The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(102)

“Well…kind of, yeah.”

She smacked my hand lightly, then drew me into a hug.

“Silly girl. Oh, my silly, generous sop of a daughter. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know, I just couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to support you properly.”

“Stop worrying about me so much. I’ll always be able to manage.”

She tightened the hug, and we stayed there for a few minutes. I was breathing freely for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Finally, finally, I had told someone. Thank goodness.

Releasing me, Mom gave me a soft pat on the hand.

“Well, you know what this means, then.”

“Huh?”

Now, she was smiling at me.

“You know why you came here.”

“No, I…”

“Yes, you do.”

And suddenly, I did.

“I have to tell them.”

She nodded.

“I have to tell Ra’id as soon as I can. That it’s over. That he can fire me if he wants to, but I can’t spy on my boss—and certainly not the man that I love—for a second longer.”

Mom squeezed my hand.

“That’s my girl.”



*

The actual telling part, however, did not go as smoothly as planned.

“No,” Ra’id said flatly.

I glared at the image of him on my phone’s screen.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

I had rehearsed what I was going to say, and Ra’id’s possible reactions, anticipating many different scenarios. None, however, involved the simple word ‘no’. No explanation, no compromise, just ‘no’—plain and simple.

“Your job will be done soon enough; we have a trip planned soon, in a few weeks. You can finish then.”

“But I told you, I can’t keep doing this. The guilt is too much for me.”

“And I heard you. But you will have to continue working for us for the time being.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, then.”

Ra’id’s face darkened.

“A week, then. One week more—that’s all we’ll ask of you. Then you can continue your job as a PA without having to report to us.”

I exhaled, all the fight I’d built up over the last few hours sliding out of me easily.

“Okay.”

“Is everything all right?”

At Ra’id’s question, I glanced up to see that the man actually looked as concerned as he had sounded. Once again, the truth was bubbling up in me, threatening to spill out. So, instead of lying, I cited a different truth.

“Oh, yes. It’s just this party I’ve been planning for Ra’id’s 30th birthday next weekend…it’s been a lot more work than I bargained for. Caterers, guests, decorations—it seems every day I’m fielding calls from someone who’s confused or has messed up.”

Ra’id nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. And thank you for all you’ve done for our son. When we do finally explain the situation to him, whenever it is, he will come to thank you, too, to see that you also had his best interests at heart.”

To my half-hearted nod, Ra’id waved.

“Goodbye, Lucy.”

Even after the video call was over, I glared miserably at my phone’s screen. If Ra’id knew the truth, something told me he wouldn’t have said that. If he had any idea of the truth at all, he would know that thanking me was the last thing Khabib would do.





Chapter Seventeen





Khabib




The days leading up to my birthday were perfect. Lucy was back to normal, my little angel, organizing everything and telling me nothing. Every time I glanced over into her office, she was flitting about, calling someone while she was on hold with someone else, ordering something online that I couldn’t see.

Mahir was as tense as ever, which was no surprise, though he did seem to be breathing down my neck a bit less than usual. Even my parents seemed to have calmed down. In our weekly video chat, instead of berating me about my latest tabloid appearance, they only wished me a happy birthday. They made some sly remark that I’d get my present on the day of, and that they knew I’d enjoy it, but I had no idea what they were talking about.

Even Donna was screwing up less, only double-booking me once in the week (a definite improvement from her usual four simultaneous appointments every two days). Meanwhile, sales for the Samara Reseda were through the roof, and only going higher. Basically, things couldn’t get any better.

On the day of my birthday, before the party, Lucy took me on a picnic. After Oscar and Bruno had made their tentative second meeting—with suspicious sniffs and sharp barks, then laying together in the corner of the tartan picnic blanket—we set to eating.

“Hellooo? Khabib? I’m taking the food out, now.”

Lucy waved a hand in front of my face to get my attention. I had been distracted by her dress, zoning out while admiring her gorgeous figure. The blue flowers on the flowing white fabric perfectly suited her sweetly smiling face.

“Okay, this should get your attention.”

Lucy was holding a glistening piece of vanilla and cherry cake.