“I have only a half a million to get us started. The rest, I fear, is invested in properties.”
She had stared at him. “How much is invested?”
He’d shrugged. “If I liquidate, I will only raise five or six million. If we keep the buildings, the income over time will be much better. Some of them need renovation, and I want to show you the two I am thinking of for galleries.”
She’d nodded and had swallowed hard. She wasn’t just married to a prince—a sheik—she was married to a very rich man. She hadn’t expected that. She’d taken him back to her apartment and had hoped he wouldn’t think it was slumming and beneath him. Instead, he’d settled in quite happily. And started renovating one of the brownstones he’d acquired to become their home.
Her mom had given Ahmed the cold shoulder at first, but who could resist the man’s charm? And those deep brown eyes.
Ahmed waited for her in a tailored black tuxedo, a faint smile curving his lips. They already had a name picked out for the baby, who should be along in a few months. Caius Martin Al-Qasimi. Once Caius appeared, she’d been warned that the sultan would want them to visit.
Hands shaking, she started down the aisle.
Ahmed had proven he really did have an instinct about business. He’d been right about MM Catering specializing in gallery openings, art events and business meetings.
MM Catering was going to turn a profit this year and their blend of Western and Middle Eastern favorites had started a new trend.
She’d put off a second wedding until she was certain the first one would stick.
But her mom had kept pushing.
So had Ahmed. What choice did a girl have when both her husband and her mother ganged up on her?
And the baby started to kick.
She put a hand on her stomach. She’d wanted to get to the point where she could take the time off for a real honeymoon without having to worry about whether her business would survive or not. She’d wanted time to make certain Ahmed wanted to stay around.
She was now sure of both things.
It was time to stand up in front of their families and friends and make this staying together forever official.
It seemed this Cinderella really was getting her happy ever after, and Ahmed had even bought her glass shoes—well, silk encrusted with crystals—to cement the deal.
She reached Ahmed’s side. He looked at her with enough love in his eyes that a shiver slipped over her skin.
“Family and friends, we are gathered here today to join Ahmed Al-Qasimi in matrimony with Melanie Martin.”
From there, the ceremony became as much a blur as her first wedding had been. Ahmed had to nudge her when it was time to say ‘I do.’ She smiled up at him and said, “Qabul, qabul, qabul.”
I accept.
He grinned back and then said, “I do.” Then he leaned closer and asked, “Do I get to kiss you now?”
She smiled. “Only if you really mean it.”
“Oh, I do. As I mean every kiss that I give you, my wife, my own, my very sensual American.”
Epilogue
Melanie was nervous about leaving Caius with Casey and Khalid. And with the sultan. It was Caius’ first visit to Sharjah—and her and Ahmed’s first time back since their wedding. She’d been nervous about her reception—and a little worried the sultan might throw Ahmed into jail, take Caius and extradite her ass back to New York.
Instead, the sultan had taken one look at the fat, pouting and travel-weary baby, who was about ready to throw a royal tantrum and the man had broken into a stiff smile. “Ah, he looks just like Ahmed did at that age.” The sultan had swept Caius from Melanie’s arms, tossed him up, caught him and tickled the boy’s belly. Gurgling laughs—not screams—had followed. And yet she was still nervous about leaving her baby boy.
Ahmed slipped an arm around her waist. “Will you stop frowning? My father has what delights him—a grandson and a potential heir to the throne. And we have three days of babysitting. After my father, it will be my uncles and aunts who must see the boy, and Khalid’s Casey adores babies. You have made her day by letting her spoil our son.”
Melanie shook her head. The palace seemed overflowing with people—relatives, no doubt. A band was playing traditional music, which sounded off key to her, but it was the sultan’s party after all. He had made a few concessions to his sons.
The food offered up included lamb, beef, and a dazzling display of pastries. Melanie glanced at her husband. “Our son is going to be overfed, spoilt and impossible once we get him home again.”
Smiling, Ahmed said, “He is home, my sensual American. He will grow up in two worlds, with a foot in each.”