Aimee was enchanted with Qadir’s mother. The Queen of Jawahir reminded her of her adopted mom, Yolanda. She wasn’t as eccentric, but her love for her sons, the people around her, and her view of the world despite the darkness in it shined through.
Ihab’s apparent acceptance of Aimee was also difficult to resist. She appeared fascinated by Aimee’s unconventional upbringing and appreciative that Aimee was a part of Qadir’s life. Aimee smiled when Ihab linked arms with her as they walked along the path in the central garden.
“You are a remarkable woman, Aimee,” Ihab was saying.
Aimee blushed. “Not really. All I need is love, food, and…”
Ihab studied her face and Aimee’s blush deepened. She gave the older woman a crooked smile and bit her bottom lip. Ihab smiled back at her.
“I can understand why my son loves you,” she said.
Aimee smiled. “I’m pretty crazy about him too,” she confessed before her smile faded.
“What is it?” Ihab asked.
Aimee caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up. Qadir and Tarek were having coffee on a large veranda. Memories of their night together made her body tingle. She turned her troubled gaze to Ihab.
“A… friend told me before I came that Qadir was to be married. How much trouble will he be in if—if he doesn’t, you know, marry the woman chosen for him?”
Ihab squeezed her fingers. “Melik can be stubborn, but he is not blind. Both of us wish our sons to be happy. Qadir and Melik will work it out,” she promised.
Aimee remained silent and looked back up at the veranda. Her eyes locked with Qadir’s, and she smiled. Everything would be alright.
The next couple of weeks seemed to fly by. Qadir was busy. Every time she had asked if everything was alright, he kissed her and told her not to worry. She spent her days roaming the palace grounds. She had even gone to town with Abdal and met with Selima for lunch.
This morning, she was meeting Selima for coffee at a cute café close to the RIS building. She sat up, stretching her arms above her head and wiggling her fingers. A sexy groan was the only warning she got before strong arms wrapped around her and pushed her back down onto the pillows. She laughed and wrapped her arms around Qadir’s neck, squealing when he nipped her neck.
“I don’t want to explain to Selima—much less to your mom—how I got a hickey on my neck,” she giggled.
“You are a dangerous woman who loves to torture me,” he muttered.
She flipped their position and kissed his neck, enjoying the feel of her lips against his skin. “Yes, you are so deprived,” she teased. “Maybe I should give you a hickey, instead. Make it all better.”
Qadir gently flipped their position again so he was on top. “When and where are you seeing Selima?” he asked.
She sighed and played with his hair. It was tempting to release it from his hair tie. The problem was that if she did, not only would he be late, but so would she.
“Soon. We’re going to Sin Kafih.”
“Make sure that you have the guards with you. No more slipping out through the servant’s entrance to meet up with Selima. I know you are used to looking after yourself, but you aren’t alone anymore,” he warned.
“Who ratted on me?” she giggled.
“Half the staff. They worry about you,” he said, kissing her hard on the lips. “Be safe and text me when you get back.”
She reluctantly loosened her hold on him, and he slipped out of her arms. He sighed when his cell phone vibrated. She sat up, not making it any easier for him. His hot gaze raked over her naked body, and she blew him a kiss. The look he gave her promised retribution later. Aimee’s body immediately reacted. She softly moaned with frustration.
She rose from the bed, showered, and dressed in a silky long-sleeve lavender tunic that ended at mid-thigh with matching pants that felt almost like she wasn’t wearing anything at all. She braided her long hair and left it hanging down her back. Grabbing a white scarf in case she needed it, she picked up the beaded handbag she had found during her last visit to the market and slipped on a pair of shoes.
She grinned at her reflection. Yesterday, she had dressed in her tattered jeans and T-shirt; today, she looked positively presentable. She remembered at the last minute to grab the cell phone that Qadir insisted she carry with her at all times when she wasn’t in their living quarters and slipped it into the pocket of her trousers.
