by Marian Tee
“You’re wrong,” Harper answered, also without turning in Howard’s direction. “I’m not just thinking it. I’m waiting for it to happen, and it will happen if we don’t at least stop and give your leg a rest.” With that said, she forcibly dragged her father to the closest vacant cocktail table.
Relief flashed in Howard’s eyes as he leaned against the wall and rested his injured leg.
Told you so, Harper thought.
Howard glared at her. “I know what you’re thinking.”
She ignored that, saying, “You need a glass of water.”
“Stop babying me.”
Harper turned around, hoping to catch the eye of one of the roaming servers, but then a hush fell over the vast reception hall, and when everyone actually came to an abrupt standstill –
He’s here, Harper thought dumbly.
A moment later, a palpable wave of excitement stirred the crowd, and her worst fears were confirmed.
Shit.
Tiptoeing and craning her neck, Harper saw Khalil Al-Atassi steadily making his way through the crowd, pausing every so often when some of the guests came up to him to extend their greetings. At thirty-two, he was the kingdom’s youngest Emir Sheikh in history, and in the short time he had been king, he had also been recognized as the kingdom’s most progressive leader.
Even without a crown or the royal headdress, he was every inch a sheikh, the air about him masterful and noble, and his loose, white thobe accentuating the powerful breadth of his shoulders and his commanding height.
Looking at him, Harper still had difficulties believing that the newly appointed king had spent most of his formative years in America and that, once upon a time, he had been a commoner as much as she was.
An extremely wealthy commoner, but still.
Prior to his official inclusion in the royal family, the sheikh had led a fairly quiet – albeit significantly accomplished – life. Straight As in school, a successful business, awards in philanthropy – he had been blessed with a charmed existence, with only one controversy to mar it, and that was the scandal attached to his then-fiancée, Sapphire March, a senator’s daughter who was now married to a famous rockstar.
But that had been five years ago, and by the time Jeremy Raybourne had succeeded to the throne and taken on the royal name of Khalil Al-Atassi, the furor had died down and his slightly colorful past long forgotten. Ramil’s most illustrious families now clamored in presenting their most eligible daughters in hopes of having them as the kingdom’s future queen –
And yet the sheikh remained single, much to everyone’s regrets – and hers.
The sheikh, flanked on each side by his vassals, continued to speak with the guests that approached him, a polite but intent expression on his handsome face as he listened to their words. Whereas most ruling members of other Arab nations kept to themselves, the king and the four other Al-Atassi sheikhs had never acted like they believed their royal blood placed them one station above the rest. Rather, they liked to stay in touch with their subjects and never shied away from a day’s hard work, even if it meant having to literally roll up their sleeves and toil under the harsh desert sun along with their men.
They were, in other words, the kind of princes that fairytales were made of, and every moment the world fell deeper and deeper in love with them.
Ever since Khalil’s ascension three months ago, the press had been writing about them nonstop, with the most viral being the Beasts article. In it, six men of different nationalities had been named in recognition for their “beast-like” performance in bed, as shared by the men’s former lovers.
In the tell-all of the sheikh’s former mistress, Noemi had shared graphic details of her sex life with the sheikh following his public breakup from Sapphire March. Rough sex was his specialty, and he was by far the most dominant lover she had ever had. But he was also a cold bastard, Noemi had shared candidly, with the sheikh never sharing a bed with her or even taking her in his arms after a wild bout of sex.
Remembering the article made Harper’s cheeks flush while her gaze involuntarily searched for the sheikh in the crowd. She stiffened when she realized he was too near—-
Shit.
“I need to go to the restroom,” she mumbled to Howard just before fleeing. She had to escape before he realized what she was doing, had to make sure that their eyes wouldn’t ever meet—-
In her haste, Harper accidentally bumped into someone, and the woman in front of her yelped.
Shit.
When the woman gasped, Harper realized she had accidentally spoken the word out loud.
Shit.
She had forgotten that women in this kingdom didn’t curse.
And then the woman gasped for a second time—-
Oh, shit. She had just done it again!
By now, a lot of people had turned to look at them, and cheeks flushing, she muttered, “Sorry.” She lifted her gaze up, intending to apologize again, but instead the first thing she saw was –
Him.
Even though he was still a few feet away from her, Harper could practically feel the sheikh’s amusement like a taunting caress on her skin, and her jaw clenched as she found herself torn between annoyance – and exhilaration.
And wasn’t that the stupidest thing ever?
Khalil Al-Atassi wasn’t just a sheikh. He was the sheikh. And here she was, more ordinary than most girls, having a crush on the sheikh. It was why she hated, hated going to Ramil at this time of the year. It would mean seeing him, which would then cause her to remember just how stupid she was.
And yet even knowing you’re being stupid about this, you still insist on being stupid, crushing on him for eight years!
The thought made Harper mentally wince, but she told herself this year would be different. This year, she would absolutely have nothing to do with the sheikh.
As in, nothing!
And so she started to turn around again—-
“Marhava, Harper.”
Harper almost jumped in surprise. Where the heck had Altair Al-Atassi come from?
“It is nice to see you again,” the kingdom’s highest-ranking general murmured.
