Chapter 1
Ten Years Later
Emirate of Rheadur
A few more steps.
Almost there.
And then, finally, an empty room!
I never thought I’d have to hide inside my own palace, but to escape mothers with marriageable daughters throwing hopeful glances my way, I’m willing to endure even this indignity.
If we were anywhere in Europe, where I usually spend most of my time managing my shipbuilding company, I could simply turn my back and walk out of the party. But here, in my family’s emirate, social conventions must be respected.
In my position as prince, the sheikh’s second son, publicly rejecting one of the young women eager to become my wife could make other men think there’s something wrong with her, condemning her to ostracism or lifelong spinsterhood.
Which, to me, sounds like paradise, since I have no intention of ever getting married.
“How long are you planning to stay in there?” Vicenzzo[7], one of my best friends, asks on the phone.
It may sound strange, but I can’t choose just one of them as my best friend.
The truth is, I have brothers that destiny, not blood, gave me.
We met at boarding school in Switzerland, and we were inseparable, loud, wild, ready to enjoy everything life had to offer.
In fact, we still are. But back then, we simply didn’t let anyone outside our tight little circle get close.
Only the children of the global elite studied at our school—and we were, without a doubt, the elite of the elite.
“Just long enough to keep my father from getting upset,” I finally answer. “Today, Naim[8] will take my ab’s[9] place as ruler of our emirate, and I’ll finally be free. Long live the new sheikh!” I add, my tone dripping with irony.
“He’s going to need that blessing if he keeps chasing every woman that walks by, married or not.”
If anyone else had said that, I wouldn’t have tolerated such disrespect. Even if Naim is a bastard, he’s still my half-brother, the son of my father’s first wife. But coming from Vicenzzo or any of the guys, I don’t even bother arguing, because it’s nothing but the truth.
By the law of our country, Naim must take the throne, and I can already foresee years of turbulence under his rule—which I hope lasts forever, since I’m second in the line of succession. My father has no other sons, so there is no guarantee I’ll avoid becoming sheikh.
The problem is that, even with three wives, my brother hasn’t managed to produce a single male heir. Which means that if anything happens to him, I’ll be appointed in his place.
The thought alone weighs on me like a ball of iron in my stomach. Spending the rest of my life bound by the duties of the sheikh’s position, stripped of the freedom to do whatever I please, is my worst nightmare.
“Will Abdar be there too?”
“I didn’t give him a chance to say no,” I reply, smiling as I remember Abdar’s face when I told him about the ceremony. “Real friends endure torture together.”
“If that’s a jab at me, you should know I’ve got my own problems. I swear to God, my mother’s going to give me a stroke.”
Vicenzzo, heir to the Principality of Amasitano[10], has just broken off an engagement, and his name—as well as his ex-fiancée’s, heiress to a prestigious Hispano-American family—has been splashed across every gossip magazine, driving his witch of a mother insane.
“All right. You owe me one. I have to go, or I’ll end up breaking one of my father’s precious etiquette rules.”
He laughs on the other end of the line.
“Your old man must regret sending you to study in Europe. Lucky you, having a different mother from your brother.”
“I don’t know if he regrets it, but I’m grateful. I can’t imagine ruling anything other than my company.”
“Good for you your only responsibility is your CEO title. I don’t have that luxury.”
Unlike me, Vicenzzo has no brothers, so after his father’s death, he assumed the role of supreme leader of his principality.
“I have to go, Your Highness,” I mock.
“Talk to you later, Your Highness as well,” he shoots back.
“Cut it out. I’ll never be sheikh.”
“You never know,” he says, laughing, before hanging up.
Damn it. Now there’s no escaping. I can’t postpone my appearance in the main hall any longer.
I run a hand through my beard, irritated as hell, but when I remember the party waiting for me two days from now on my yacht, I get the burst of energy I need to face the nightmare that is attending family events.
The only person here, besides my father, who actually matters to me is my sister, Jazmina. The third would be my mother, but seeing her is no longer possible.
I try to push away the memory of her smile and gentle voice because it always leaves me raw. It’s incredible how, even twenty years after her death, I still ache from her absence as if she’d left yesterday.
My mother was my father’s fourth wife, and after she died, he never took another. It was always said she was his favorite, which fueled the hatred of Eiza, his first wife and Naim’s mother.
