "Yes. That is when he decided to start his business."

  She nodded, realizing the puzzle pieces were starting to fit. "And when Mrs. Jourdan became his customer and why he's so grateful to her." No wonder there was so much love and affection between them.

  Kadid smiled, pleased that she seemed to understand. "Yes, that is correct."

  "Kadid?" Frowning, Faith tried to digest all this information. It threw a serious crimp in the image and the opinion she'd had of Ali. "Are there many others that the sheik is grateful to?"

  Kadid's chin lifted and he stared straight ahead. "The sheik is a kind and generous man who has many, many friends."

  Lord, it was getting worse by the minute, Faith thought with a soft groan.

  "The sheik is a man who believes strongly in loyalty to those who have honored him with their friendship and their trust."

  Faith closed her eyes again, the entire scene with Maureen Jourdan replaying over and over in her mind. Something Mrs. Jourdan said was confusing and she'd forgotten to ask Ali about it. Now, after what Kadid had told her, her curiosity was even more aroused. "Kadid?"

  "Yes, Ms. Faith?"

  "When Ali introduced me to Mrs. Jourdan, she said something about his parents' taste in women improving. What was she talking about?"

  Kadid seemed to hesitate. "Sheik Ali is an only son. It is his duty and obligation to marry and produce an heir."

  "Okay, fine. So he's got to marry and produce a son. What does that have to do with me or his parents?"

  "With you, I'm afraid I am not certain," he admitted with a bit of a frown. "Sheik Ali's parents have been concerned over his apparent lack of success in finding a suitable bride. Since Jalila's death he has not had a serious relationship and it greatly concerns his parents."

  "I can imagine." Faith smiled. "The man does go through women like a revolving door."

  "For the past several years, the sheik's parents have been pressuring him to find a proper wife, and when he did not, they took it upon themselves to start…arranging dates for him with appropriately suitable women."

  Faith's eyes narrowed and she held up her hand. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me this bevy of beauties he's with every night are women his parents have fixed him up with because they want him to settle down and get married?"

  Kadid nodded. "Yes."

  "Why the heck doesn't he just tell them no?"

  Kadid smiled. "Ms. Faith, the sheik is extremely close to his parents. His love for them knows no bounds. Family is very important to Sheik Ali. And his parents' intentions are honorable and meant to be helpful. To tell his parents that he does not wish for them to help him find or choose a mate would be disrespectful and perhaps hurtful, something the sheik would never do."

  "I see," Faith said dully, realizing that apparently there was a whole lot she really didn't see.

  At least not about Sheik Ali El-Etra. She was going to have to rethink her entire opinion of him.

  "Are you finished with your meal, Ms. Faith?" Kadid was reaching for the now empty tray.

  Thoughts churning, Faith merely nodded. "Yes, Kadid." She had to swallow, but her throat felt like a boulder was stuck in it. "Thank you very much for being so thoughtful. I was starving."

  He smiled. "I cannot take credit for your meal, Ms. Faith. Sheik Ali asked me to please see to it that the chef prepared something for you since he was pretty certain you had not taken the time to eat today." He lifted the tray, sliding her empty soft drink cans onto it. "Can I get you anything else?" He reached for her empty plate, placed it on the tray. "Some dessert perhaps?"

  Faith shook her head. "Not unless that chef of yours has some crow cookies."

  * * *

  The music was soft and slow, the lights subdued, the champagne imported and very, very cold.

  Bored, Ali stood in the back of the glittering ballroom, letting his eyes wander across the crowded floor, praying his date for the evening—Candy or Cookie or whatever her name was—would keep herself busy for a few minutes to give him some blissful peace from her endless chattering.

  With a deep sigh, Ali realized in spite of his annoyance at his date, he could not gather any anger for his parents, and their infernal, eternal matchmaking.

  Tonight had turned out to be another disaster. But his parents meant well, and their actions were done out of a sense of deep love for him, a love that he returned tenfold.

  Usually he found their mismatching endearing and slightly amusing.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, he was too disturbed to be amused by the company of a beautiful, but vacuous woman whose only interest in life was the increasing size of her breasts and decreasing the size of his bank account.

  He couldn't help but compare her to Faith. He had not stopped thinking about her, or the rather rancid encounter they'd had yesterday afternoon.

  In spite of his annoyance, he caug
ht himself smiling. Faith, who showed such passion for all that she did, for everything in her life. She was a woman who had and displayed genuine feelings. Anger. Impatience. Annoyance. And even disappointment.

  With a frown, he thought of their conversation again, thought of it, and regretted it. He couldn't help but wonder what he had done to give her such a terrible opinion of him.

  Perhaps, he mused, as he sipped his mineral water and breathed a grateful sigh as his date was snagged by Ronald Preston for a walk on the terrace, Faith merely disliked men.

  No, he couldn't believe that. She was far too passionate about everything to turn her back on a relationship. No, he had a feeling it was him in particular she didn't care for, and he couldn't help but wonder why.

  He was certain most women found him rather pleasant to be around, fawning and falling all over him. Faith, on the other hand, treated him with a suspicious air, as if he was about to snatch her purse and make off with its contents. The contrast was so drastic, so distinct, he could not help but find it both annoying and amusing.

  Faith was quite simply an enigma, unlike any woman he had ever known.

  She was a self-sufficient, independent woman who obviously did not care one whit about fashion or his bank account. In fact, she actually seemed offended by his wealth.

  Nothing like the women his parents were constantly trying to fix him up with.

  He had known since birth that he had a responsibility and obligation to marry and produce an heir.

  But he would do so, not out of obligation or responsibility, but out of loyalty and respect for his parents. It was expected, required, yes, but family meant far too much to him to do anything merely to uphold a tradition.

  Although he'd been Kuwati born, and of royal blood, he had spent so much of his formative youth in America, that he'd distanced himself from the more traditional beliefs of his countrymen.

  While it was traditional in his homeland and, at times, still expected to have one's marriage arranged—particularly for those who had social, political and economic responsibilities—he was not a man who could accept or abide by an empty marriage no matter what his responsibilities.