“Umm, it’s nice to see you, too.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway—-”
Altair slowly shook his head. You know why I’m here.
Harper scowled. It doesn’t mean I should just give up without a fight.
Because they had just about the same conversation for so many years now, words no longer needed to be spoken.
When Harper opened her mouth to argue anew, Altair said gently, “The king wishes you to stay where you are.”
Harper glared. And if I don’t obey him?
“We have recently expanded the palace’s dungeons,” Altair said very politely. “Perhaps you’d be interested in a personal tour?”
He was going to have her locked behind bars, in other words.
Harper forced a smile between clenched teeth, saying, “Nope.”
“I thought so.”
And so she stayed, fidgeted, and cursed the sheikh to perdition.
Maybe if he weren’t single, she wouldn’t mind being around him so much, Harper thought moodily. Maybe if he found himself a queen, she’d stop being stupid. Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally accept the fact that Khalil Al-Atassi was untouchable, unreachable, and would always be, especially to girls like her.
It took over ten minutes before the sheikh finally found his way to her, having had to pause on his way twice, the first to speak with a French ambassador and later, to exchange a few words with a UN envoy.
His cousins spread out in what seemed like natural synchrony, affording them a circle of privacy, but Harper wasn’t fooled. These five guys were thick as thieves, and nothing they did was ever unplanned.
For a long time, the sheikh simply stared at her, stared and stared, making it seem like he had the hots for her. But they both knew he was just baiting her. Damn sheikh. He knew how much she hated being the center of attention,
and that was exactly what he was making her to be.
Finally, his beautiful lips curved, and the sheikh said softly, “Marhava, qalifa.” Hello, little girl.
Harper almost scowled, almost glared, but then she caught sight of her father’s warning look from across the hall. Shit. And so she had to resign herself with a stony expression as she said, “Hello, sheikh.” Now go away.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Khalil Al-Atassi remained in front of her, his gaze patient and knowing.
Damn sheikh.
Don’t do it, Harper warned herself. You know he just likes seeing you mad for whatever reason. And the damn sheikh knew how much she hated it whenever he stared at her. She tried counting to ten, but when the sheikh seemed to be enjoying looking his fill of her, Harper’s quick temper eventually got the better of her.
“Stop that,” Harper grouched.
“Stop what?”
“You know what!”
“I truly do not know,” the sheikh said ever so solemnly that Harper wanted to strangle him. “Is it because I called you qalifa?”
Her teeth gnashed. “I am not a little girl.” Damn sheikh.
The sheikh appeared surprised. “You say it as if it is an insult, but it is not.”
“Ha!”
“It is an endearment, one I only use for special childhood friends such as you – dear qalifa.”
“Call me qalifa one more time, and you’ll see just how good this little girl is at trying to choke the hell out of you.” And who the hell was he trying to kid? Endearment? Ha! He only called her ‘little girl’ because he knew how much she hated her youthful looks. And really, childhood friend? Double ha! He was a sheikh, and she just happened to be the daughter of the American soldier who had saved his uncle’s life. Even if special circumstances had allowed them to see each other for one week every year, it still wasn’t enough to constitute a childhood friendship, and they both knew it.
“You are as feisty as ever,” the sheikh suddenly stated.
She only stared at him. You’re a pain in the ass...as always.
The sheikh laughed, the lovely, deep sound causing everyone to turn towards them, and Harper almost swore out loud. For the love of God! This man was the worst. He was often described as aloof but gentlemanly, but in her presence the damn sheikh would always make it a point to smile, laugh, do whatever that would make it seem like they were such good friends –
And all just so she could blow her top, Harper thought furiously, which the damn sheikh found so enjoyable to watch for some reason.
“I am glad you have not changed all this time.” The sheikh reached out to ruffle her hair, just like the ‘qalifa’ he thought her to be, and Harper was tempted to sink her teeth into it like a rabid dog. Oh, to hurt him just once, she thought wistfully.
“Why are you looking at me like you want to kill me?’
“Because I am.”
The sheikh laughed again.
She grimaced. She had wanted him to feel insulted, not amused.
“One day, some people may tell you to refrain from speaking your mind to me.”
Harper only stared. Where did that come from?
“When that happens – do not listen to them.”
“Umm. Okay.” The sheikh was sounding crazier and crazier by the second, but oh well. Maybe sheikhs simply applied a different kind of logic to life. Whatever.
The sheikh suddenly leaned forward, catching her by surprise, and when he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, Harper’s first instinct was to turn away from his touch—-
But again, her gaze once again collided with her father’s, his ferocious scowl perfectly summing up his one-word command. Behave!
And so she gnashed her teeth and forced herself to bear the sheikh’s touch.
I can do this, I can do this.
But with every millimeter of skin that his fingers brushed against blazing to life, flushed hot and tingling, it was so damn hard—-
His fingers finally fell away, and Harper almost expired in relief.
Oh, thank God.
“Enjoy the rest of the night, Harper.” His gaze dipped just as her fists clenched against her sides, and amusement once again gleamed in the sheikh’s dark gaze. “You are itching to wipe my touch away, nem?”