Minutes later, Abdal picked her up in his Camry. They were nestled between two large SUVs with tinted windows.
“Do you think this might be a little conspicuous?” Abdal joked.
“You think?” she laughed before she shook her head and waved a hand toward the black SUV in front of them. “Qadir won’t take any chances after what happened to him and his brother.”
“I can’t stay the whole time. Selima said she can drop you off at the palace,” he said.
“No problem. I can always get a lift with one of the bodyguards. They would probably prefer it,” she said.
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked.
“Shopping. There’s an event at an art gallery tonight. There are supposed to be a lot of important people there, including the Ambassadors to the United States and France. Qadir wants me to attend. I don’t think my normal outfits would quite fit in with what everyone else will be wearing.”
He glanced at her. “I’d have thought Qadir would have ordered you a ton of clothes from Paris, Milan, New York or someplace like that,” he mused.
Aimee smoothed a wrinkle on her sleeve. “He tried. I told him that he would have to wear them because I wouldn’t. Maybe once we are married, but until then, I buy my own stuff—well, except for the cell phone.”
“You are one weird girl. I don’t know anyone who would turn down free clothes. My sisters wouldn’t, that’s for sure.”
Aimee laughed and changed the subject. She asked about Abdal’s family and told him she had talked to Habib yesterday, who mentioned that he had been promoted to the assistant of the producer’s assistant, then asked how Abdal’s work was going.
The day passed quickly. Selima helped her find the perfect dress for the evening in a little shop tucked away down an alley. Aimee playfully teased her bodyguards when they insisted on searching the shop before she entered, but she also let them know she appreciated it.
Happy with her findings, she gathered her bags and slid out of Selima’s car nearly six hours later. She waved to Selima and hurried up the steps. When Qadir’s strong arms wrapped around her, she gasped. He kissed her until she was breathless. She laughed, surprised to see him so playful in front of the staff.
“Somebody missed me,” she murmured.
“My father wishes to meet you,” he said.
The smile on her lips faltered. He reached down and took the bags from her. The servant standing nearby stepped forward and took the bags from him. A flash of panic hit her when she realized that Qadir meant his father wanted to meet her now!
“I—okay,” she said.
Qadir smoothed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her face. “He can appear intimidating, but he isn’t really that bad,” he promised.
Aimee looked up and smiled at him. “I can do intimidating,” she said confidently.
“He can be more traditional,” he explained, guiding her up the stairs to the second level.
“Explain traditional,” she said.
“Our family was originally from the western deserts. Many of us still live in the old way.”
“The old way…. Why am I not getting the warm and fuzzies about the old way?” she asked.
“Sire, the King is ready,” a servant stated.
Qadir cupped her cheeks and smiled at her.
“Just be yourself, and he will love you as much as I do,” he promised.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
Qadir looked surprised, but he leaned close and captured her lips in a tender, passionate kiss. She held onto him for a fraction of a second longer, even when the servant cleared his throat, before sliding her arms down his chest and stepping back. She gave him a crooked smile.
“How do I look?” she asked.
Qadir studied her for several seconds before he replied with a smile, “Like you have been kissed.”
“Good,” she said with a smile of her own. “I’m ready now.”
Qadir raised an eyebrow at the mischievous expression in Aimee’s eyes. He wanted to escort her in—and would have, but his father had insisted that he wanted to meet Aimee alone. The request had surprised him at first, but after their talk this afternoon, he had reluctantly agreed. His father wanted a chance to see for himself—unfettered by his son’s protectiveness—if Aimee would be a good match for him. He had told his father in no uncertain terms that she was—and that he had already asked her to marry him and that she had agreed.
Her fingers slipped through his when his father’s secretary opened the door and announced her. Aimee lifted her chin and did what she did best—she entered the room like a train barreling down the tracks.
That is another thing that I love about her, he thought, staring at his father’s stern face before the door closed behind her.