The Sheikh’s Accidental Heir(13)
Pulling away, Ahmed shook his head. “That may be a marriage to satisfy you, but it will not do for me.”
Her face paled. “So you will deny me? Leave me to face the wrath of your father and mine? I know you can leave. But I cannot.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
She was a lovely woman, with golden skin and high cheekbones, a lush mouth and huge eyes. However, Ahmed couldn’t help but compare her to his sensual American. Nasiji was a serious girl, with a stubborn chin and a temper. She was not the woman for him—and they both knew it. He shook his head. “Nasiji, you would not be happy with me.”
“And I will be happy to be whipped and branded an undutiful daughter? To be left no choice but to be given to an old man with bad teeth and the habits of a donkey? My father has vowed I will marry this year. If not to you, then to…to some old cousin of his who has three wives already, and I will never be allowed to do more than breed babies. That is, if the old man can even get it up.”
Ahmed let out a laugh, and Nasiji glared at him. “Sorry—I should not laugh. But your language. And your father would do it, wouldn’t he? Beat you and then marry you off just so he could think he had secured your future and be at peace with himself.”
Nasiji nodded. “And your father would cut you off—see you in jail even. He will not allow you to dishonor his given word.”
Ahmed waved away such an idea. “I have more freedom than you, Nasiji. I can leave, make my own way in this world. If I must forever leave my home, I would do so. But I see how it is for you. We must find you a better husband, I think. And…and a way out of this for both of us that will not anger our fathers but will leave them pleased to have averted disaster. Perhaps there is even a way to get you to New York or to someplace in America where you can have the life you want.”
The tears vanished from her eyes, leaving Ahmed wondering just how genuine they had been. “You have an idea?” she asked.
Ahmed looked into Nasiji’s now hardened eyes—hard as stone. He wondered if he was mad to even toy with the idea that had sprouted in his mind. But it was not just his future at stake—it was Nasiji’s. He had to help her. The long friendship between their families meant he owed her that much. And this idea of his would bring his sensual American back into his life. What happened after that—well, he’d always hoped to be his own man. Now he was going to have to prove it.
He would need his Melanie’s help with that.
If she would give it.
6
It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Melanie did a slow circle in the middle of the spotlessly clean, relentlessly top-of-the-line, enormous kitchen of the Sultan of Sharjah. Stainless steel freezers, Aga stoves, marble pastry station, a wall of walk-in fridges, and spice racks stocked with everything a chef could want. Not to mention the stacks of bowls, trays, and every possible mixer or appliance she could want. She hadn’t even dug into the full list of tools available. Here was the chance to finally get her catering company—MM Catering—into the headlines. And she had Ahmed to thank for this.
She was still a little worried about meeting him again.
George had taken the call and had booked the event, just about pushing Melanie onto the first plane out of JFK. “It’s the Emirate of Sharjah, Melanie. A royal family, an unlimited budget and a spread in People Magazine,” George had told her. He’d packed her knives, his hands shaking. She’d protested that she needed back up, but George told her he’d get Angie, Sid and Terry onto the very next plane, and Melanie could buy what she needed. He’d ship her anything else—like himself and whatever other staff she had to import. Meantime, he was clearing the calendar for the next month. A month! Just to plan one event.
Melanie put a hand on her stomach. The nausea caught at her again, just as it had the past few mornings. If she didn’t know any better, she’d suspect something was up. She was a few days late with her period, but she’d always been a little irregular. And she knew damn well that Ahmed had used protection every single time. She’d seen, felt, and heard the evidence. Still, that last time—she’d felt a spurt of wetness inside. She frowned. She didn’t have time to deal with complications right now, so it’d just have to wait. This had to be jet lag puffing up her ankles and nerves twisting her stomach.
She’d been met at the airport by a harried-looking wedding planner who had introduced herself as Madam Zolest. The name left the woman sounding more like a fortune teller, but the Chanel suit, the ruthlessly slim and stylish dress and diamond studs all said Zolest knew her business and made a fortune at it. Zolest had led Melanie to a car, said she had underlings meeting Melanie’s staff and started with the requirements for the bride and groom.