by Holly Rayner
“I must look monstrous,” she cried, brushing her fingers through her hair and feeling how tangled it was.
“No way. You look perfect, as always,” Ibrahim said. “And I don’t want to hear another thing about it.”
Willow scurried into her bedroom after that, hardly able to breathe with excitement. Flicking through her dresses and skirts, she picked out a light pink maxi dress that made her feel like a Greek goddess. After slipping on a pair of sandals, she pulled a hairbrush through her blond strands and glanced a final time into the mirror at her rosy cheeks, flushed with excitement.
“Are you ready, beautiful?” Ibrahim called from the next room. “I promise, we don’t want to be late.”
“Sure thing!” she called back.
They took the elevator to the bottom floor, their arms wrapped around one another, needing the contact. They held hands as they walked across the building’s foyer to the garage, where Ibrahim helped Willow into the passenger seat of the sports car, kissing the top of her head as she slid inside.
Willow was positively glowing. As Ibrahim drove them toward the desert, she reached across the center console and took his hand again. They fell into easy, comfortable silence—the kind that real couples have, when everything is too perfect for words.
After driving for twenty minutes or so, Willow spotted something interesting billowing in the distance in the desert wind.
Scooting herself higher up in the seat, she was able to make out the tip-top of an enormous hot air balloon, brightly colored, in incredible bold stripes. She turned her eyes toward Ibrahim, shocked.
“That isn’t for us, is it?” she asked.
“The private hot air balloon, which will fly us over the desert, the coast, and my city?” Ibrahim asked, sounding sarcastic and playful. “Absolutely not. Why would you ever think that?”
But Ibrahim continued to guide the car toward the balloon, with Willow shifting to the edge of her seat to get a better view. After he parked, she leapt into his embrace from the passenger seat, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.
It no longer mattered if this was real, or a faraway dream. Every cell within her was filled with glee in that moment, and that was what was important.
“Thank you. Thank you,” she whispered with awe.
Ibrahim laughed, knocking his head back against the headrest. Gazing into her eyes, he brought a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well, we can’t very well stay in the car all day,” he finally said.
Willow pressed her nose against his, no longer able to think of anything clever to say. She was filled with lust, wanting to make love to him again.
“But, I suppose, sweet Willow, I can buy you whatever you’d like. You want to fly in this hot air balloon until the end of time? I can do that for you,” Ibrahim said, pausing to kiss her nose. “But that would mean we couldn’t have that romantic dinner on the beach…”
“You make life so difficult,” Willow teased. She opened the car door, hopping onto the sand that bordered the paved road. Beckoning, she leaped excitedly, like a child. “Come on! I’ve never been in a hot air balloon.”
“Well,” the Sheikh said, allowing his smile to widen even further. “I have to warn you, it can be terribly frightening. You’re going to have to let me hold onto you as tight as I can.”
“Don’t even think about letting me go, then,” Willow grinned, sliding her fingers through his.
Her words were weighted, and she knew it. She was probably asking more than the Sheikh could possibly give.
They approached the balloon, where Jordan, one of Ibrahim’s staff members had already got everything ready for takeoff. He stepped into the basket, gesturing for them to follow him, but the Sheikh shook his head; this time, he would be piloting.
They clambered inside just before the ties were let loose. Jordan waved a large hand in the air, calling out goodbye.
“Goodbye!” Willow called back, waving. She was suddenly conscious of how quickly the wind whipped past her forearms.
The temperature shifted quickly as they sailed further into the bright blue sky, rising over the edge of the water. Just a few miles away, they could see the city, its millions of tiny windows twinkling back at them.
Willow let out an easy sigh, gripping Ibrahim’s torso. She refused to look down, and instead, focused on looking out. She’d been told, years ago on a roller coaster, that this was the only way to conquer her fear. “Always look forward,” her mother had told her.
“Oh, I have a surprise for you,” Ibrahim said, leaning down and reaching for something in the basket. Toward one of the corners, a small cabinet was situated—a dark cedar collar, which matched the rest of the interior. Willow had been so awestruck that she hadn’t noticed.
“Another surprise?” she asked, incredulous.
“You were the one who said you were hungry,” Ibrahim said, winking. Popping open the cabinet, he revealed a small refrigerator, in which a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries sat, looking nearly too beautiful to eat. Alongside them were rolls and pastries, along with champagne and orange juice—to make mimosas.
Ibrahim pulled out the large platter, positioning it between them on the floor, where there were colorful cushions to sit on. As he sat, he pulled on a section of the basket, revealing a window of thick-paned glass.
“See? If we sit here, we can still see out.”
“Perfect,” Willow sighed.
She collapsed into him, sitting in the area between his legs. She cozied into his chest, gazing out while he poured them both mimosas, then fed her one of the chocolate strawberries. The couple clinked their flutes, quietly enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies pressed together.
Willow pressed a hand against the glass, peering at the incredible architecture below. Chewing slowly, she enjoyed the lightly spiced flavor of a pastry, followed by another perfectly ripe strawberry.
