Chapter 24
Paris
Two Days Later
“I could’ve done this with Jazmina. You didn’t have to come with me.”
“Yes, you could have,” I say, taking her delicate hand and bringing it to my lips. “But I wanted to.”
To my satisfaction, she shivers, and as if her hand has a mind of its own, it moves, brushing against my beard.
I lean back against the car seat, closing my eyes for a brief moment, allowing her to touch me as much as she pleases.
In my mind, I imagine that soon there will be no fabric between us, that her hands will move freely across my body.
I’ll teach her what pleases me, and I’ll learn what makes her moan and scream in my arms.
It’s a good thing Jazmina is staying with us at my apartment. My sister acts as a natural barrier against my libido, making it easier to control myself around my delicious fiancée.
Because Adeela, beyond being beautiful, is sexy just by breathing.
Every look she gives me feels full of promises.
Each time I touch her, she reacts as if she wants more.
Not once has she discouraged my caresses.
On the contrary, in an innocent kind of seduction, she presses closer, moves her hips, and pulls me toward her, as if she wants me to take her.
“Why did you want to come?” she asks, pulling me out of my fantasies.
I open my eyes and let my thumb trace the curve of her lower lip, aching to bite and taste that soft, full mouth. “Maybe because I enjoy seeing my fiancée trying on clothes.”
I throw it out there to tease her, and as expected, she blushes and turns toward the window.
It’s just the two of us in the car, the partition separating us from the driver rolled up. At the last minute, my sister decided she’d rather go for a massage at a spa than shopping. I suspect Jazmina wanted to give us some privacy.
Normally, I wouldn’t have cared if she’d come along, since what we’re doing today isn’t exactly my idea of fun, but now that we’re on our way, I realize I’m exactly where I want to be.
I want to spoil Adeela, give her small pleasures. Teach her how to ask for what she wants without shame. Soon enough, my fortune will also be hers.
I’ve noticed that although she wears quality clothes, none of them truly flatter her beauty. I suspect it’s been like that since birth, another way Arif used to control her.
But the Adeela beside me now isn’t the same one who arrived in Paris. She’s opening up, like a soft pastel landscape slowly transforming into vibrant color.
“I don’t believe men actually enjoy shopping,” she says, teasingly.
I can’t deny it. “I wanted to make sure you get everything you like. There’s no limit to what you desire.”
I still haven’t given her the jewelry I bought. I sensed it would be too much all at once. I’ve also commissioned exclusive sets from one of the most renowned jewelers in the world. As my wife, she’ll attend countless events, and I won’t have her feeling lesser than anyone else.
High society can be cruel, even more so in Europe than at home.
“I don’t need that much. Jazmina said we’d do a full trousseau. Isn’t that too much?”
“You’ll be my wife, and as you’ll quickly realize, I’m required to attend many functions. I want you by my side, and I want you to feel comfortable in what you wear.” I tense as I say it. Diplomacy has never been my strength, but I don’t want to offend her.
To my surprise, she takes the initiative and clasps my hand.
“You’ll have to guide me at first. It’s not natural for me to attend lavish parties.
Even when I went to your family’s events at the palace, I felt comfortable because it was our people.
I don’t know how your European friends will receive me. ”
“There aren’t that many of them. The ones who matter, the ones truly close to me, you’ll meet soon. They’re friends from my school years in Switzerland. We’ve stayed close ever since.”
“Tell me about them. All the same age?”
“No. But around mine—thirty-five, give or take. We met under unusual circumstances. We were teenagers, not exactly eager to let people in, and we formed a closed group. Over time, we never really let anyone else in, almost like a silent agreement.”
She turns in her seat to look at me. “How mysterious.”
I grin, shaking my head, loving her subtle wit. “Not even close. We just liked to enjoy life to the fullest. The only suspense we ever had as adults was deciding where in the world the next party would be.”
“Must be nice, growing up with so many friends. I remember your father saying you didn’t come home often. You still don’t, do you? I barely saw you.”
“You were paying attention to when I came and went from Rheadur?” I tease, more out of mischief than pride.
“I always thought you were very mysterious . . . and intimidating. I used to watch you from a distance.”
Her honest answer disarms and humbles me.
Adeela doesn’t play games.
“My mother died when I was a teenager,” I admit, returning her honesty. “I missed her terribly. Rheadur reminded me too much of her.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, squeezing my hand.
“It’s been a long time, and still, sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
She nods slowly. “Do you get along with your father’s other wives?”
“No,” I answer curtly, unwilling to get into how much I despise Eiza, Naim’s mother.
