by Jackie Braun
“Each summer in my country, we celebrate the Feast of Seven Days to mark the long-ago ouster of a repressive ruler who all but starved to death many of the Kashaqran people. In the capital city, the feast is very elaborate and everyone is given time off from work to join in.”
It sounded exciting and exotic, two things Emily’s life wasn’t…or hadn’t been, until she’d met Madani.
He was saying, “As is the tradition, members of my family oversee all of the capital city’s preparations, including the menu.”
Despite her better judgment, her curiosity was piqued. “Menu?”
“This year will include delicacies from all over the globe.” Just as her epicurean juices began to flow, he added, “At the final feast, my betrothal to Nawar will be announced.”
Her interest soured. “So, it’s going to be an engagement party and the whole country’s invited to help you celebrate.”
She started down the stairs.
“Unfortunately the palace chef is not what I would call competent when it comes to cooking other kinds of cuisine,” he said, again in step beside her.
“I see your dilemma.” Emily picked up her pace.
“I would like to hire you to assemble the menu and then assist the chef and kitchen staff in the preparations.”
She couldn’t have heard him correctly, which was why she stopped a second time and gaped at him.
“I am asking a lot. I know.”
A lot? Try too much. Last night he’d said he loved her. Today, all he apparently loved was her cooking. And she’d thought her heart was done breaking.
She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, Sheikh. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but I’m going to have to pass. I don’t do big events. Too assembly-line for my taste, remember?”
“I remember. Believe me, Emily. Nothing that occurred during our time together will ever escape my memory.”
Why did he have to say something like that? Why did the same have to be true for her?
“If you say yes, you will be generously compensated,” Madani said after a moment. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket.
Figuring she knew what they were, Emily gritted her teeth in indignation and let anger take the lead. “I thought I made it clear that I cannot and will not accept that.”
“As a gift.” He nodded. “But what about as payment for your time and talent?”
“I’m no expert on Manhattan real estate, but that building has to be worth millions of dollars.”
“Yes, my original offer was too much. I realize that, which is why I have decided to retain ownership of the building. In return for your catering services, I will allow you to use the square footage at street level for the next three years rent-free.”
“No.”
“Two years, but no less. You would be—what do they say?—selling yourself short.”
Emily shook her head, but Madani didn’t relent.
“At least take a few days to think about it before giving me your final answer.”
“It’s not going to change.”
“A few days,” he repeated. “Please.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why are you doing this to me, to yourself?” She hated that the words wobbled.
“I want you to have your dream, Emily.” He’d said the same thing the evening before.
How ironic that the man she’d been in a long-term relationship with hadn’t been supportive at all on this matter, while the man with whom she could have no future, stood fully behind her.
“Dreams change,” she murmured. At Madani’s frown, she said briskly, “I can make The Merit a reality without you. The only difference is the timeline.”
“You don’t need me.” She heard pride in his tone even as his gaze turned sad. “Your independence and determination are just two of the qualities I’ve come to admire. You are also an astute businesswoman. What I am asking you to consider is a business arrangement.”
They reached the lobby and he held the door for her. As she passed by, he brushed his knuckles lightly over her cheek. In a voice ripe with anguish he said, “You will never know how deeply I wish I had more to offer you.”
“So a sheikh says he wishes he could offer you more.” Donna sipped her apple martini and sighed. “You’ve really come up in the world since Reed Benedict.”
After some initial restraint and awkwardness, the two friends had apologized, hugged, cried and then fallen back into the easy camaraderie that had long marked their relationship. Two martinis later, Emily had opened up about Madani. She’d told her old friend everything, including the heated interlude in her kitchen, Madani’s declaration of love last evening and what had transpired just an hour before on her apartment’s stairwell.
“Just a wealthier version of the same.”
“You think so?”
“You don’t?”
Donna shook her head. “First of all, he urged you to reconcile with me. That makes him a saint in my book. Reed must have been pleased as punch when the two of us stopped speaking.”
“He didn’t like you,” Emily agreed diplomatically.
“He hated my guts and it was mutual.” Donna lifted her shoulders dismissively before going on. “Unlike Reed, your sheikh believes in your talent, so much so that he bought you a damned building for your restaurant.”
“He’s not my sheikh.”
Donna ignored her and sighed again. “Why can’t I meet a man like that?”
“He’s also the closest thing there is to engaged, yet he never mentioned it. Remember?” Emily reached for her drink.
“That was wrong of him, I’ll admit. He should have been up-front. But in his defense, it is an arranged marriage. It’s you he loves.”
Warmth trickled through Emily. She blamed it on the gin in her martini. “He’s going to wed someone else.”
Donna’s expression turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Em. But look on the bright side. At least he’s not marrying your sister.”
“There is that.” Emily set her drink aside and lowered her head into her hands. “Oh, Donna. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him in any way except professionally. My schedule is too hectic.”
