The Sheikh’s Fake Fiancée (Azhar Sheikhs Book 1)

by Leslie North

  “I’ve made sure that you two have had everything while you’ve been here,” he said, speeding up, maneuvering through a few lanes of cars. “Hasn’t that helped?”

  “Asim, you’ve been nothing but stellar. Believe me. You’ve shown us parts of your country we never would have known. We’ve gotten to know your amazing family, live in your incredible home. These have been the most incredible three weeks of my life.”

  “But, she…”

  “But it’s time for her to go.”

  Asim braked hard, crossing a few lanes to make an exit ramp that he hadn’t planned on approaching so quickly. Aubrey gripped the arm rest and breathed with relief once they were stopped at a traffic light. “Where are we going now?”

  “To blow off more steam,” he said, squeezing the steering wheel. “Gambling.”

  11

  Urgent knocks sounded on her door. Before she could even turn to look, Asim’s voice rang out. “Elena. Open the door.”

  “Jeez, okay. Give me a second.” She crossed the room, tugged the door open, already annoyed. His face creased, Asim hesitated before speaking.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  She blinked a few times, sideswiped by this unexpected arrival. I probably have a bigger surprise for you. “Am I late for dinner?”

  “No. Just follow me.” He jerked his head toward the hallway, and she followed, shutting the door quietly behind her. His energy was so strange and hurried. She hadn’t expected this after their terse conversation in the garden hours earlier.

  He led her out of the house and toward the gardens where they’d been strolling earlier that day. He grabbed her hand, hurrying her along. She jogged behind him, distracted by the rich crimson of the setting sun. The whole sky was awash in vibrant golds and ochre—her heart squeezed at the thought of painting it, of capturing it on canvas. Her fingers twitched, wishing she had a paint brush in them. A palette of oils. Unlimited time stretching before her to create.

  “It’s up here.” Asim had led her to a new corner of the estate gardens. A stone building spiraled upward, a turret connected to the stone wall lining the property, as if it was a secret lookout spot over the goings-on. A tiny doorway led to a rickety stairway, winding up to a loft space overlooking the property. It smelled old in here, like maybe it was one of the first constructions on the estate. The wood boards groaned when they walked on them, and he led her to a narrow door in the corner.

  “This is one of the original rooms,” he said, looking around as though it were his first time here, too. “My grandmother built it when she started renovating the estate. It was a way for her to oversee the progress as they built more and more.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, contemplating the far wall. “But there’s something else in here I want you to see.”

  Asim opened the door, gesturing inside. Canvases lined the floor of a large closet; a folded easel leaned against the back wall. A couple shelves held shoeboxes full of stuff—a few tubes of paint poked out over the tops. It was a secret art shop on the estate. She covered her mouth with a hand, stepping closer slowly, as if advancing too quickly would make it all disappear.

  “How long has this…” She swallowed hard, yanking her gaze toward him. “Has this been here all along?”

  “My brother reminded me about them,” he said quietly. “It’s come to my attention recently that I’ve overlooked one of the most important parts of your life.”

  Her heart swelled at the admission. His wanting to share this with her, only for her, made her tumble headfirst down the path she was desperately trying to avoid. But it couldn’t be avoided, only momentarily ignored. Asim, I love you.

  Immediately her mind worked overtime to counteract the sentiment, to find some way to rationalize the feelings. You can’t love him. You’ve known him less than a month. This is all a ruse…just get over it. But rationalizing it didn’t help. The knowledge pulsed deep and quiet inside her.

  “I know you’re unhappy here,” he said quietly, avoiding her gaze. He jangled some coins in his pockets as he paused. “My mother should be dissolving the engagement offer soon, and in the meantime, I want you to be happy. I thought I’d been doing enough. I want you to find your joy here. And then, when you go, you’ll be able to take part of this world with you in your travels.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and she tried to swallow the emotion before it showed on her face. She stared at the canvases, scared to look at him. It wasn’t right. This whole setup wasn’t right.

  She drew a shaky breath, blinking back some of the tears. “Wow. I didn’t expect this.” But really, she should have. Because at the end of the day, none of this was about her—it was about his self-serving mission. Get out of the engagement. Convince mom this is real. Wash his hands of her and both would be on their way.

  She was the sap who’d fallen for him; she was the silly girl who’d made the mistake of thinking the affection might be mutual.

  “I want you to be happy while you’re here.” Asim said it more forcefully this time, like maybe repeating it would jar something loose inside her. “Does this make it better for you?”

  She looked up at him, feeling empty and strange, like her soul had been sucked out. What did she expect from him at this point? He’d never want her the way she wanted him. “I appreciate this so much.”

  The words rang hollow, but maybe he wouldn’t notice. He leaned in to kiss her but she stepped away, turning her face. “I’d like to be alone for a little bit. I might try to paint something.”

  Confusion streaked his face, and he squeezed her hands. “Will you come down for dinner?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.” She turned away, reaching for a canvas. The painting material was a nice gesture; she couldn’t fault him for that. It was thoughtful and sweet. But it wasn’t what she wanted from him.