“And you?” I redirect. I hate dwelling on the past, especially when it involves my mother.
Remembering those months after her death, when my father was just a shadow of himself, a man already half gone, still twists something inside me.
“They hated my mother for being American,” she says, “and I guess, by extension, they learned to hate me too. My father . . . He never stopped them.”
“Stopped them?”
She shrugs, trying to make it sound trivial, but I can see how much it still hurts.
I hadn’t fully understood what Adeela had endured until I spoke with Arif over the video call. He doesn’t love his daughter. There’s a bitterness in his tone whenever he mentions her.
“Jealousy and rivalry between stepmothers and daughters are common, I suppose,” she continues. “But what happened went beyond that. They could barely stand to look at me. Except for Faiza—she was kind to me. The only reason my life wasn’t worse was because Jazmina took me under her wing.”
That confirms what I already suspected: her father didn’t just want to marry her off; he wanted to punish her.
The night I spoke with Arif, I took Adeela to dinner and told her he already knew about our engagement and that her mother would live in Rheadur. She seemed surprised he’d agreed, but she didn’t question it.
What I didn’t tell her was that I left him no choice.
“Kaled, we’re not sure when we’ll go to the U.S., right?”
“No. I’m doing everything I can to speed up the process.”
“I’d like to call my mother . . . if that’s possible. I mean, only if she’s well enough.”
Her tone carries apology, as though she has no right to ask. And that makes me hate everyone who broke her spirit this way.
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes.”
Hours later
“You’re not coming into the fitting room with me.”
I stand in the doorway, watching her. She looks nervous but also excited, even as she takes a step back.
I dismissed the saleswoman after my fiancée tried on and chose a dozen dresses for different occasions, but there is one left, and she can’t reach the zipper on her back.
“You need help, and I’m here. So why not?”
“Because it’s not proper,” she says, cheeks flushed.
I’ve spent the past three hours behaving like a gentleman, suffering through an ache that refuses to subside while imagining my future wife naked, or in the sheerest lingerie, behind that dark green velvet curtain.
The fitting room is large enough to hold six people, with plush chairs scattered around.
“Turn around, Adeela. It’s just a zipper. What could possibly be wrong with helping you get dressed?”
“You made it sound like something far more than that, Prince,” she says with a hint of sass, and that drives me insane.
I pull the curtain closed behind us and step closer. “If it’s nothing, then be a good girl and turn around.”
She hesitates, then gathers her long hair into a loose bun, holding it up with one hand, and turns her back to me.
The dress is a pale color, modest in front, but from behind, it clings to her like a second skin, sculpting every curve.
I don’t even bother to hide that I’m staring. The rounded shape of her hips, the narrow waist, the smooth expanse of her back . . .
When I finally let my fingers touch her skin, she’s burning. I meet her eyes in the mirror. She’s watching me, one hand still holding up her hair, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck.
Without looking away, I reach for the zipper . . . but I don’t pull it up.
She’s trembling, and knowing that my nearness alone makes her shake only fuels my hunger. I want to strip away the layers, not just of fabric but of the shy girl hiding the passionate woman beneath.
My thumb grazes her skin. Her body arches. Her lips part.
I slide one hand around her waist, pulling her back against me, while the other tilts her chin toward the mirror.
“Look at us,” I murmur, and she obeys. “I’m going to have a mirror three times this size installed in our bedroom. In every bedroom we ever own. When you’re mine, I’ll undress you in front of it, taste you with my tongue and my fingers.”
She gasps, a pulse beating visibly in her neck.
“I’ll make you come like that, watching while I worship every inch of you. And only when your sweetness fills my mouth will I take you from behind, so you can see how perfect we are together and never forget what it feels like to have me inside you.”
Her hand falls, releasing her hair. She turns in my arms, eyes wide with passion.
I want to lift her, feel her thighs around my waist, raise her dress and taste the heat I know is waiting for me.
I twist a handful of her hair, pulling her mouth to mine, sucking on her lips as sweet as the dates of Rheadur, even knowing I should stop.
But before I lose myself completely in her warmth, a discreet cough sounds outside the curtain.
I leave a few soft kisses and step back, forcing myself to remember where we are.
When she opens her eyes, she looks dazed, lost, as if she can’t quite process what just happened.
“The saleswoman’s outside,” I warn.
A heartbeat later, she shoves at my chest, her breathing fast and uneven. “Get out. You shouldn’t have come in here in the first place,” she says.
I take a step back. “I don’t regret a thing.”