Leila looked at an advert for a bar and saw pictures of cocktails in bright colours with tempting names. Even if she didn’t really know what it was, she blushed when she saw there was one called Screaming Orgasm, and there were other names too, but she liked the look of one called Manhattan. She read about restaurants where people met just to talk and eat. She read about two luxury hotels in the heart of New York. The Chatsfield caught her eye. It had branches around the world and it would seem that the most scandalous and famous people stayed there.
There was talk of some rivalry between them and another hotel called The Harrington. It was glamorous and elegant and ensured privacy for its most esteemed guests.
She remembered the hotels when, having cleared customs, Leila found herself shivering in her robe on a cold winter night as she waited in line for a taxi. While others complained Leila patiently waited, her face to the heavens tasting snow on her tongue for the first time.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
Leila knew which one Jasmine would choose and she was about to say The Chatsfield, but changed her mind at the last moment.
‘The Harrington,’ Leila said.
Try as she might, Leila could never be Jasmine.
CHAPTER TWO
EVERYTHING WAS UNFAMILIAR.
Beautiful, yet unfamiliar.
Leila was grateful for her veils as she walked over to reception, for she felt as if everyone was looking at her.
Leila certainly turned heads—her gown was breathtaking. She held her back completely straight and asked to be taken to their very best suite.
It wasn’t quite that easy though. There were many questions asked of her and Leila didn’t answer all of them truthfully—she lied as to her address and just gave them a blank look when they asked for her phone number.
‘I would just like to be taken to my suite.’
But still they asked more of her.
‘Ms?’
Leila frowned at the receptionist’s question.
‘Your title?’ the receptionist clarified. Leila glanced at her credit card and it read only as Leila Al-Ahmar, and she let out a breath as Leila realised that she could be whoever she wanted to be.
‘Ms,’ Leila said as her details were added to the computer. She handed over her credit card again, wondering if now her parents would have stopped it from working. The receptionist smiled at her, and handed her a swipe card for her suite, and Leila wondered if her parents had even bothered to notice that she’d gone.
When Leila stepped into the suite a maid was already in there, unpacking her small case, and Leila told her that she would not be needed.
She stood as if waiting for something.
‘Dismissed,’ Leila said. Once alone, she walked over to the window and looked to the busy streets below, trying to picture herself out there.
She couldn’t.
She must.
Leila removed her robes and modest underwear and replaced it with Jasmine’s. She did not recognise her own body, for in the mirror it was a wanton woman that looked back. She put on the black dress that revealed her cleavage and she struggled terribly to do up the zip at the back. She had never had a zip before and the maids did up her buttons. She added high shoes to her bare legs. Leila brushed her long black hair till it was gleaming. She had never worn make-up but tonight she carefully painted her lips and then stood back and gazed again at her reflection.