Chapter 4
I only greeted my brother briefly, but as much as it displeases me, I know I’ll have to congratulate him later.
I plan to stay in Rheadur only long enough not to hurt my father’s feelings, then return to the world I belong to.
The lights dim, giving the palace’s main hall an air of mystery.
It’s not the first time I’ve watched a performance of our women’s traditional dance, but I’ve never had to witness one in which my sister was among the dancers.
I glance around, and all twelve men present look uncomfortable. Even Naim, who under any other circumstance would be eager to see a woman’s body dressed in so little, keeps a stern face, probably because the woman in question is our sister.
Despite myself, I have to suppress a smile. Jazmina has always known how to get her way with our father. The girl’s a born manipulator. Pity the man who ends up marrying her.
When I asked Father why he’d agreed to such madness, he said he didn’t know how many birthdays he still had left and that seeing her smile, granting her wish, was worth the risk of offending the elders of our country, who are far stricter about customs than the sheikh himself.
The first notes begin, and unexpectedly, joy fills my chest. The rhythm seeps into my veins.
The truth is, no matter how long I stay away, my roots are in Rheadur.
The tempo quickens, announcing the entrance of the dancer, or rather, dancers, I correct myself, since I’ve been told Jazmina will perform with a friend. In the end, the bold one isn’t that brave after all.
My thoughts scatter the instant the woman behind my sister moves her hips for the first time, sensually, setting the performance in motion.
Her arms are raised above her head, each hand holding a corner of a yellow silk veil.
She spins several times, but with the fabric draped around her and the mass of dark hair falling forward, I still can’t see her face.
I forget all about my irritation over watching Jazmina perform, mostly because, to be fair, their costumes aren’t typical—they’re far more modest than what a belly dancer would normally wear.
I can’t take my eyes off the sensual sway of the siren in gold and yellow. My mind, completely untethered, follows the meaning of her undulating movements, resembling the sinuous rhythm of a serpent.
This kind of dance was originally a sacred rite to prepare women for motherhood, and that alone—associating a woman with fertility—should cool me down. But the opposite happens.
Watching her, all I can think about is what it would feel like to have that glorious, supple body beneath mine.
The girl seems to master every motion: the roll of her hips, the arch of her torso, keeping me captive.
My pulse races, and desire takes over. The hunter in me awakens.
I could watch her for hours. In fact, I’d like to clear this hall and have a private performance.
Her belly isn’t bare, and her top only hints at the curve of her breasts. In the world I live in, she’s overdressed, and yet she manages to hold my gaze with every twist of her body.
I’m anxious to see the face of this sensual woman, even though, being my sister’s friend, she should, in theory, be off-limits.
I look around, and the men are mesmerized. My father is smiling, clapping along, clearly delighted by his daughter and her friend’s skill, but the others are fixated on my golden temptress.
There’s a physical difference between the two dancers. While my sister still has the delicate frame of a girl, the other is all woman, exuberant, every inch an invitation to sin.
The veil slips from her hands, fluttering to the floor, while her arms stay raised above her head, her face still tilted downward.
Her slender thighs are covered by sheer silk, revealing little yet suggesting everything. Even so, my body reacts violently, a primal, carnal instinct demanding that I take her.
Now, though, the need to see her face eclipses every other thought.
Jazmina twirls across the hall, but the other woman, almost as if she senses how she’s captivated me, stays right in my line of sight.
I know the dance is nearing its end, and just then, the woman who’s held me prisoner with her beauty moves closer.
She turns her back, quickening her pace, her hips rolling faster, as if she’s forgotten the crowd and surrendered to the music’s spell.
I want to go to her, grab her by the hips, brush her hair aside, and bite the soft skin of her neck, but my thoughts shatter when she finally turns, looking straight at me.
I could never forget those eyes.
Adeela.
The girl who ran from me just hours ago, who, even fully covered, managed to stir something in me, now stands before me, a living embodiment of temptation.
The entire room fades away, as if someone silenced the world and left only the two of us.
I’ve been with many women, but the mix of innocence and sensuality radiating from her leaves me dizzy, enslaved by desire and unable to look away, hungry to lose myself in her allure.
Knowing who she is now—the daughter of one of my father’s senior advisors—she shouldn’t even be meeting my eyes. Yet that’s exactly what she’s doing, as if she can’t stop herself, as if she’s dancing only for me.
My blood burns, lust clouding reason.
I’ve always known what I wanted and how to get it, but for the first time in my life, I’m faced with something I can’t have.
No matter how fiercely I desire Adeela, more than I’ve ever wanted any woman, she’s forbidden to me.
She’s more than beautiful. She’s perfect. But I’ll never say it out loud because she’s beyond my reach.
Getting involved with Adeela without a formal courtship would ruin her forever in our society, turning her into a pariah.
The only way to have her would be to commit publicly. To marry her.
And I will never give up my freedom. No matter how breathtaking this girl is.