  “Okay.” She could feel the questions in the air between them, his confusion about this sudden tension. But she couldn’t talk to him about it—not now. Maybe not ever. The truth was plain, and maybe it didn’t even require a conversation. “I’ll see you there.”

  He stepped softly down the staircase. She watched as he walked away down the garden path, eventually disappearing into a grove of trees as he headed for the mansion. Once she was sure he was gone, she let her hand drift to her belly.

  If she was truly pregnant, signs might begin to emerge soon. Morning sickness, or maybe even showing, if Asim convinced her to stay even longer. And then things would get really sticky. If any of them suspected she was pregnant, then surely Asim would only bring shame to his family, based on what he’d told her about their traditions and customs.

  Besides, if he found out, what would he say? It might break her heart even more to learn that not only did he not want to be with her, he also doesn’t want their child. Or maybe he’d suggest keeping it but paying her off, acting as though he didn’t have a child while they maintained their separate existences on opposite sides of the world.

  Just thinking about either of those reactions was devastating enough. And if she’d learned anything about Asim in these few weeks, it was that he wasn’t ready for any amount of responsibility in the family or relationship department.

  So why bother telling him? Just get out of here and move on.

  If she wanted to protect what few shreds remained of her heart, she’d have to act fast.

  12

  The next morning, Asim went straight to Elena’s room before he’d even changed into his regular clothes. Hair mussed and circles under his eyes, he knocked softly on her door. Their dinner the night before had been quick and stilted. She and Aubrey retired to their rooms before he could probe much, and he’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, plagued by a knot in his gut that he couldn’t ignore or untangle.

  He knocked again. She was usually up by nine, so maybe his eight thirty arrival meant she’d need a few extra moments to rouse. He paused and then knocked a third time, louder.

  No answer.

  He
turned the doorknob. Unlocked. He pushed the door open a crack and peered inside. The bed was made, unused. He pushed the door open all the way and stepped in tentatively.

  “Elena?”

  No answer. He checked the bathroom. All quiet, nobody there. No smiling Elena to greet him as she had so many mornings, putting on mascara or brushing her teeth. His chest tightened and he hurried out, heading for Aubrey’s room.

  Maybe they’re in there. Maybe they’re getting ready for the day together.

  But she never made an early visit to Aubrey’s. The truth spread through him, sinister and swift. He knocked on Aubrey’s door, already knowing the result. No answer.

  He pushed open the door, glancing around inside. Eerily quiet and well-kept, like that vocal guest had been merely a fantasy. He pulled the door shut, heart pounding as he considered his next step. A member of the staff passed by, and Asim called to him.

  “Have you seen the girls?” His voice came out rushed, jagged. “I can’t find them.”

  “Sir,” the young man responded. “I’m sorry, but the ladies left late last night. Your mother organized it. I assumed she told you.”

  The world around him grew quiet as he struggled to process the information. Your mother organized it. Asim thanked him and ran to the family wing, banging on his mother’s door before he could think better of it.

  She pulled open the door, greeting him with a smile. “Asim. This is early for you.” She pushed an earring through a lobe, heading to her vanity.

  “What have you done with Elena and Aubrey? You can’t just send my fiancée away. It’s my choice who I marry.”

  His mother settled into the plush seat in front of her vanity, meeting his gaze through the mirror. After a swollen silence, she reached into a tiny drawer in a jewelry box, revealing the engagement ring he’d given to Elena. She set it on the gleaming surface of the vanity.

  “You’re right. It is your choice who you marry.” She adjusted both earrings and then turned to face him, her face neutral. “But you did not choose to marry Elena.”

  He furrowed a brow, stepping closer. “What are you talking about? I chose her. We were to be married.”

  “No, my son, you did not.” Safiya tutted, crossing her legs. “She came to me last night and told me the whole story. She asked for my help getting back to the United States. Which I gave her, obviously.”

  Asim grimaced, her words leaving a painful trail as they circled through his body. This wasn’t just unfortunate, this was embarrassing. And the more her words settled, the more it seemed as if he’d been holding her against her will. As if he’d kept her a captive of their growing attraction.

  “How could she do that?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the bedroom as the thoughts collided, bulky and unforgiving. So many things vied for his attention, he didn’t know where to start. “I thought we’d grown close. I thought we had something.” He stilled, a more painful truth emerging, one that stole his breath. “She didn’t even say goodbye to me.”

  “You’re a fool,” his mother said curtly, turning back to the mirror. “What did you have? A loose agreement to lie to your mother? That’s nothing. You had nothing. Besides, no woman wants to be a concubine. A paid escort. What did you think would happen?”

  He balled his fists, the truth of her words sinking to his gut like a sick, dense knot. “Tell me where she went.”

  “I don’t know.” His mother leaned forward to apply mascara in the round vanity mirror, her eyes garishly huge in the reflection. “I gave them cash, enough to make up for all the time they wasted here trying to appease you. Instead of living their own lives, they were forced to be supporting actors in your silly drama.” She tutted, pausing as she finished touching up the mascara. “If you had not been so concerned with yourself, you might have seen that your match was right in front of you the whole time.”