“These strawberries are almost sinful,” she half-moaned. “They taste just like the ones we used to pick at the strawberry patch near my parents’ old place.”
“I had them shipped in from Houston,” Ibrahim said, teasing her.
He rubbed at her stomach, tickling her slightly. She laughed, shaking from side to side. The movement caused the body of the balloon to rock back and forth, bringing a shriek to Willow’s throat.
“Stop that!” she whined playfully, spinning back toward him.
She pressed her lips to his, tasting the sugary sweetness of strawberries and chocolate. Closing her eyes, she felt light as air: hovering somewhere over Rebai, wrapped in her lover’s arms.
“Tell me we can stay up here forever,” she sighed, taking another sip of her drink. “We don’t have to return to all those problems down below. I’m sure the call center can find someone else to do my job.”
Ibrahim stroked her hair, seemingly unable to think of anything to say.
“I’ve made the Sheikh speechless,” Willow said, giggling slightly. “I don’t suppose many women can say the same.”
“You’re right,” Ibrahim said, his voice soft. “You might well be the first.”
After an hour or more of floating above the city and along the coast, Ibrahim stood and guided the hot air balloon back to where they had taken off. Their hair was windswept, and they were getting dizzy—holding onto one another with tight fingers and strained forearms.
“Eventually, we all need to put our feet on solid ground,” Willow tried to joke, hating that her words seemed like some kind of metaphor.
When the balloon landed, Ibrahim reached down and lifted Willow into his arms. He carried her back onto the sand, nodding toward Jordan and thanking him.
“It really was a remarkable time,” he said, as if words could ever be enough to translate what they’d experienced up in the clouds.
Once they reached the car, Willow kicked her legs and Ibrahim set her back on the sand. She dropped her sandals, walking barefoot toward the splashing wa
ves.
Reaching for his hand, she guided him toward the water, feeling her blond curls flutter behind her. She could imagine what she looked like to him, with her shimmering hair and light pink, floating dress.
“You really are stunning, Willow,” Ibrahim said, catching up to her and lifting her chin toward him. He kissed her slowly, his eyes closed, as they listened to the water lap up on the sand. “I knew as much when I first saw you in that newspaper photograph, dressed in your running clothes…”
Willow entered the water and kicked and splashed water back toward him, giggling. The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, casting shadows along the sand. Ibrahim raced toward her, kicking off his own shoes, and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her into him. They shared an intimate kiss, feeling the glow of the sunlight over their cheeks and foreheads. Willow was unsure if her heart had ever swelled as much as it did in that moment.
After a long moment of gazing at one another longingly, Ibrahim slipped his fingers through hers and began to walk down the beach. Willow alternated between looking out over the waves and studying his face. It appeared that the mood between them had shifted to one of seriousness—not one of whispered adorations, but one of unspoken truths.
“What are you thinking about?” Willow asked, squeezing his hand.
Ibrahim glanced at her, clearing his throat. When he did speak, he did so solemnly.
“Do you remember that I was initially engaged to somebody else? I mean, the engagement was, of course, a farce. But we did have a brief attachment to one another, Eva and I…”
He paused for a moment, considering his words.
“She was willing to con your mother. She knew about your plan?” Willow asked, hating that she used the word “con.” It no longer fit with how she was beginning to perceive the Sheikh. She didn’t want to believe anyone she could fall in love with could possibly con someone. It felt like more of a betrayal than what was actually happening, somehow.
“Right. She had no qualms about it, as long as she could take my money and run. But then, she realized that she could have even more than that, if she opened her mouth. She wanted the fame and glory of actually being married to me. She didn’t ever really want me at all. I wonder, sometimes, if she ever truly listened to me. If she knew anything of my interests, my opinions. Or if she only ever saw me for my money.”
Willow spoke tentatively, realizing that she might be the first person the Sheikh had opened up to in years. Stopping for a moment, she dragged her toe through the soft, wet sand.
“You use your money in a way that forces people to look only at it, I think,” she said. “Which is maybe the way you were raised? I don’t know.”
“My father was a proud man,” Ibrahim said, looking down the beach. “He made sure people knew we were above them. And I suppose I carried that with me to the States, because I was determined to make a good name for myself. How silly of me, trying to not be like him and doing the opposite.”
“Looking back on ourselves, our actions always seem silly. We were younger, more naïve…” Willow offered with a shrug.
“Not you, Willow. It doesn’t seem like you’ve been thinking about anyone but other people since you were a teenager,” Ibrahim said, giving her an adoring look. “Giving is something I want to get better at—you inspire me to be a better man.”
They continued down the beach in thoughtful quietness, walking toward the dock. To the side was a food hut, at which a vendor sold fish sandwiches, wrapped in pita. He gave the Sheikh a salute, offering him a sandwich without speaking. But neither Willow nor Ibrahim were hungry. Willow felt herself satiated with something else: adoration, perhaps? Something that filled her up, and was just as nourishing.
“I was so angry, Willow,” Ibrahim sighed, shaking his head. “When I overheard Eva telling that journalist about our supposed engagement, I was blind with rage. She was telling the public that I would soon be a married man, off the market. No woman would ever look at me again. That realization nearly broke me.”
