A Bride For The Sheikh (2 page)

“Welcome to Bezira!” James Smith greeted his daughter, Angelina, at the airport. He took her suitcase and led her to where his car was parked outside.

“Is it always this hot?” Angelina asked. She had only walked a few steps and already she was feeling the intensity of the desert sun.

“It’s a bit cooler in the winter, but don’t worry, absolutely everything is air conditioned.” They reached the car and James put his daughter’s luggage in the back.

“What are you doing with such a big car, Dad?” Angelina asked as she climbed up into her father’s massive four-wheel-drive vehicle.

“I need a car like this for work. Sometimes I have to go off-road to various construction sites,” James said, referring to his work as a structural engineer. “If you think my car’s big, you should see what some of the locals drive.”

“Is it true that all the Arabs are loaded? Apparently the Bezira royal family just bought a huge piece of land in Central London. It must have cost a fortune!” The newspapers back in the UK regularly featured stories of sheikhs from Bezira buying everything from British hotels to supermarkets.

“They’re certainly not short of cash and they pay well. Why do you think I took the job here?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Angelina apologised. Her father used to have his own construction business in England, but the recent economic crises had resulted in a massive decrease in building contracts and his business had gone bankrupt, leaving her father with huge debts. Unable to find employment at home, he had turned to the one place in the world that was booming economically: the Middle East.

“What’s your house like?” she asked to change the subject.

“Much too big for a guy like me, living on my own. I certainly don’t need three bedrooms, but it’s the house that comes with the job. It’s in a small compound with a gym and a decent-sized pool. I hope you brought a swimsuit.”

“Two, and I’ve loaded up my e-reader with a stack of books I’ve been meaning to read, so I plan to take it easy and relax a bit.”

“Good. That’s why you’re here.” James patted his daughter’s knee. Even though she was twenty-two, she would always be his little girl. “You’ve worked hard and you deserve a rest.”

Angelina had just finished a long, intensive round of law exams and at last all her hard work had paid off: just the previous week she’d been accepted into University College London, one of the leading law schools in the UK, to start her legal training. “I plan to take it fairly easy for the next couple of weeks,” she said. “Once school starts in September, I won’t have much for a break until I finally qualify.” However, despite her assurances that she was going to have a relaxing holiday, she’d also packed a couple of law books so that she could get a head start on the coursework.

“I’m very proud of you, you know that.”

“Thank you, Dad. I couldn’t have done it without your support.” Angelina knew how much her father had sacrificed to help her through college after his business failed. However, it hadn’t always been so hard for them. When she left school, her father was a successful businessman and she entered college with a platinum credit card for expenses and a luxury apartment to live in that her father had bought her as an eighteenth birthday present. By the time she left, the apartment had been sold; she was living in a shared, student accommodation; and she was working part-time. However, despite the increased costs, her father had persuaded her to continue her studies and apply to law school. His new job in the Middle East meant that he could help her with the fees and if she carried on working part-time, she might just be able to keep her debt and student loans down to five figures. However, the cost of living and going to college in London would be huge and the thought of her bank balance made her groan.

“Are you okay?” her father asked. “Sorry if I took that corner a bit too sharply. The driving is manic here,” he said as a huge car overtook them on the wrong side of the road.

“Why don’t the police stop them?”

“They do and the fines are huge. The penalty for speeding is five thousand dollars.”

“Five thousand! So why don’t they slow down?” Angelina asked as another luxury car raced past them at almost double the speed limit. “That’s a lot of money!”

“It might be a lot of cash for the likes of us, but for sheikhs of Bezira, it’s nothing. It’s more like pocket money. The average local Arab gets more than thirty thousand dollars a month, and that’s just the average. Many of them get much more. Things are completely different here.”

As they drove through Zakir, the capital city, Angelina certainly felt that she was a million miles away from England. Instead of concrete apartment blocks and rows of semi-detached houses with lawns the size of postage stamps, there were huge mansions and palaces surrounded by palm trees and gilded gates. “Do you live in one of these?” she asked her father, pointing to the front of a house with a double-storied, pillared colonnade that made it look more like a museum than a home.

“No! Nothing like that. The locals live in the mansions. I just live in a villa and here we are!” He turned off the main road and pulled up in front of a security gate. He waved at the guard sitting in the small glass booth by the road. The guard pressed a switch, which lifted the barrier, and waved James through. The gated compound consisted of a group of no more than a dozen villas set around a central square with a large fountain in the middle. James drove up to the one immediately on the left. It was a cream-coloured, single-storied house with a small cluster of palm trees near it and a couple of cacti in large ceramic pots by the front door.

“Who are your neighbours?” Angelina asked, taking it all in.

“Other engineers, mainly older blokes like me who are out here on their own working in Bezira, but there’s a family over there,” he said, pointing to an almost identical villa across the road. “I don’t really know them, but I think they have kids about your age.”