“So? You can’t let what Reed did dictate your views on men and relationships. Reed was the wrong guy for you. When the right one comes along, everything will work out because both of you will be willing to make any necessary sacrifices to see that it does.” Donna took a deep breath before going on. “At the risk of jeopardizing our friendship again with my big mouth, I think you should call your sheikh and accept his business offer.”
“He’s not my sheikh.” Emily raised her head. “He’s nothing to me. He can’t be.”
“Then you should have no problem working for him again,” Donna replied lightly. More seriously she added, “Look, Em, a million other caterers would kill for an opportunity to put something like this on their résumés. Imagine the cache it will give you not only as a caterer, but when you open your restaurant. Emily Merit, chef to the sheikh.”
“Have you forgotten I would basically be catering his engagement party?”
“I didn’t say it would be easy. But you know how in the old Westerns when a cowboy gets bit by a rattler he cuts the spot open to suck the venom from the wound?”
“You think it would help me get over him.”
“Couldn’t hurt.” Donna shrugged. “Besides, you’ve dreamed of opening your own restaurant forever. He’s putting the opportunity within reach right now. Separate the professional from the personal, Em. This is the chance of a lifetime.”
“I don’t know.” But God help her, she was wavering.
Donna grinned. “And then there’s the real bonus. It will take you out of the country on the day your sister gets married.”
Emily told herself that was the capper: professional fulfillment and an airtight excuse for skipping Elle’s nuptials. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was eager to see Madani’s homeland and experience firsthand his culture, eve
n if only so she could let him go.
After reaching her decision, she waited two days to tell him. She caught him the morning he was to leave for Kashaqra.
“I’ve decided to accept your offer,” she said as soon as he came on the line. “I’ll come to your country, help with the menu preparations for your…your feast.”
“Emily, I—”
She talked over him. “This is an excellent business opportunity. A friend of mine helped me to see that. As she said, in addition to the other compensation you have offered, helping with the feast will give my professional reputation a substantial boost. As such, it’s an offer too good to refuse.”
Her words were greeted with protracted silence. Finally, he replied, “I am glad you are able to see it that way.”
“I do have one request, though.”
“Yes?”
“I wish to leave before the big announcement.”
There was only so much venom she was willing to suck.
During the month between the time Madani returned to Kashaqra and she was to arrive for the feast preparations, Emily compiled dish selections, which she e-mailed to him. Each time she received the same reply: Many thanks. I look forward to your arrival.—M
Did he? Or was he just being polite?
She didn’t take time to ponder it. She was too busy. Exhaustingly so. In addition to her hectic catering schedule—which had picked up as word of her cooking for a sheikh spread, courtesy of Babs—Emily spent her mornings with a contractor at the building that was to house The Merit. She’d loved it from the outside, had known immediately that the location was prime. The inside, however, needed work and a lot of it to make it conform to her vision.
Already a couple of walls had been moved to accommodate more seating in what was to become the dining room, and the site of the new kitchen was set to be renovated. The work would wipe out her savings, but Emily felt confident that with no lease to pay for two years, her bank would approve a loan to cover kitchen appliances and start-up costs.
She was excited about the restaurant. How could she not be? Still, she’d expected to feel a greater sense of fulfillment and satisfaction. Instead, what she felt at times was empty. It didn’t help that Madani was always on her mind.
Her cell phone trilled as she paced through sawdust at The Merit. She grimaced upon answering since it was her sister.
“Emily, I’m at the bridal salon and I need to know this very minute if you are going to stand up in my wedding. Final alterations have to be made no later than next week and the dress is going to have to be let out if Constance is to wear it,” Elle complained.
Emily rubbed her eyes wearily. “I’ve told you time and again I’m not standing up in your wedding. I won’t be there, period. I’ll be out of the country on a job.”
Her mother wasn’t happy about it. Her father had even stopped by the apartment to lecture Emily on her obligations to the family. She’d held firm despite the guilt and pressure. Elle, as self-serving as ever, made it easier.
“Oh, that’s right. You’d rather go to Kenya and play chef for that sheikh guy.”
“Kashaqra. It’s one continent over.”
Elle snorted. “Whatever. Geometry was never my strong suit.” Emily decided to let that one slide.
“God, you are such a hypocrite!” Elle shouted.
“Excuse me.”
“You’re still upset about Reed seeing me behind your back, yet the guy you were all over at my shower cheats with you and you’re all forgive and forget.”
Emily’s stomach knotted. “What do you mean?”
“I told you his name sounded familiar. That’s because he was featured in Chatter a couple of months ago. I found the magazine in my nightstand this morning and reread it. Imagine my surprise upon discovering your boyfriend topped the list of the World’s Hunkiest Billionaires. I was happy for you until I got to the part about him being taken. Apparently you have no problem being the other woman.”
“I didn’t know about his…status,” she said slowly.