She smiled ever so sweetly up at him, saying, “Nem.” Yes. It was a lie – but she would rather cut her tongue off than let him know that. “How did you guess?” Harper was hoping the words would at least win a frown from the sheikh, but instead the damn man remained unflappable as ever.
“I will see you at dinner, qalifa.” And just before turning away, he said huskily, “It was lovely flirting with you.”
The sheikh left her gaping.
Flirting? FLIRTING? How dare he imply—-
CLICK!
Harper snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late. The official photographer had already taken her photo, and again the sheikh had managed to bait her into showing a God-awful face.
DAMN SHEIKH!
Chapter Two
Harper had been fifteen when she first met the sheikh. He had been twenty-four then, was still known as Jeremy, the bastard prince – and “more or less” engaged to Sapphire March, the only daughter of Senator Samuel March. It was in one of the dinner parties hosted by the palace for her father, the kingdom’s newly minted hero, when Jeremy had caught sight of her seated quietly in the corner, engrossed in learning about the rich history of the kingdom of Ramil. It was pretty much like 1001 Arabian Nights, only it was real, which made the accounts all the more fascinating.
“Marhava, qalifa.”
The words had her automatically looking up, and she had found herself gaping. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin, dressed in the traditional costume of his kingdom: a white thobe made of the highest quality of cotton, with a semi-loose fit that nonetheless emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the impressive length of his form.
An Arabian prince come to life, she had thought foolishly back then, and if he had also chosen to don the headdress that came with it, she would have probably been tempted to rub her eyes and blink, wondering if the prince from the history book she was reading had somehow managed to leap off the pages.
But then his words sank in and she scowled up at the stranger, saying frostily, “I’m not a little girl.” She really, really hated how petite she was, more so when the guy she had been crushing on in high school had once told Harper she looked like she was still in middle school.
“Sorry, my bad.”
The colloquial words, as well as the way it was delivered so easily, had her blinking. Who was this guy? He looked local, but he sounded as American as her.
“I’m Jeremy, by the way.” And with that, Harper’s question had been answered, and the guy’s lips twisted when her eyes widened in recognition. “I’m guessing you know who I am?”
“Prince Khalid’s son.”
“You mean, his illegitimate son.”
“A son is a son is a son.”
He blinked. “Is that...supposed to make sense?”
“Yup.” Harper was equally puzzled. “Why wouldn’t it?”
After a moment, the guy simply smiled. “You’re right. A son is a son is a son.”
She looked at him suspiciously, asking, “Why do I get the feeling you’re just humoring me?”
“That would be an ungentlemanly thing to do, don’t you think?”
Harper opened her mouth to tell him he didn’t seem like much of a gentleman to her, but he beat her to speaking, murmuring, “You still haven’t told me your name.” And the way his eyes gleamed told her it was deliberate. He had known exactly what he hadn’t let her say.
She glared at him, but the guy’s lips only curved in a wider smile.
More dazzling, too, Harper thought, uneasily.
“Your name,” he prodded gently.
“Harper,” she answered reluctantly after a beat.
“Harper.” He spoke as if tasting her name on hi
s tongue, and she scowled, just so she wouldn’t accidentally blush. Why did hearing this guy saying her name make it feel like he was tasting...her?
The guy’s gaze moved towards the book she was holding. “What are you reading?”
“History.”
“How surprising.”
“Why?” Harper felt defensive.
“Because most girls your age would probably be into Teen Vogue, I suppose.”
“Well, I’m not like most girls.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
She smiled stiffly then pointedly returned her attention to her history book, hoping that he would leave her alone after that.
Unfortunately, it was only the beginning. She knew that most people would see what happened afterwards was Jeremy Raybourne taking her under his wings, but that was not the case at all. Every time they bumped into each other, he would make it a point to greet her warmly, like they were long-lost friends. And when the public began to take notice, and a bold member of the press had dared to ask about their relationship, Jeremy had said smoothly, I see her as a sister, as Harper is an honorary daughter of our kingdom, by virtue of her father’s heroics and her own allegiance to our history.
And life changed forever after that, Harper thought grumpily as she angrily jabbed another piece of lamb on her plate before popping it into her mouth. Men hadn’t stopped flocking to her side since then, all of them hoping to gain the future king’s favor by dating his so-called honorary sister. And since turning them down continued to be a daily struggle even now, Harper was gloomily aware that her chances of finding her first boyfriend were dwindling close to zero.
And it was the damn sheikh’s fault, no one else’s.
Even now, the way the sheikh had so easily turned her life upside down for his amusement annoyed Harper to no end, and she found herself spearing the cuts of meat more quickly than usual. Before she knew it, she had finished the entire plate, and the other women on her table were whispering and making a not-so-subtle fuss about how quickly she was done eating.
Yeah, well, sorry for that, Harper apologized sarcastically in her mind, but it’s what you get when you have Howard Griffiths for a dad. Instead of letting her play with dolls, she and Howard had played cops and robbers, and later on instead of letting her have ballet lessons, he had taught her Army Survival 101, and one of the first lessons was to eat well and eat quickly – because one never knew when the next battle would start and how long it would last.