Yes, Cristy held on to that faith when they bought fresh clothes and a warm meal, took a small local train to Dublin, another train to London, where a secretive wealthy Briton allowed his “dear old friend” Sheikh Rizaak to use a private plane to get to Paris, where another private jet carried them above and across mountains and rivers, borders and crossings, to Düsseldorf, Germany, and Warsaw, Poland, then Istanbul and beyond, a day at someone’s mansion in Ukraine, a flight in an old Aeroflot jet reupholstered in red velvet, a night landing in the desert airport of Bahrain, a blazing trip through the sand dunes outside Abu Dhabi in a Range Rover driven by an Arab who wore black wayfarers and would not stop chattering, constantly glancing back at Rizaak like the Sheikh was a cross between the American President and Justin Bieber.
And she held on to that faith when they crossed that final border into the mystical land of Khawas, a place Cristy had never known but which somehow felt like home, a home from another time and place, a home that seemed part of her past almost as much as it seemed a part of her future, of their future, of ALL their futures . . .
So that faith carried her through it just like her strength carried her through it, just like her man carried her through it, and when she and Rizaak made their way into the Royal Palace through a side entrance and within an hour were married by a Muslim cleric who had been roused from slumber and ferreted away without being told anything . . . yes, when Sheikh Rizaak looked down at her and placed the royal ring of the House of Khawas upon her trembling hand, Cristy choked back that feeling of losing control, swallowed that fear that perhaps this was still a fantasy, reminded herself that sometimes you have to give up control to see that the universe is ALWAYS in control . . .
“I do,” she said, looking at Rizaak after repeating the Arabic words that the white-bearded priest articulated to her as clearly as he could. “I do.”
Of course you do, the mischievous, playful universe whispered back as those angels and pixies danced their way around the king and queen, this man and woman, the Sheikh and his bride.
Of course you do.
∞
FROM ANNABELLE WINTERS
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BOOKS BY ANNABELLE WINTERS
THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (USA)
Curves for the Sheikh
Flames for the Sheikh
Hostage for the Sheikh
Single for the Sheikh
Stockings for the Sheikh
THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (UK)
Curves for the Sheikh (UK)
Flames for the Sheikh (UK)
Hostage for the Sheikh (UK)
Single for the Sheikh (UK)
Stockings for the Sheikh (UK)
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Hostage for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 3) Page 17