“You would have if you read something other than recipe books.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You do now,” Elle said pointedly.
“I’m going to Kashaqra on business.”
But she knew she was lying. She was going to Kashaqra to say goodbye.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WHAT are you thinking?” Azeem shouted the question as he marched into the office.
Madani glanced up in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“The person you’ve asked me to collect from the airport is Emily Merit. She is the American chef hired to help with the feast preparations.”
Azeem’s face turned a deeper shade of red and he let out a string of expletives.
Madani rose to his feet, confused by his friend’s rage. “What is your objection? Emily is very good at what she does.”
“She must be, for she has you thinking with something other than your head,” Azeem shot back.
Madani was grateful for the expanse of desk that separated them, because the insulting comment made him angry enough to want to take a swing.
“Take care with your words,” he warned. “You go too far.”
“No. It is you who goes too far.” Azeem’s thick hands fisted at his sides, proof of his own restraint. “You are bringing your mistress here, flaunting her in Nawar’s face just days before the betrothal announcement. I know you do not love Nawar, that your marriage to her is but the result of a bargain struck to bolster family alliances. But this…this is an outrage! I will not stand for it.”
Some of Madani’s fury ebbed into confusion over Azeem’s vehement defense of Nawar’s honor. He decided to stir things up in the hope of eventually making them clearer. “I believe you were the one who suggested I have a fling while in Manhattan. You even chided me for leaving Emily’s apartment that one evening and offered to take me back.”
“Yes, but that was when—” Azeem’s mouth snapped closed and he glanced away.
“When what?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t hold back now, sadiqi,” Madani drawled.
“When I thought there was still a chance you might not go through with the wedding. You seemed drawn to Emily. We hoped…”
“We?”
Azeem closed his eyes and said nothing. His defeated posture spoke volumes. Understanding dawned. Madani wondered why he hadn’t realized it before. “You love Nawar.”
His friend didn’t deny it. When his gaze returned to Madani, it was filled with devastation, but nonetheless direct. “If you are going to marry her, you will honor her. You will treat her with respect. I will not stand by and watch her humiliated either in private or before the entire country.”
“Emily is not my mistress. I give you my word that is not why I made arrangements to bring her to Kashaqra.”
“Then why?”
“I wished only to give her an opportunity, one she richly deserves but would not accept outright.” Madani explained briefly about her restaurant plans and the real estate deal. He sighed then. “Foolishly, perhaps selfishly, I am eager to see her one last time and know that she was once in Kashaqra.”
Azeem studied him a moment. “You are in love with her.”
“I am.” He expected his friend to start in again on finding a way out of the marital arrangement. Instead, Azeem dropped heavily into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“How is it possible, sadiqi, that we have both fallen in love with women we cannot have?”
Later that afternoon, when Azeem went to the airport to meet Emily’s plane, Madani didn’t go with him. He wanted to welcome her to his homeland, perhaps take her on a tour of the capital city, but the encounter with Azeem made it clear he couldn’t risk the spread of rumors. Neither Emily nor Nawar deserved to be put in such an unflattering light and forced to fend off the resulting gossip and character attacks.
That didn’t keep him from pacing his rooms in the palace wa
iting for word from Azeem that she had arrived safely.
Emily felt as if she’d been whisked into a fairy tale. She’d felt that way since the plane touched down at Kashaqra’s largest airport. She’d expected, foolishly hoped, that Madani would be there to greet her. But it was his driver who stood at the gate perusing the faces of deplaning passengers.
“Hello, Emily. I trust your flight was uneventful,” Azeem inquired politely when she reached him.
“Yes.” She’d experienced a lot of turbulence, all of it internal.
She forgot about it as the car, a Mercedes similar to the one he’d driven in Manhattan, left the airport and headed to the palace. She’d scoured the Internet for information and images of Kashaqra. None of it prepared her for the reality. The countryside was surprisingly homey and while not lush due to the arid conditions, nothing about it was barren. It was sprinkled with humble homes and farms.
In the distance, mountains rose up, stretching majestically on the horizon. Long before the car reached them, Emily would arrive in the capital city. Already she could make out a modern skyline. The closer the buildings drew, the more intrigued she became about the place Madani called home. Seeing it answered some of her questions, and created others. He was to rule one day. Was it what he wanted? Or, like his marriage, was it another aspect of his destiny that others had determined?
When they reached the city limits, the rooflines along the well-tended streets grew taller and more elaborate. She’d grown up in New York, taking feats of engineering for granted. She let her head fall back now and gazed through the sunroof at buildings that, while not quite as tall as what could be found back home, were every bit as amazing.
“This city has some incredible architecture,” she murmured.
“It does.”
She lowered her gaze, noting the sidewalks where vendors were hawking their goods and people sat outside at cafés eating and sipping beverages. “It’s not so different from Manhattan.”
She caught Azeem’s reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled.