by Holly Rayner
Ibrahim thought back to the night before, when they’d ordered a banquet of food and cackled at jokes that meant nothing and were forgotten moments later. It was a different way to live: one that didn’t reflect his time back in Houston. Certainly, Willow was a far cry from the models he normally filled his time with. He was usually eager to kick them from his bed, from his life. On to the next one.
“She is,” Ibrahim answered, nodding slowly. “I can’t believe how lucky I got.”
“I’m just so happy you’ve found someone to settle down with, my son. My relationship with your father was the single greatest gift of my life,” Amira continued.
Ibrahim stopped for a moment, peering into his mother’s face. She’d aged without him noticing, her skin now lined with fine wrinkles.
“I struggle with that, Mother. To me, he wasn’t the kindest man. He was constantly laying down rules. Pushing us to be people we didn’t want to be. And all for appearances.”
“He was certainly quite authoritarian around you boys,” Amira agreed, her lips pressing firmly together. “But I think he softened as he grew older. Certainly, his relationship with you would have improved, if you’d stayed…”
Ibrahim felt a wave of guilt flow through him. He clung tighter to his mother’s hand, wishing he could go back to a different reality. Wishing he could take back the decision to go, if only to see what could have been. Could he have made a life in Rebai? Could he have become the son his father had really wanted?
“But whatever happened, happened,” Amira continued, her voice softening. “And we’re left with the future to mold, aren’t we? As far as the love I had with your father, I know only that I never felt more like myself than when we were together. And I miss him the way I might miss an arm or a leg. I know you’ll feel the same way about Willow one day. Maybe you already do. I can see it in your eyes.”
Ibrahim gave her a crooked smile, wanting to speak up, to tell her how wrong she was. But he bit at his lip, his head swimming with sudden emotion. Maybe his mother knew his heart better than he did. An image of Willow laughing at his joke the night before filled his brain, giving him pause.
“You’re a remarkable son, Ibrahim. And you’ve found the perfect person to spend your life with,” Amira said, noting his silence. “I wouldn’t worry about anything else, until you need to. Things tend to fall into place the way they’re meant to. And you know that you always have my love, no matter what.”
Ibrahim’s eyes flickered away from his mother’s. For the first time since they’d arrived in Rebai, he felt the true weight of his guilt. Conning his mother into the belief he’d have a wife, and one day, children? What kind of son was he?
“I know. You’re right, Mother. And you always have mine,” Ibrahim heard himself say as he raked a hand through his hair and sighed inwardly.
He was already too far down this path; he knew he couldn’t return.
If only he could take it all back.
Chapter 13
Willow
That afternoon, with Ibrahim away meeting his long-lost cousins at a nearby country club, Willow and Amira were free to chat and go over the last few details for the ceremony. As they worked, sipping spiced tea, Willow felt a growing connection to the woman, something that filled her with a mix of sadness and resentment.
How she wished this woman could truly be her mother-in-law.
“On my wedding day, I was so nervous, I actually fainted,” Amira said, snickering. “I walked into the dressing room and everything went black. I woke up to my sister pinching me on the arm and telling me if I didn’t get up soon, my fiancé would move on to the next girl.”
“Ha! Was it true?” Willow asked, her eyes widening.
“Of course not. Everyone assumed ours was an arranged marriage, but it wasn’t. Ibrahim’s father and I truly loved one another. He chose me out of over twenty potential matches because I made him laugh. I certainly wasn’t the most beautiful—”
“I don’t know how that could be so,” Willow countered. “You’re stunning.”
“You should have seen me then,” Amira said softly. Reaching into her purse, she drew out her wallet and retrieved several photographs: one of Ibrahim and his brother when they were small, and another of her and Ibrahim’s father on their wedding day.
The woman in the picture wore bright robes which swirled around her and cinched her waist tightly. She looked impossibly beautiful, and she glowed with a light that emanated from her eyes, her skin. On her head, she wore a brilliant tiara which sparkled and made her hair look intensely dark, full, and gorgeous.
Willow took the photograph, unable to speak. Amira placed her hand on Willow’s shoulder, squeezing it tight.
“You know, I was going to wait until your wedding day to give you this. But I don’t think I want to wait any longer!”
Reaching into her purse, the older woman brought out a large, felt box. With the flourish of a magician, she opened the lid to reveal the same sparkling tiara she wore in the photograph.
Willow’s jaw dropped. It was far more beautiful in person, catching the light of the penthouse suite. It was coated in diamonds and emeralds, and was textured with etchings of florals.
Placing her hands on her cheeks, Willow formed a round ‘O’ with her lips, unsure of what to say. Beyond anything, her brain raced with the knowledge that this tiara should never belong to her. It wasn’t something she—a fake daughter-in-law—should don.
“Say something!” Amira said, laughing.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Willow mumbled.
“Well, at least let me see it on you,” Amira said.
Before Willow could stop her, she reached up and slid the tiara over her blond bob, adjusting it so that it sat perfectly straight. Amira beamed at her, tears gleaming in her eyes.
“I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman,” she sighed. “And to think. My grandchildren will look like you one day!”
The words filled Willow’s heart with alarm. Reaching up, she wanted to rip the tiara from her head. She felt poison begin to fill her tongue, poison that made her want to scream out from the top of her lungs that she and Ibrahim weren’t really engaged, or even in love. That Ibrahim was trying to con his mother.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” Amira asked, her eyes filled with concern. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, I just thought—”
“No, no. It’s nothing about the tiara,” Willow interrupted. “It’s absolutely stunning. It’s the nicest gift anyone has ever given me.”
Amira’s smile stretched wider. Wrapping her arms around Willow, she hugged her close. Willow’s cheek pressed up against her shoulder, where she was able to hide her tears.
The clock on the wall began to chime, signaling that it was already five in the evening. Willow felt the pressing weight of passing time, knowing that each moment that passed meant another moment of lying.
“I just have to tell you something,” Willow said finally, haltingly.
She drew away from Amira’s shoulder, sliding her fingers across her cheeks.
“You know you can tell me anything. Ibrahim and I always try to be completely honest with one another. It’s the only way to survive, as the two remaining members in our family. And now that you’re about to be a part of it as well, Willow, you should feel free to be just as open with me,” Amira said.
The fact that Amira thought she and Ibrahim were completely honest with one another nearly destroyed Willow. With flared nostrils, she began to form the words.
“It’s just that I haven’t been completely honest. About—”
She paused, hearing the familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway. Her eyes flashed toward the doorway, where Ibrahim appeared. He wore an immaculate suit, as usual, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal the shine of his chest muscles.
The moment he saw Willow, a broad smile crept over his face.
Willow’s heart pounded in her chest. She’d been caught in th
e middle of doing precisely what he’d asked her not to. And yet, seeing him flooded her with emotion. Was this what falling in love felt like?
Lost in thought and feeling, she gazed at this handsome man: at his stubbled cheekbones, his penetrating eyes that gave almost nothing away.
Amira rose up from the couch in the silence, clasping her hands together. Glancing first at her son, then at Willow, she began to walk toward the door.
“I can see already that I need to leave you lovebirds alone,” she tittered. “I can feel it in the air.”
“Mother. You don’t need to leave,” Ibrahim said, his voice far away.
His eyes were still centered on Willow, taking her in. Willow was unable to move away from those eyes. They trapped her, keeping her still in her seat.
“Oh, yes I do,” Amira said, chuckling. “I can read the room better than most, you know.”
Before Willow had the chance to query that comment, Amira strode from the room and into the hallway, then the elevator. Willow breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator doors slid closed. It dinged as it sent her downwards, leaving them alone, the air thick with tension.
Ibrahim reached for something beyond the doorway, out of sight. As he did it, Willow searched for the words to fill the quiet. Anything that assured him she hadn’t yet spilled the beans. It had been her only job, to keep this secret.
“I didn’t tell her, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said.
“I know,” Ibrahim replied. “Although, I see she gave you the tiara. It looks absolutely stunning on you, Willow.” His voice was soft, almost sensual.
He took another step closer, bringing whatever was behind the doorway along with him. With a flash, he brought it across his waist: a bouquet of white roses, the very same kind that they’d found at the palace days before.
Willow felt her throat constrict. Rising up from the chair, she stuttered, hunting for the right words. The proper ones that would show him just what this meant to her. No one had ever given her flowers before. Reaching out, she gripped them at their stems and brought the petals to her nose, closing her eyes.
The smell was powerful, reminding her of her mother’s garden on a summer’s day. It was strange, the power of nostalgia. It could tear at your heart strings and make you weak.
“Thank you,” Willow murmured, finally drawing enough strength to look Ibrahim in the eyes. She saw a softness behind them, now. Something beyond the hard exterior of this Houston billionaire. “What brought this on?”
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Ibrahim said, not quite answering the question. “It’s pretty important.”
Willow looked at him quizzically as he stepped forward, the two of them sitting down. Without thinking, he placed his free hand on her knee.
Willow gazed down at his large palm, at the way it spread over her slim thigh. Shivering, she almost wished he would move it. If they couldn’t have permanence, she didn’t want to know how it felt to be with him. She wanted to keep things separate.
“What is all this about?” Willow finally asked, as Ibrahim pulled out his phone and scanned through it, seemingly looking for something.
“I realized something today, Willow,” Ibrahim said, glancing up. “I was thinking about Jayne’s syndrome, and about what a struggle it’s been for you to get the word out about it. You only know so many people. But, just yesterday, when I posted a photo from the balcony of this hotel room, I got over twenty thousand responses…”
Willow’s lips parted in shock. Never having been celebrity obsessed, she’d never bothered to look up how many people “followed” Ibrahim on social media. It hadn’t been on her radar.
“Anyway,” Ibrahim continued, tilting his phone toward her so she could see the screen. “I realized that I could get the conversation going, and of course, link to your fundraising page. It started out as an experiment, but then, within the hour…Just look.”
