Chapter 35
At the end of that same day
I arrive at the hospital not knowing what to expect.
Until now, I’ve never had direct contact with my fiancée’s mother, and from everything I know, she has a terrible impression of the men of Rheadur.
Adeela spent the entire day with Daisy, and aside from a few texts I sent to check on her, I let them have their time together. There was probably a lot they wanted to say to each other.
But now I’m eager to take my fiancée away with me. To spend a few hours with the beautiful woman in my arms and forget the ugliness I had to stare at while digging into Naim’s past.
I’m not used to missing someone. This need for her, not just sex, isn’t normal for me.
I even wondered if it was simply the fact that Adeela is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever been with—and she is, without a doubt.
No, I’m not imagining it. Wherever we go, men crane their necks to look at her, and she doesn’t even notice.
But even with all that beauty, I quickly discarded the idea that it’s only her looks that drive me crazy. Unlike the other women I’ve had, she seduces me without trying.
I’m addicted to touching her: her hair, her soft skin . . . kissing her receptive mouth.
On the flight to New York, I kept my distance so I wouldn’t spend the entire trip indulging in her body. I’m very sexual, and I can’t pretend this abstinence has been easy; on the contrary, the wait leaves me even more keyed up, dying for her.
And now, after a hellish day, the prospect of having her to myself, selfish as it may be, sounds like paradise.
In that frame of mind, swinging between possessiveness and need, I head down the corridor faster and faster, my entourage of bodyguards on my heels.
I sense people staring, but I don’t have time to notice them. Something more urgent is calling me: the need to see my woman.
And then, as I turn into the hallway leading to her mother’s room, I’m hit by a sight that makes me see red.
I’m not usually territorial about women, mostly because I’ve never stayed with anyone long enough to think I had any right over her, but now, as I approach my fiancée and see her talking to—and smiling at—a man who looks like a doctor, my vision blurs with rage, and an emotion I’ve never felt before—jealousy—turns bitter in my mouth.
And it’s far from pleasant because it shows me how much I already consider her mine—which brings another problem in its wake: feelings. Everything I didn’t want for our relationship.
I remember perfectly how devastated my father was when my mother died. The love he felt for her almost dragged him along, as if his purpose on Earth had ended.
He began to only exist, not live.
That kind of dependence on someone is terrifying, and it’s precisely why I never deepened relationships. I don’t like losing control of myself.
But now, watching her from a short distance, gorgeous and desirable, smiling at a stranger, a tightness spreads across my chest.
The prenuptial agreement we already signed, with the clauses she demanded, parades through my mind like a silent threat.
I scan my woman from head to toe. Like a madman, I try to see what my potential rivals see.
The white dress she’s wearing isn’t daring and hits at the knee, but her body is so desirable, she could be wrapped in a trash bag and still look stunning.
Like a jerk, I’m pleased her hair is tucked beneath a beige hijab, even though two days ago I signed a decree once again making it optional for women to cover their heads with scarves.
How damned contradictory can that be?
“Adeela,” I call.
She turns to me, and the shy, polite smile she gave the doctor widens to light up her entire face. The shine in her eyes sends a message straight to my brain.
Mine.
No matter how many men want her, she’s already my woman, and what we’ll do in a few days is simply make it official to the rest of the world.
“Your Highness,” she says, stepping closer, immediately engulfing me in her warmth.
I know protocol says she should call me that in public until we’re married, but it grates on me. It feels like a chasm between us.
I shouldn’t touch her now, but I can’t keep a single neuron aligned where Adeela is concerned, so I take her by the waist and pull her in, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
The doctor’s gaze flicks between us and then to her left hand, and I want to punch him.
I stare him down, using every ounce of restraint not to act like a caveman, but my fiancée’s reaction is a balm that soothes my madness.
“While I was talking to Dr. Charles, I was wondering when you’d get here. Mom refuses to sleep before meeting you.”
Like a vain bastard, I feel triumphant when I spot the disappointment in the doctor’s face.
“Oh, right, I almost forgot to introduce you. Your High—”
“To you, I’m just Kaled,” I correct her. “We’re well past social conventions, my fiancée.”
Her cheeks look ready to burst with how red they are, but I also catch a poorly concealed, satisfied smile. “Kaled, this is Dr. Charles. He heads my mother’s team, and he’ll be one of the physicians overseeing her care in Rheadur.”
Just what I need! To endure the puppy-dog look the doctor is giving my woman.
“Dr. Charles, this is Kaled Faheem, sheikh of Rheadur.”
“And in a few days, your husband,” I add, because there’s no way I’m leaving that gap unfilled. It’s good for this idiot to know Adeela is off the market.
“It’s a pleasure, Sheikh—”
“‘Your Highness’ will do,” I say, and the man turns a shade purplish, pressing his lips into a thin line.
Yeah, I know your type, doctor, and I won’t hesitate to use every weapon at my disposal to put you in your place.
“Of course,” he says begrudgingly. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”
Neither of us makes a move to offer a hand, and I give a curt nod, ending the exchange.
“You said your mother wanted to meet me? I can’t wait to be introduced to my mother-in-law,” I say, placing my hand at the small of Adeela’s back to guide her toward the room.
Half an hour later
Daisy is nothing like I imagined.
Even ill, there’s no denying the vibrant woman behind the frailty, and the first thing that crosses my mind when we’re introduced is how someone like her ever got involved with Arif, a man who has always seemed to hate life.
Seeing her in a hospital bed makes me think of my own mother. Unlike my mother-in-law, my mother’s esophageal cancer was discovered far too late. In a couple of months, she was gone, and no amount of money could keep her fragile life on this earth.
I make a silent promise that the same won’t happen to the woman before me. Daisy will have the best money can buy so Adeela won’t have to feel the pain I did.
My fiancée has stepped out for a moment to speak with the night-shift nurse. Her mother watches me in silence.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Very. Thank you for that.” She pauses before finally continuing: “You respect my daughter.”
It’s a strange assertion. From what I know of mothers, I expected her to ask whether I love Adeela.
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Give me your word you’ll never make her feel inferior, no matter how many other wives you may have.”
“I won’t have another. One is enough for me.”
She stares at me, surprised. “But in your position, that’s almost expected!”
“It’s not a rule, just a right. One I have no intention of exercising.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve found what I was looking for in Adeela. Why would I bring anyone else into our lives?”
Adeela asked to stop by the hospital again after our dinner, and I suggested she stay with her mother, since we should be leaving for Rheadur as soon as tomorrow.
It’s for the best. The idea of being alone together in an apartment is tempting but also too dangerous. Our reaction to each other borders on the uncontrollable, and I don’t want to ruin things by taking her virginity before she’s proclaimed mine before our people.
My father called and said we must return immediately. Through reliable channels, he’s learned that the scandal involving my brother’s past is expected to break at any moment, and when it does, Rheadur must already be under my command.
To my surprise, he sounded calm, his voice steady. The fear I had that his health wouldn’t withstand the blow, thankfully, didn’t come to pass, but that doesn’t mean he can bear the weight of a scandal alone.