The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(17)

Then, Jamal let slip that our wedding was in ten days. I shot Rashid a surprised look, but he only nodded in acknowledgement.

“Yes, the day seems to have crept up on me, too.”

I said nothing and tried not to let it show in my face how disappointed I was—and afraid. I guess I’d figured I’d have more time with Rashid—ten days was only a little over a week. My reverie, however, was broken by Rashid’s mother.

“That dress, it’s beautiful and…familiar. Where did you get it?”

“Thank you. Rashid got it for me.”

At this, her face froze, while her gaze shot to Rashid.

“Where did you find it?”

Rashid, for his part, only shrugged and waved his hand.

“Oh, I found it hanging it one of the rooms. One of the old, unused closets. I figured it was one of your old things. You don’t mind, do you?”

Salma’s face had grown white, like she’d seen a ghost. “No, no… I…of course not.”

Rashid noticed the change in his mother’s face, too.

“Mother? I’m sorry, should I have asked? Mother… Oh…”

Now, his face was miserable with understanding, too. He closed his eyes for a moment and, when he opened them, they were directed to her, almost pleading.

“It didn’t belong to…”

Both his mother and father looked ready to sink into the table, while Rashid jerked upright.

Rising, he addressed his parents regretfully. “I’m so sorry. Mother, Father, I…We will be retiring now.”

Not knowing what else to do, I got up from the table as well. They could only manage half-hearted nods as we strode away.

As we made our way up the winding marble staircase, Rashid avoided my gaze. Once we’d reached the top, speaking in a bleak, monotone voice, he said, “I’ll bid you good night, now, Lacie. If you need anything, just let one of the attendants know. There’s a little bell in your room if you need to talk to them.”

He left without a second glance at me. Back in my room, I gave myself a more involved tour of the place. The dark, wooden furniture was gorgeous, and everything perfectly matched. The bed was made of wrought iron which had been hammered into complex, swirling patterns, and even the phone on the dresser was a coordinated matte black.

The phone. I stared at it for a minute before picking it up and dialing the U.S. area code, followed by my parents’ phone number. My dad picked up on the third ring.

“Lacie?”

It was then that I remembered the time difference.

“Sorry, Dad, what time is it there?”

“Almost noon, honey. Glad we didn’t miss you during lunch.”

“Oh, sorry. Do you want me to call back later so you guys can eat?”

“No.” His voice became stronger-sounding and more cheerful. “No, not at all. Please, Lacie, your mother and I want to hear about your trip.”

At his trusting, enthusiastic voice, I sighed. No, I couldn’t keep this from them a minute longer. I needed to tell someone.

“Dad, what if I were to tell you that I met an Arabian king-in-waiting and that he had proposed to me?”

Dad laughed. “C’mon, Lacie, tell us where you really went. We’re dying to know.”

“Dad, I’m not joking.”

Through the phone, I heard a sharp intake of breath, then Dad’s voice again, sounding tired.

“I’m putting your mother on the phone.”

A second later, I heard my mom’s strained voice.

“Hi honey, how are things?”

“They’re good.”

“What’s this about a prince and a proposal?”

I laughed.

“Okay, so it’s a bit crazy, and I probably shouldn’t have said it like that. But there’s this man I met, Rashid, at the cellphone store. Turns out he’s a Sheikh, next in line to the throne in this tiny Middle Eastern country, Zayed-Kharan. He needs a…bride within two weeks; otherwise, he can’t become leader. He offered me a huge amount of money—a million dollars—if I agreed, so I said yes.”

Silence.

“Well, I said probably. I have ten days until the ceremony to decide.”

More silence.

“He’s been really generous and understanding so far, and hasn’t pushed me into anything. He flew me here in his private jet and has me staying in his palace.”

An even longer, more awkward silence.

“Mom, I know it’s a lot to take in at once, and it sounds kind of crazy, but it’s perfect, don’t you see? With this money, I can take care of you, Dad, all of us. I won’t have to live in that horrible dump and you can get the care you need, and—”

I was cut short by her half-strangled sob.

“Mom? Mom, what is it?”

Her voice was tear-filled and heartbreaking.

“I…your father and I…we never thought that it would come to this. That you would have given up not only your career for us, but now your heart, too.”

“Mom, it’s not like that. I mean, I don’t know Rashid really well, but we do get along great, and—”

“No, no. I can’t agree with this. This is too much. After all this disease has made you give up for me, for us—I can’t ask you to do this.”