Willow took his phone in her hands and gazed down at the screen, her pulse quickening. The post Ibrahim had made about Jayne’s was long and lyrical, asking his followers to listen about this disease which had “plagued many, and ended the lives of many others.” Willow’s eyes filled with tears as she continued to read his plea, asking for “whatever you can give, big or small. I’ll appreciate it more than you know.”
The comments below were all positive, with many people saying they hadn’t heard of Jayne’s syndrome before or had struggled to get the word out about it, too.
“Thank you for bringing such ah horrible illness to light,” one of them said. “My ex-husband died of Jayne’s, and I’ve been living my life with the tragedy of it. We have to inform as many people as possible to get checked early and often, and ensure that more children don’t have to live without their father…”
The comments continued in this vein, leading Willow’s tears to become sobs. After clicking through to her charity page, she saw that over three million dollars had already been donated, with a third of that coming from the Sheikh himself.
“Why?” Willow asked, incredulous. She blinked big, doe-like eyes at him, shocked. “I haven’t even gone through with the wedding yet.”
“I know. I didn't donate because of the wedding. I donated because I read up on the illness. And I can’t believe you and your family had to go through something like that,” he murmured.
He moved his hand slowly, reaching for her free one. Sliding his thumb over and over the softness of her fingers, he continued to speak, his eyes focused entirely on her.
“I think I got into philanthropy for the wrong reasons, Willow. But now that I’m here, I want to do good by you. I want to make the world a better place, the way you seem to. Every single day.”
Willow felt fully overwhelmed. She became woozy, her blood ringing in her ears. In the silence that fell, she reached for his shoulders and pulled herself onto his lap, feeling enveloped by his warmth. She couldn’t control herself, now. With her nose so close to his, she found herself nudging at him.
In an instant, their lips collapsed into one another, their breath quickening. Willow had never longed for someone to touch her so passionately.
As they kissed, Willow felt Ibrahim wrap his firm arms around her waist, guiding her closer to him. She felt a wave of realization crash through her, one that she’d been avoiding for days. With the handsome Sheikh holding onto her so tightly, she could no longer resist the feelings that had risen up inside of her.
“Have you been thinking about this for a while?” she murmured, mid-kiss.
“I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself,” Ibrahim whispered back, his voice deep and hungry, showing how ravenous he was for her.
“What are we going to do, Ibrahim?” Willow asked, her eyes closing tighter. “Your mother giving me this heirloom…”
“Don’t worry yourself with that now,” Ibrahim said.
He lifted his hand to her hair, wrapping his fingers around the tiara. He placed it softly on the end table, before gripping either side of her face and beginning to kiss her with more passion, more strength.
“Just feel, Willow. Just feel,” he whispered in between kisses.
They stripped down on the soft couch of the penthouse suite, before eventually moving to the bed. As they made love—fulfilling every inner desire they’d wrestled with for days—the sun moved lower over the horizon. They moved one day closer to the fateful day of their supposed marriage, when they were meant to playact their love in front of Amira.
But as their lovemaking grew more passionate, more filled with longing and something else…could it be love that was actually blossoming, for real?
Willow still didn’t know if she could go through with the sham marriage. This, whatever was beating in her heart, didn’t align with the level of dishonesty she and Ibrahim were meant to bring to the wedding ceremony.
A few hours before daylight, they collapsed in one another’s arms atop the silky sheets, sweating and
gasping for air. Willow’s lips stayed in the shape of a smile as she fell into a deep slumber, wrapped in the firm arms of this handsome Sheikh.
This was a kind of paradise. One she prayed, over and over again, would last.
Chapter 14
Willow
He woke her with a kiss on the cheek, the forehead, then the lips. Willow blinked awake, bringing her hand to his stubbly cheek and snuggling closer to him beneath the white comforter of his cloud-like hotel bed. It felt strange to awaken there, steps away from her own bedroom, yet worlds away from the single lifestyle she’d been living since they’d arrived.
Willow matched his kiss with soft lips, inhaling the scent of him. Even in the morning, he smelled amazing—something she could quite happily wake up to every morning of her life, she thought.
“Good morning,” she finally said, breaking the kiss to yawn. “How late did we sleep in?”
Ibrahim glanced toward the clock on the wall, seemingly uninterested in the time.
“Hmm. Oh. It’s just after eleven. Would you look at that?” He said it mockingly, as if time were a construct for other people, not them. “I have a pretty good idea for how we should spend our next few waking hours, though.”
Knowing where his mind was going, Willow giggled and swatted him on the arm. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that breakfast was well overdue.
“Hmm. As hungry as I am for that, I think I need to eat first,” she chuckled.
“Me too, actually,” he said, laughing. “And I happen to know the perfect place to eat breakfast. If you’ll get ready and follow me—”
“How far away is this place?” Willow asked, pouting and rubbing her stomach.
“Won’t you just trust me?” the Sheikh teased, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up from the bed with him. He pressed his chest against hers, making her feel warm and safe, and she nodded: yes, she would trust him.
She kissed him a final time before leaping up and taking long, naked strides toward her bedroom, where her clothes awaited.