The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(15)

Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “That’s fine.”

I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until I breathed out all at once, my whole body sinking into the leather seat. I shot her an appreciative smile.

“That was way easier than I expected.”

She shrugged and smiled herself. “I was worried it might be something more invasive.”

Now, she had me intrigued. I raised a brow. “Such as?”

Her face was now beet red.

“Such as…I don’t know, those medieval ceremony rituals, where you have to consecrate the marriage in the same room as them or somehow get a doctor to prove your virginity or something.”

I shook my head. “No, thank God. We do have this antiquated law, but we aren’t totally barbaric.”

Now, it was her turn to raise her brow at me. “Not totally?”

I grinned. “Well, you know, we still participate in the occasional witch hunt.” As her eyes widened in horror, I was quick to pipe in, “Joking, joking!”

Despite her still-disgusted face, Lacie managed a laugh. “I’ll have to be careful with you.”

Automatically, I replied, “And I with you.”

We shared another extended eye lock, then turned to face the window once more.

I’d said the words unthinkingly, but now that I thought of it, they were more truthful than they should have been—but for different reasons.





Chapter Twelve





Lacie




When Rashid gently shook me and murmured in my ear, “Nearly there, now,” I almost jumped out of my seat.

At his chuckling, I stretched my arms high in the air. “I was sleeping?”

He nodded, smiling. “You just had your eyes closed for about ten hours, so my best guess is maybe.”

I gave him a light tap on the shoulder, which only served to further broaden his smile.

“I also wanted to warn you, though. About what to expect when we get off the plane.”

Just then, the seatbelt light came on and the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Hello again, just a heads-up that we’re ten minutes away from touching down, so it’s going to get a little bumpy. Make sure to strap yourselves in and enjoy the rest of the ride.”

I did so, at the same time as dryly reflecting that the second part of his recommendation, that of me enjoying the ride, was unlikely. Just then, turbulence picked up.

Squeezing my hand, Rashid continued. “There will probably be paparazzi and camera crews. I let my parents know as soon as you told me you’d come, and they let everyone else know, apparently. This is a big deal for my country. I just wanted to let you know so that you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.”

I could only manage a queasy smile. The plane dipped, my stomach flip-flopped, and I was unsure if it was due to the turbulence or what was set to happen once we landed.

I hated being the center of attention; as a child I had flat-out refused to perform for speeches and plays in school—a stage fright that no amount of punishment or coercion could dissuade me from. And now, I was going to be striding off a plane in front of cameras and paparazzi, broadcasting my arrival to thousands—possibly hundreds of thousands—of people. It was a nightmare come true.

The plane landed all too soon. As soon as the wheels touched the ground, the uneasiness in my stomach increased. The pilot was saying something else and Rashid was squeezing my hand encouragingly, but all I could notice was that the air in the plane had suddenly become thick; I was nearly hyperventilating.

“You okay?” Rashid asked as the plane rolled to a halt.

I nodded. By the time I’d gotten up on my shaky legs, however, and taken his arm, there was no more lying. No, when I reached the door and watched it open to reveal an actual army of blinding lights and deafening shouts, I was paralyzed. Everything was too loud and too bright, and I was frozen. I was trapped. And yet, in the blaring, searing swirl, I heard him.

“Lacie. Lacie.” I felt him, his warm hand squeezing mine. “You ready?”

I looked at Rashid, his kind, confident face, and I nodded. And, as I walked down the steps, I reflected that this time it hadn’t been a lie. No, the cameras were still snapping pictures every millisecond, the paparazzi were still howling over each other like hungry dogs…and yet, it was okay—all of it.

I was okay. Not because I was different or because this was any less overwhelming than before. No, all my calm was concentrated in the clasped hand by my side—the hand of the understanding, powerful man who knew what he was doing, the hand of the man who had my back, who would support me through this. The hand of my possible husband-to-be.

The sea of paparazzi parted as we made our way through the crowd, and, when one, clear shout reached us—“Rashid, how are you feeling right now?”—Rashid grinned and replied, “Happy.”

And then, we were stepping into a dark-windowed limo, Rashid closed the door, and it was over.

“Are you all right?” Rashid was looking at me with concern, his easy bravado gone.

I found my breath and squeezed his hand. “Yes, yes I am.”

Rashid’s worried gaze didn’t let up at my affirmation. “You looked like a deer in headlights back there.”

“I was,” I laughed. “That was pretty overwhelming. I’ll explain another time.”