  Asim’s mouth fell open. “What are you saying? I thought you didn’t want me to marry her. You’ve been watching our every movement, quizzing her every chance you got. This makes no sense, Mother.”

  Safiya sighed. “You’re so much like your father. Completely oblivious to the wiles of women. Have I not taught you anything?” She glanced sharply in the mirror. “I suppose not well enough. And maybe that part is my fault. But it was obvious you two had only just met. I wanted to see if you’d stumble—you can hardly blame me.” She grabbed a tube of lipstick, twisting it out. “Since I knew this was a trick, of course I didn’t dissolve the original agreement. But as time went on, I wondered if you would realize what sort of woman you’d gotten your hands on.”

  Asim laughed bitterly. “Now you’re really not making any sense.”

  “No?” She lifted a perfectly shaped brow.

  “You’re telling me you would have wanted me to marry Elena? After the past three weeks of intolerable scrutiny and disapproval from you?” He scoffed.

  Safiya set the tube of lipstick down, turning to face him. “Son. What I want is for you to marry well. To a woman who matches you in some way. Whether it’s your heart or business, either is fine. My pick with the Dahoud family was a business match; she’s someone who will help manage our business and your life. But you unwittingly found someone to match your heart. You just never quite realized it.”

  Asim rubbed his face with his hands, sinking onto the edge of his mother’s bed. After a moment he flopped backward, staring at the gilded ceiling. “God, you’re right.”

  Safiya returned to the vanity mirror, tracing the deep red lipstick over her lips. “I know.”

  Asim lay there, studying the ceiling, letting the thought crash over him as he sifted through the chaotic mess inside his head. He lay there until his mother got up and rummaged through her closet, lay there while she hummed and tried on a few different pairs of shoes.

  Finally, he sat up, blinking with clarity. She smiled down at him, looking pleased with herself.

  “Mother, I need the ring.”

  “Oh?” She glided to the vanity, picking up the token of his foolishness. “What are you planning to do?”

  “I’m going to find Elena,” he said, the words reverberating through him. “I want you to dissolve the marriage offer with the Dahoud family. Because once I find Elena, I’m going to marry her.”

  His mother turned to him, eyes shining, and handed him the ring.

  13

  Elena shoved the key into the front door of her house, relieved by the familiar scent that greeted her, some combination of dryer sheets and childhood security. She sighed heavily as she stepped into the dark house, unnerved by the silence there. This was the longest she’d been away from her home in her entire life; coming back to the dark, uninhabited house after almost two and a half months somehow amplified her loneliness. Like she’d really come back to nothing.

  She set her luggage by the staircase at the front door and wandered through the house, flipping on lights, trying to make it feel full. Lived in. Like she’d never left. Pictures of her parents smiled down at her—family portraits dotting hallways, embarrassing school photos she’d never bothered to take down after her parents’ passing.

  In the kitchen, she rummaged through her purse to find the small plastic bag she’d stashed there—the pregnancy test she’d spent way too much money on in an airport in Germany. As if the excessive amount of euros weren’t bad enough, she already knew what it would say. But she needed the confirmation—just to erase any doubt that this all still might be some apocalyptic premenstrual mood swing.

  She headed for the bathroom then paused, checking the wall clock. Five p.m. Wasn’t she supposed to take these first thing in the morning? But hell—what was five p.m. pacific time anyway? After so much travel and screwy time zone hopping, she had no idea what cycle her body was on. And besides, she couldn’t wait any longer.

  She sat on the toilet and lined the stick up, relaxing enough to pee and aim. After a shaky start, she nailed the test strip. She set it aside and finished up, eyes never leaving the tiny re
sult window, hands shaking as she pulled up her pants.

  Within seconds, the test screen showed a plus sign.

  She gulped and then laughed and then started to cry.

  Later that evening Aubrey stopped by with Mexican food, Chinese takeout, and two whole tubs of ice cream.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” Aubrey explained, setting down several glorious-smelling bags. “I just know we need to comfort eat.” She paused. “For three.”

  Elena laughed, hand drifting to her stomach. There was truly a seed germinating in there. And it was more thrilling than she could have imagined, even though it happened totally opposite from how she’d planned it. “Well let’s do it. I’m whooped after all this travel, so I want to eat and then pass out on the couch.”

  “Sounds like a plan, sister.” Aubrey brought out the various boxes of food, and they got to work piling it on their plates, which they both took out into the living room for some Netflix. While Elena scanned the selections, Aubrey chewed thoughtfully on a piece of broccoli.

  “Don’t you think you should tell Asim?”

  Elena glanced over at her, unamused. “I’m not going to. It’ll just be a disappointment. That man doesn’t want anything besides pussy and…” She struggled to find the word. “And amusement. Telling him he has a bun in the oven won’t endear him to me. He’ll probably just send me to live in the harem where he keeps all the other women he’s knocked up.”

  “Ouch.” Aubrey laughed. “I’ve never heard you so bitter before.”

  “I’m not bitter,” she said, abandoning the Netflix hunt for a good movie. “I’m just being realistic.”

  Aubrey shrugged. “He seems like he’d step up to the plate, is all I’m saying.”