Married for the Sheikh's Duty(12)

A few months with a fake, extremely annoying fiancée was a short price to pay to ensure Mirah’s happiness.





CHAPTER FIVE

AMALIA TRIED TO restore some calm through her usual breathing exercises on the Al-Ghamdi private jet as she and Zayn winged their way to Paris ten days later, but the ritual that had always helped her maintain composure in the face of her mother’s swinging moods and her declining health in the last two years, failed to help her at all.

She was anxious about Aslam, about the coming charade, about her attraction to the man on the opposite side of the craft and even being equipped with all the tools to face the world and the media as the playboy sheikh’s adoring fiancée didn’t help a bit with that anxiety.

Ten days in which a stylist and a beautician had been sent to bring her up to scratch. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Zayn under the promise of death, but Amalia had loved the Parisian stylist and her chic sense of style. Instead of forcing her views on how the sheikh’s supposed fiancée should look, the woman had helped Amalia choose dresses and accessories that fit her sense of style. It had been like being on one of those super-trendy makeover shows without the cringe worthy being-on-TV part.

No expense had been spared on her new wardrobe, which included only designer dresses and shoes, handbags and even hats for different occasions. It was neatly stowed away at the back of the luxurious jet. A square-cut diamond in a solitaire setting had been delivered to her suite, with the same aplomb as a non-fiction book she’d requested. Hoping that it would fit all wrong so that she could send it back, she’d been dismayed when it slid on perfectly.

Now its cold weight on her finger felt like a chain around her neck, a constant reminder that she was taking part in a dangerous charade.

Refusing to give in to Zayn’s all too possessive and personal order to not cut her hair, Amalia had asked the woman if a shorter hairstyle would serve her better and had received a very stringent, almost offended reply in return.

The stylist had fingered her long locks and told her she had hair like spun gold and it would be blasphemy to the hair gods to cut it off. Instead she had cut it into layers so that the shortest framed Amalia’s face. Again, Amalia couldn’t ignore the fact that it had been something she had been meaning to do for years and had not gotten to it.

From then on, she had realized it was a waste of energy to protest and had thrown herself into it, at least the whipping-her-into-shape part, with proper gusto. She had been given a mud bath, a facial, a manicure and pedicure, in short, pampered from head to toe like never before.

The servants, obviously under the orders of the imperious Sheikh, packed away her work clothes. It felt as if her armor was being torn away from her. His comment that Amalia always dressed to hide herself hit her hard.

Had she been doing that? she wondered for the hundredth time.

All she’d received when she’d boarded the jet had been a cursory look from Zayn and a condescending nod as if to say he found her acceptable.

She was clearly losing her marbles because she’d been disappointed by that cursory look. Greedy for more, she had hunted down that Celebrity Spy! article again and apparently, Sheikh Zayn preferred sophisticated, confident women who knew all the rules of the game. Women who probably didn’t run hot and cold at the idea of just one kiss, much less panicked about being his partner, even for a short while.

If Amalia had any doubts about whether he was attracted to her in any way, her meeting with his sister Mirah had put paid to that. Mirah had not just been surprised but shocked when he had introduced Amalia as his fiancée. Granted, some of it had been because of how sudden their engagement was. “You are a career woman. Wow, my brother truly does not realize what has hit him, yes? I have always felt sadness that Zayn would not even consider love as a factor into his marriage. But you...clearly, love is the only reason he chose you,” she had said with a beaming smile on her face.

Just then, Amalia found herself chewing on those words. Why was it sad that Mr. Alpha Sheikh did not want love in his marriage? He probably knew any woman would run far and fast at the idea of loving him and had suitably adjusted his expectations.

As though called, pulled toward him by some invisible rope, Amalia found her gaze moving toward him. Thankfully, his dark head was bent to his laptop and she studied him greedily.

The wide breadth of his shoulders against the compact design of the jet’s seat, the lean, powerful line of his thighs—Amalia got warm in her silk suit just looking at him.

