The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(97)

When I gingerly gave her a pat on the back, she only shook her head again.

“I mean it, Khabib. Promise me. Promise me you’ll do as you’ve said.”

Under her insistent gaze, I nodded wordlessly. Nodding herself, she took a deep breath before releasing the tension in her body, sinking back into me.

For my part, however, I couldn’t relax. No, I stared into the lit-up night so hard I started to get a headache. Lucy’s words had stung, while her reaction was perplexing at best.

Why should I have to wait, when we’d waited so long already? Was Lucy still unsure of me? Was there something she wasn’t telling me? What was going on?





Chapter Fourteen





Lucy




I was walking to my car when it happened. Ironically, I was in the middle of reflecting on the past few weeks, and how nice they had been. How wonderful Khabib was, how lucky I was. And then I put my hand on the door handle, and she put her hand on my back.

“Lucy Morrison?”

I turned around to see a pretty brunette, a bit taller than me and more than a bit intimidating with her bugged-out blue eyes.

I nodded and her face grew even more frenzied.

“I know you’re with him, okay? Khabib. So don’t try to deny it. I’m not here to pick a fight with you— I’m here to warn you.”

As I gaped at her, she continued.

“I just don’t want anyone else to go through what I did. Because Khabib’s a real charmer—at first. Give him a few weeks, however, and he shows his true colors.”

“I’m not sure what you…”

But it was as if the woman hadn’t heard me.

“Khabib and I, we dated for a few months. At the beginning, it was all glitz and glamour. You know, fancy restaurants, expensive gifts, all the right words. He has a way of making you feel like you and he share a special connection, like you’re the only woman in the world.”

She closed her eyes, paused, then opened them.

“I fell for him hard, but a month later I found out that I was only one of many. I found out that he’d been doing the same thing—dinners, gifts, nights back at his place—with several other girls. When I confronted him about it, he at first denied it, then laughed it off. Finally, he called me crazy and wouldn’t have anything to do with me at all.”

While she spoke, the woman’s eyes bulged more and more, until they looked like they were going to pop out of her head entirely. When she was finished, she blinked once, then turned away.

“I just wanted you to know. I know I sure would have appreciated a warning.”

Rooted to the spot, I watched her walk off. It was only in my car, halfway home, that the questions occurred to me: How had she known who I was, or that I was dating Khabib? Was what she had said true, or was she just as off-the-handle as she had looked? Was I in danger of being hurt by Khabib, too?

Back at home, I fed Oscar, then sat in the dark, staring at a blank TV screen. Was that all this was to Khabib, all I was to him—another conquest?

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was his back turning the last time. Dad. The outline of his back diminishing as he walked away, forever. Mom’s tears had dried, but not really. They were still there now in the lines on her face, in the tired way she looked at me sometimes. She’d only told me the truth a few months ago, under the influence of the drugs the hospital had given her before she’d transitioned into the wheelchair. Dad had cheated and then, when found out, left. He had never tried to contact either of us since. No, he was, as my mother had termed him, a “heartless charmer”—a fact which she had found out far too late.

And me, was I destined for the same path?

I checked my phone. The Sheikh had sent a message: What are you up to? I miss you already.

And yet, who else had he sent that message to—how many other women? On the nights I hadn’t seen him, was he still gallivanting around with L.A. starlets, taking them on boat and helicopter rides, too? Had this always been temporary for Khabib, a passing amusement? Had I been kidding myself about our “special connection” this entire time?

I didn’t answer Khabib. I turned my phone off. I didn’t go to the gym; I didn’t leave my house. I sulked in bed, going through our conversations, looks, smiles. And yet, every one cycled back to my former impression— that Khabib really cared about me. Otherwise, why would he have asked me to be his girlfriend? And yet, the woman’s insistency and that look in her eyes…who knew what Khabib had said to her, too?

When I finally did turn off the light in my room, I closed my eyes with one final resolution. Tomorrow, even if I still had no idea what I was going to do or who to believe, one thing was certain: I needed time to clear my head.





Chapter Fifteen





Khabib




The next day, Lucy took a while to respond to my text. The whole day, in fact. Finally, I called her, but was sent straight to voicemail. I left one message: “Hey Lucy, did you forget your phone at home? Just wondered if you wanted to go to a movie tonight.” Nothing.

So, I went for a run with Bruno, and went to the gym. When I got back, there was still nothing. Celeste had messaged me half a dozen times, but I ignored her and went to bed. Maybe Lucy’s phone had died; it must’ve been a fluke. Tomorrow, she’d answer, surely.