Chapter 20
Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée Restaurant
That Night
She’s nervous.
I could feel every cell in her body trembling from the moment I stepped outside, with the driver and bodyguards, to wait for her in front of my building.
Despite everything, Adeela came to me without hesitation, something that pleased me deeply.
Knowing our relationship is no longer the same as last night, since I kissed her, possessiveness surged through me when I saw her walking toward me, stunning in a blue dress that looked as if it had been made for her spectacular body.
Her hair is down, and I like that she decided on it herself, without Jazmina’s influence.
Adeela seems to have been heavily repressed by her father, but the passion within her is there, simmering. In the brief time I held her in my arms, I heard her moan and tremble like an instrument being played for the first time, eager to learn how to release its melody.
“I can’t tell which restaurant is more beautiful: tonight’s or yesterday’s,” she says.
“They both have three Michelin stars, and for an entire year they’ll be considered the best in France.”
“Michelin stars?”
“Yes. It started as a kind of travel guide meant to rate France’s best hotels and restaurants, but its yearly publication has become a global reference. For a restaurant owner, being listed and earning three stars is an honor. A recognition of success itself.”
“I don’t know much about fine dining,” she admits, “but I know what I like. Both last night’s meal and tonight’s appetizers are delicious.”
Then, unconsciously, she runs her tongue along her lower lip, and my cock responds instantly.
I force myself to look away, reminding myself I’m not here for sex tonight but for something else entirely.
“That must cause a lot of pressure,” she continues, and I realize I’ve lost track of the conversation, my mind spinning with images of her naked body, my hands exploring her for the first time.
“What must cause pressure?”
“Well,” she says, gesturing toward the plate, “I imagine someone who cooks this well must love what they do. I was wondering if all the pressure to be the best doesn’t stifle their creativity.”
I lean back in my chair, relaxing for the first time since the evening began. I’m fascinated by her reasoning. “Go on.”
“Maybe it’s na?ve of me, but I think being listed in a guide or earning a top rating isn’t as important as seeing people’s genuine reactions.
For example, if it were up to me, I’d come to this restaurant every time I set foot in Paris, because I’m having a love affair with this little bread roll,” she says, smiling.
She doesn’t usually smile like that, with her whole face. Those smiles are rare in Adeela, and I find myself utterly captivated by her beauty.
“Am I talking nonsense?”
“Not at all. I’ve never looked at it that way. I’ve always focused on the practical side.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fame brings customers. People are naturally curious. If someone validates a place through a good review, others will flock to it. More customers bring more fame, which brings more profit.”
“That’s a rather cold way to see things.”
“I’m a businessman, Adeela. I never let emotions interfere.” Whatever direction we take from here, she needs to know in what and with whom she’s getting involved.
She nods, clearly displeased by my answer. “You said we’d talk about my mother . . .” she says, changing the subject.
I know we’ll have to discuss more than restaurant trivia tonight, but for a moment I just want to enjoy being here with her, to get to know her better before proposing what I have in mind, even though, deep down, my decision is already made.
Yes, I’m being contradictory. But the truth is, Adeela’s presence unsettles my normally pragmatic nature.
“As I said, I found her. When we spoke earlier today, I didn’t have all the details yet. Now I do.”
“How is she?”
“Wouldn’t you rather talk about it after dinner?”
“All right. Just tell me how long I have to go see her.”
“Your mother is sick, but not as badly as your father implied. Now, eat your meal, and we’ll talk afterward.”
I catch a spark of defiance in those deep eyes, as if she’s about to challenge me, and what would normally irritate me instead turns me on.
There’s fire running beneath her good-girl surface, and I can’t wait to draw it out.
Minutes later
“Are you sure you don’t want another dessert?”
“I’d love to, but I can’t eat another bite. These tiny portions are deceiving; they somehow turn into a full meal.”
All evening I’ve been studying her, trying to analyze, purely from a logical standpoint, the practicality of a union between us, but it’s been useless.
She is, without a doubt, the most captivating woman I’ve ever met.
Full of contrasts, one moment displaying the same refinement as my sister, handling her utensils and napkin with perfect grace, and the next, blurting out something witty like a young girl who hasn’t yet learned to filter herself.
I’m drunk on her presence, hungry to uncover more of her.
“Do you want to talk about your mother now?” I ask, breaking the spell.
“Yes, please,” she says, her face falling, and I hate myself a little for being the one to bring back her sadness.
“She has breast cancer,” I say bluntly. There’s no good way to soften that kind of news.
“But it’s in the early stages. There’s nothing indicating her life is in danger.
She just wasn’t treated properly. I spoke via video call with the doctor who’ll be overseeing her care from now on.
He said she’ll need several tests, but there’s hope for a full recovery. ”
Her hand, resting on the table, tightens, and she stares at her plate. “How long has my mother been sick?”
“She found out a few months ago but couldn’t afford treatment.
I’m sorry to tell you, but Daisy was living in absolute poverty.
Apparently, she worked cleaning houses before she got sick.
When she discovered the tumor, she had to rely on government assistance, which, as you know, is far from enough in cases like this. ”
I hesitate, unsure whether to tell her the rest. Maybe it’s better to deal one blow at a time. But she decides for me with her next question.
“But I don’t understand. When she married my father, my mother was a famous model. Faiza met her when she arrived in Rheadur and said Mom showed her several magazines where she’d been on the cover.”
“My assistant only managed a preliminary investigation, but from what we’ve gathered, she lived off her savings from before the marriage for many years until nothing was left.”
“Why didn’t she start modeling again? She was still young and beautiful when she left.”
“Your father.”
“What?”
“He made sure no one would hire her. Not just as a model—for any job she tried to get. It seems he kept watching her from afar, controlling her life and preventing her from rebuilding it.”
“How could he? It wasn’t enough to take me from her—he had to destroy her too?”
I have no answer to that. Or rather, I do, but I doubt she’d want to hear what I really think of Arif.
“Forgive me. I’m being ungrateful, Kaled, too focused on my father’s cruelty and forgetting your kindness in helping her. But I have to ask . . . why are you being so good to me and my mother?”
“Have you finished eating?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d like us to leave. We still have much to discuss. This night isn’t over.”
Top of the Arc de Triomphe
An hour later
“Are you cold?”
“No. I’m too moved to feel cold,” she says.
“The view is breathtaking. We thought about going up the Eiffel Tower to see the city from there. Jazmina said she’s been to Paris many times but never to its most famous landmark.
But the bodyguards didn’t like the idea.
They said it would be impossible to keep us safe among all those tourists. ”
“They’re right.”
I thought I’d be calm. I convinced myself all day that this would be a business discussion. But as I watch her delicate profile, so heartbreakingly beautiful, I find myself wondering, for the first time, if there’s any real chance she’ll accept my proposal.
Since she arrived, Adeela has been opening herself up to life, as if all the repression her father forced on her is slowly melting away, her true colors finally emerging.
And she’s beautiful. Not just in the physical sense. She’s the whole package.
Every minute we spend together, I’m more drawn to her. The desire to possess her has become a need that has nothing to do with my position or my future as Rheadur’s ruler.
“I have a proposal for you,” I begin, forcing myself to focus on the practical aspects of the situation.
“A proposal?”
“Yes. I want you to become my wife.”