The sleeves of his light blue dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, displaying olive-skinned arms with a generous sprinkling of hair. Papers were strewn over the desk in front of him. Long fingers, fingers that had tugged at her hair, fingers that had rasped over her cheeks, tapped away at the keyboard in a somewhat stultifying way. As if he didn’t quite know how to type.

The deepening scowl on his face made Amalia smile with a wicked joy. Apparently, Mr. Sheikh was not perfect at everything. She stood up from her seat and took the one opposite him. Even with the spacious seating and her adjusting her legs, her knees bumped against his. “Need a little help, Sheikh?”

He looked up, and for once his focus on her was a bit diluted. Good, she could handle him like this. “One of my PAs fell sick at the last minute and one has to stay behind in Sintar to deal with any contingencies. And the third one is useless. All she does is blush and mutter incoherently every time she lays eyes on me. I would have fired her if I hadn’t been assured again and again by the rest of the staff that she’s utterly efficient and hardworking in my absence.”

He sounded so disgruntled but she couldn’t manage a smile. “It must be a curse to be such a perfect specimen of manhood,” she said a little acidly.

“You’re more nuisance than a help. So return to your seat, say very little and just look perfect for the rest of the flight. Let us call it your job description for the next few months.” His gaze turned away dismissively. “That pantsuit, while sufficient, is not good enough for the fund-raiser.”

Amalia swallowed the growl that wanted to rise from the depths of her soul. The dismissive prig! “I feel sorry for the woman who ends up marrying you, Sheikh.”

“Don’t. Some women like having a man who will take care of their every need.”

A part of her was more than tempted to leave him to his hell, but a part of her, the part that had become extremely bored over the past ten days and the part that was acutely aware that there were six hours and eight more minutes left on the flight, and the stubborn part that wanted to prove something of herself to him said, “That software you’re struggling with, we use the same program to manage Massi’s schedule.”

“It’s not just the schedule. I need these reports sorted by urgency and importance and summarized for me. Not everything needs to end up on my desk. There are different departments that most of these requests can be routed to.”

“Believe me, Sheikh, I can do all that, too.”

“Why are you offering to help?”

“Even though you have been an utter a—” he raised that imperious brow again and she changed her word “—beast to me, you mean?”

“Did you talk this way to your Massi?”

She shrugged, refusing to accept or deny. Damn it, she should have never hinted as if there was more to it. “I’m offering to help because there are a million minutes to pass before we reach Paris and I’ve been twiddling my thumbs for ten days. Believe me, a makeover that you don’t have to pay for is all well and good but I’ve never been this idle for so long. I’m bored to death and the guards you have on me don’t even know how to play cards.”

“They’re not for your entertainment, Amalia.” He let his gaze sweep over her face, something challenging in it. “There are all kinds of state programs here. And you did refuse to sign the NDA. How do I know you’re not collecting material for your next blackmail scheme?”

Amalia didn’t know why his lack of trust in her should pinch her so. Really, it seemed she was existing in some dream land. Why did she again and again find herself surprised by what a hard man he was? Why was it that she weakened with him when no other man had even come close?

She sat back in her seat, waiting for that emotional reaction to subside before she spoke. “You either trust me over the next few months, Sheikh, or you do not. Like you were so careful to point out, I have no power in this relationship. And everything to lose.

“You can dress me in the fanciest clothes and threaten me with everything from jail to incarceration, but no one is going to believe this charade until you trust me. And you treat me, no, at least pretend like you value my place in your life.”

“Of course you were feeling neglected. Once we return, I will arrange a vacation for you.” Having her out of his hair, under surveillance, Zayn congratulated himself on thinking of it. It was the best way to minimize the damage she could do to the situation with her loud mouth.

That he was hiding from the problem was something Zayn refused to even consider.

“You’re not packing me off to Siberia with two guard dogs. The one thing I wanted was to visit with Aslam and you vetoed it.” She snorted. “I have worked for five years for a man who controls a million-dollar business. You...you pretty much run the country. I think I can imagine what a working day for you constitutes. I’m not complaining, just informing you.”