Jazmina, though my father’s youngest and much younger than I am, is the daughter of the third wife, the one who struggled for years to conceive.
I walk to the door, feeling the headache that’s been hammering me since I set foot in the palace begin to throb harder, but just as I reach the doorknob, the sound of crying makes me stop.
I hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. Whoever’s here heard my conversation with Vicenzzo, but since the odds of them speaking English are close to zero, I could just turn around and leave.
Still, I never leave things unfinished, so I turn toward the sound.
“Who’s there?”
I suspect it’s a child, upset with her parents and hiding. No one else would dare enter one of the palace’s private rooms.
“I won’t ask again.” I’m not really angry, but I don’t like wasting my time either.
“Adeela Ghazal,” a voice says. “Masa’u al-Khair[11], Your Highness. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
I ignore the good-evening greeting as I search my memory for an Adeela. It takes me almost a minute to remember.
Arif Ghazal’s daughter, one of my father’s chief advisors.
The girl who’s always been shunned for being half American.
“Step forward,” I command.
She doesn’t obey immediately, which piques my curiosity more than my annoyance. Women born and raised in Rheadur are usually submissive.
Light footsteps echo, and when she finally appears, her gaze is fixed on the floor. Her head is covered with a hijab[12], keeping me from getting a clear look at her face.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
If only she knew that what really bothers me is the fact that she’s looking at the floor . . .
“Look at me, Adeela.”
More hesitation.
“Now,” I insist.
Her head lifts slowly, with a graceful, almost fragile movement, like a rare flower swaying in the breeze.
Soft in her gestures, delicate in form.
The time it takes her to meet my eyes feels torturous in the best way, stirring a tension deep inside me. I’m used to Western women, bold, direct, unashamed. But Adeela, even knowing who I am, still seems unsure whether she should let me see her or not.
Of course, we shouldn’t even be in this situation. As an unmarried girl—and, I’m sure, a virgin—she shouldn’t be alone with a man who isn’t her father or brother.
Still, Adeela is in no danger with me. I know she’s still a teenager, and that alone would cool any interest, if I had any. I prefer grown women.
She’s also the daughter of a man my country trusts, which means any involvement between us would have to end in marriage.
Not a chance.
So, we’re both safely shielded. I just want to satisfy my curiosity and leave for the party. Maybe a few shots of arak[13] will help me get through the night. Though I prefer whiskey, that’s the only alcoholic drink allowed in our country.
But then she finally decides to obey, and when she lifts her face, something like a gust of wind announcing a storm sweeps through me.
I lose myself in those black depths that stand out against her alabaster skin, my body’s reaction overtaking reason.
Her beauty is the kind that, in the past, would have driven men to battle for the right to have her in their beds.
Without question, she’s the kind of muse who would inspire poets and painters.
She isn’t just fair, she’s almost translucent, making her dark brows and lashes stand out even more. The tiny, upturned nose, the full, naturally red lips, the delicate contour of her face—all of it forms an irresistible whole, mesmerizing anyone who looks at her.
Tense from the unexpected impact of her appearance, I turn my gaze away, but it’s too late. I’ve already memorized her, and I know I’ll never forget that face.
I’ve never minded the women of Rheadur wearing the hijab; I grew up seeing it. Even though my father passed a law about ten years ago making it optional, many women still wear it out of respect for their male relatives, their husbands, and the sheikh himself.
Today, though, I find myself wishing I could walk over to her and uncover her, just to see if her black hair is as long and silky as I imagine.
Adeela must be soft all over.
The wild loss of control that hits me is so intense it makes me take a step back, and I never retreat.
Then, suddenly, she lowers her head again and runs off.
I blink a few times, wondering if that really happened.
Could that ethereal figure who stood before me and vanished like magic have been real?
When I glance down, I see a small handkerchief embroidered with the initials A.G.—Adeela Ghazal.
I bring it to my nose and inhale the faint scent of roses.
I should return it, but I know I won’t.
It’ll be my secret. The closest I’ll ever allow myself to get to her.
If Adeela had been raised in a different culture, with a mind as open as mine, I wouldn’t think twice before seducing her. But I’d never do that to someone who was taught to stay untouched until marriage.
So, even though I’ve just felt the most devastating physical attraction of my life, there’s nothing I can do about it.