They had walked beyond the dock and the fish shack and were nearing a small cove, where rocks were stacked on top of one another, creating a kind of enclosure. The water lapped up between the sharp grey slabs, foaming along the sand.
“I don’t feel that way now,” Ibrahim continued, gripping both of her hands and holding them against his chest. “With Eva, I couldn’t imagine waking up beside her—or any one woman—for the rest of my life. But Willow, when we woke up next to each other this morning, I didn’t want to let you go. I could have laid there beside you all day, all night. And now, I’m worried about the next time I have to say goodbye to you. Because it will be too soon.”
Willow felt her heart swell and tears form in her eyes. She had never had a whirlwind romance, one that grabbed you by the body and soul and pushed you into a constant daydream. She could think of nothing else to do but to kiss him—to raise her chin toward his and inhale his scent, lose herself in his lips.
Ibrahim wrapped her tightly against him. And, as the passion rose up within them, they slowly began to toss their clothes onto the sand, onto the rocks. The waves lapped up against their feet before falling back into the sea, and before Willow knew it, they were naked, stretched out atop Ibrahim’s suit jacket and making love beneath the stunning blue sky.
They kissed passionately, the waves growing stronger and the wind whipping around them. Willow felt completely protected by Ibrahim’s firm, muscular frame. As they gave themselves to one another completely, she felt small tears moisten her cheeks: tears of complete, raw emotion.
When they were tired out, Willow lay in Ibrahim’s arms, tracing her finger over his skin. They were silent for a long while, watching as colorful birds flew overhead. She tucked her head deeper against him, pressing her cheek against his bicep.
“I can’t imagine anything but this,” she sighed. “And to think, only a few weeks ago, you were engaged to someone else…”
“That’s something we should discuss, Willow,” Ibrahim said, his voice deep. “Since the beginning, I’ve known it was wrong to lie to my mother. I just thought it was a perfect means to an end. The end being my eternal life as a playboy,” he clarified.
After this, he kissed the top of Willow’s head, as if to assure her that this was no longer what he wanted. This was no longer his world.
“But now that I know how much my mother has taken to you, and how much seems to be growing between us…I don’t think we should lie anymore.”
In surprise, Willow lifted her head up from his chest. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“Willow, you’ve been right the entire time,” Ibrahim said firmly. “I think we should go to my mother immediately and tell her the truth. I don’t know how she will react. But the fact that we’re actually falling for one another should cushion the blow…”
Willow felt the tension in her stomach dissipate. She hadn’t realized she’d been so on edge, the previous few day. Peppering her lips over his naked chest, she nodded slowly at first, and then quickly, feeling delirious. She couldn’t wait to speak with Amira as herself, totally and completely, rather than the woman she’d been “crafting” for the false engagement.
“Oh, I can’t wait to get to know her,” Willow cried out. “I can’t wait to ask her endless questions about you. About you as a kid. About your brother. I’m not going to hold back. Because, Ibrahim, I’m in love with you. I want to know everything about you.”
The words tumbled out of her lips, falling out without her even thinking about it. She’d never told anyone she was in love with them. They were the simplest—yet the biggest—words she’d ever spoken. And, in response, Ibrahim lifted his hands to either side of her cheeks and brought her face closer to him.
“I’m in love with you, too,” Ibrahim said, his voice soft. “Totally and completely.”
They made love again, as the water lapped up beside them and threatened to take the
ir clothes into the sea. Without only a few minutes to spare before the tide came in completely, they stood on the sand and grabbed Ibrahim’s suit jacket, his white button-up, and his pants, along with her light pink dress.
They raced up the rocks and back down the deserted beach, toward the car, which was still parked in the distance. They laughed as they raced, their legs stretching out before them, long and lean. They were fully naked, free, and alive.
Once back at the car, they dressed quickly and kissed a final time, anticipation growing in their hearts. The next hour would be a complicated one—one of confession. They would come clean to Amira, and pray for forgiveness.
They would do all of this in the hopes of a beautiful future together. One that was built on love—real and true love.
Chapter 15
Willow
Ibrahim drove swiftly down the coastal highway, with Willow gripping his free hand. She was filled with a mix of emotions, squeezing her thighs together anxiously, still feeling the sand that coated her calves and feet. As the city unfolded before them, her heartbeat grew louder in her ears.
“I can feel your pulse through your fingers,” Ibrahim laughed. “Just keep breathing, babe. It’s all going to be all right.”
“I just don’t know how we’ll broach the subject,” Willow said, her eyes widening. “How do you tell someone you’ve been lying to them? How do you say…hey, Amira? All that work you’ve been doing to organize our wedding? It’s all been for nothing.”
Ibrahim pressed his lips together, his eyes looking lost for a moment.
“I’ve been thinking that, as well. I don't think we should marry in just a few days.” He paused for a moment, seemingly in deep thought. “But I also don’t think we should call it off completely.
Willow blinked. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
“I think we should allow this to grow, Willow. And in a few months’ time, if we still feel as we do now, I think we should get married for real.”