Chapter 10
Paris
Earlier that same day
I check the time on my wristwatch.
In a few minutes, I’ll be heading to the airport to meet my sister.
I had to pull off a miniature military operation in less than twenty-four hours to make sure she and Adeela would be safe here in Paris.
Adeela.
Fuck, what the hell was I thinking agreeing to this?
Bringing her here is like having temptation shoved in my face.
Ever since the night she danced for me in Rheadur—yes, I know the performance was meant for my father, but I have no doubt her attention belonged to me—I’ve avoided spending more time than absolutely necessary in my homeland.
Whenever I had to visit my father and Jazmina, I’d usually arrive after sunset and leave before dawn—all that effort just to avoid running into her.
For about a week, I managed to keep the image of that seductive girl out of my mind.
Then I gave in and asked Amin to find out everything he could about her.
I already knew she was one of Counselor Arif’s many daughters, and not the favorite one.
Amin discovered that the divorce between her American mother, Daisy, and Arif had been a scandal back then, so much so that it forced my father to have a private talk with his advisor.
Even though I’ll admit that Rheadur’s customs need serious reform regarding women’s rights, especially after the regression under Naim’s rule, it’s still unusual to see a man treat his wife with disrespect.
Arif not only divorced Daisy but practically threw her out of the house, which in our society is considered a sign of a man’s failure to control his own family.
It’s rare, especially when there are children involved.
Of course, a ruler can’t know what truly happens behind closed doors, but at least when my father was sheikh, as far as I know, if there was abuse, a wife could file a formal complaint.
Where did her mother go after leaving Rheadur? Most likely back to the United States.
Adeela’s never left the country, which means she hasn’t seen her mother since.
Nothing in what I found suggests that Daisy ever did anything wrong. From what I could tell, she’d adapted surprisingly well to our culture.
So what could have ended the marriage? A betrayal, maybe?
I can’t imagine what it must have been like for a child to watch her mother being banished from home. It must have been devastating, especially for a seven-year-old girl, which is how old she was at the time.
And that, everything about her family, is all I know about Adeela.
The lack of information drove me crazy. I’m not used to limits of any kind.
I could have asked Jazmina, sure, but that would’ve opened up a thousand questions and probably fantasies in my sister’s head that I have no intention of fueling.
So why, even knowing how bad an idea it is to keep Adeela in my mind, locked away in a room I rarely allow myself to enter, can’t I stop thinking about her?
The beautiful girl is like a silent invader, making my blood boil even though I know she’s completely off-limits.
I’m only interested in casual affairs. And even if one day, if I’m forced to take the throne, I’ll have to marry, I plan to do it by contract. No emotions, no love. Just duty.
Children are out of the question.
I’ll leave that to one of my sisters—preferably Jazmina, once she marries—and hope her child becomes my successor.
I have no desire to be tied to anyone forever.
And if I ever do it, it’ll be for obligation, not love.
The marriage will be like all my other relationships—purely physical satisfaction.
I don’t ever want to depend on someone emotionally the way my parents did, and then, if she dies or leaves me, feel like half a man for the rest of my life.
I wait in the car, parked on the private runway, watching my jet make its final maneuvers before stopping.
No matter how hard I try to keep my body under control, it reacts instinctively to the thought of seeing the woman I’ve been—let’s be honest—running from for over a year.
The plane door opens, and my sister appears, radiant and full of life, as always.
She’s wearing a yellow floral dress that falls just below her knees, with sleeves to the elbows.
The Western-style outfit must’ve been stored away for some time, since Naim banned clothing that showed women’s legs and arms. Before that, the only guideline was that dresses and skirts shouldn’t be above the knee.
I hesitate to get out of the car, because I know that in a few seconds, Adeela will step out too.
And, as if fate is mocking me, my phone rings. The last person I want to talk to right now refuses to give up.
Ingrid, the German model I’d been seeing last week, the one I cut off yesterday.
Like all my relationships, it wasn’t serious. But she didn’t take it well when I sent, through Amin, a diamond bracelet and a short note ending things.
My assistant told me that after opening the box and reading the note, she slammed the door in his face, though she kept the bracelet.
“This isn’t a good time to talk,” I tell her flatly, stepping out of the car. I’m trying to be civil, though there’s really nothing left to say, today or ever again. But reminding her of that would make me sound like an asshole.
“It can’t end like this!”
I press the phone harder to my ear. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Kaled . . . we were happy! What about the trip to Monte Carlo you promised me?”
Ah, there it is. The reason for her tantrum.
Though I never actually promised her anything, I only mentioned that I might go, I try to placate her. “You can still go. My treat. Send the expense receipts to my office, but don’t call me again.”
“Unlimited expenses?”
I rarely regret my decisions, whether with women or business, but right now, I wish I’d never gotten involved with her.
When I date, I make things clear from the start—I’m only looking for pleasure, nothing serious.
And as long as the ending is drama-free, I always part ways with a gift to make the goodbye easier.
But I’ve never considered that a payment.
That would be demeaning to them and to me.
I’ve never needed to buy a woman, and I never will.
Even though I’m always generous with my lovers, Ingrid’s attitude pisses me off.
I pace back and forth, my back to the plane, trying to shake off the stress of a conversation that should’ve been long over.
“Unlimited,” I finally say. “Now listen carefully, Ingrid: don’t ever contact me again. When I said it was over, I meant it.”
I hear her angry sigh before hanging up.
Relief doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel after ending that once and for all.
But when I turn around toward the plane, I freeze.
My sister and Adeela are standing right behind me.
Adeela’s head is bowed, something that, inexplicably, irritates me. It reminds me of our first meeting, when she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
Then I glance at Jazmina, and from the hard look on her face, I know they heard everything I just said.