“Dad, I’m not a kid!”

“Of course not,” he said and winked at her. He put his key in the lock of his door and let her in.

The villa was clearly lived in by a single person. The living area was sparsely furnished. It had a desk with a computer on it, a black leather reclining chair and a massive flat-screen TV, which covered the best part of one wall. It was like a private cinema for one. Her dad led her into her bedroom, which was also sparingly furnished; it had a single bed in it and nothing else. Angelina was glad the room had built-in wardrobes, otherwise there probably wouldn’t have been anywhere to hang up her clothes. Off to one side was a spacious en-suite bathroom. A lone towel hung on a rack, but Angelina was touched to see that her dad had put a couple of scented candles next to the bathtub.

He saw her notice them. “To help you relax,” he mumbled. “Sorry if the house is a bit plain. I’m not really into decorating and since it’s just me living here...”

“Thank you, Dad. It’s perfect. All of it!” She saw his face soften and gave him a huge hug.

“I’ll give you some time to get your stuff sorted out,” he said and started to walk out of the room.

“I won’t take long. I’ll just have a quick shower and change.” Angelina looked at her watch. “It’s almost dinner time here, isn’t it? What shall we do?” she asked.

“I bought a few frozen pizzas earlier. I thought I might heat them up.”

“Why don’t we go out? It’s my first night here. I haven’t seen you in ages. Let’s do something.”

“Well, I don’t really know. I don’t go out much. I mainly just work, come home, watch a bit of TV, and go to bed.”

“Dad, it’s Saturday night! There must be something going on. We should go out and celebrate me being here.”

“There is a party that I was invited to, but I don’t really think you’ll be interested.”

“A party? Great. Where?”

“One minute. Let me see if I can find the invitation.” James left the room and came back a few minutes later. When he returned, he saw that Angelina was already unpacking her things and hanging up an assortment of outfits.

“This is it.” He handed her a stiff white card. Embossed on it in gold were the details of the party.

Angelina read it and gasped. “This is an invitation to the palace, and not just any palace, but the sultan’s palace! Wow, how did you get this, Dad?”

“I’m working on a construction project for one of the royals at the moment. All the senior project managers have been invited. In a small country like this, it’s not such a big deal. I’ve been to a couple of these things already.”

“You never told me that you were hobnobbing with the royals.”

“Hardly! There are always hundreds of people at these things. I’m not exactly on first-name terms with the sultan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested. You’ve always said that you’re not into things like royal events and fancy parties.”

“But given the choice between eating frozen pizza at home and going to a party at a palace, I think we should chose the palace.”

“You’re not too tired?”

“If you could make me a cup of coffee, I’ll be fine. Now, what shall I wear?” Angelina began rummaging through her suitcase.

“There’s just one thing,” James said. He was flicking the corner of the ivory invitation with his fingernail until it began to curl. “The invitation’s in the name of
Mr and Mrs J. Smith
.”

“Mrs? But Mum… But why?”

Angelina’s mother had run off with their neighbour as soon as the business had collapsed. Angelina’s mother had always liked the very best things in life and when she’d married Angelina’s father, it had been for richer and much richer, not for richer and possibly poorer. As soon as she had a whiff of the fact that her husband’s business might collapse, she threw her designer clothes and jewellery into a suitcase and moved in with a young, handsome man named Timothy, secure in the knowledge that Timothy’s extensive trust fund meant that he’d be able to weather the economic downturn.

Angelina’s father had been forced to sell their house shortly after his wife left and he’d moved into a small rented apartment. Neither of them had seen Angelina’s mother since. Angelina had tried to call her a few times, if only to tell her how much she hated what she’d done, but her mother refused to talk to her. Maybe her mother thought that poverty was contagious. Angelina soon gave up and stopped trying. Her mother had no room in her heart for anything other than money, the trappings of wealth, and superficial beauty, and if Angelina wasn’t covered in Chanel and diamonds, she knew her mother wouldn’t be interested in speaking to her.

“I think the wording on the invitation is some kind of mistake,” her father said. “I’m not sure, but if we go, you’ll have to pretend to be Mrs Smith.”

Angelina laughed. “Won’t they suspect something? A wife who’s young enough to be your daughter—who in fact
is
your daughter!”

“If you don’t give the game away, no one will ask any questions. You have no idea of the kind of things that go on here. A man my age turning up with a wife who’s only twenty-two is nothing. I’ve seen things you won’t believe.” However, James didn’t tell his daughter what he’d seen; he just left the room and left her to unpack and get ready for the party at the palace.

“Hamad, what am I going to do?” Sheikh Rashid asked.

“I guess you’ll have to marry Chrystal,” Hamad replied and he took a long draw on the shisha pipe at his side.

“I can’t marry her,” Rashid said.

“Why not? She’s got great tits.” Hamad cupped his hands to emphasise the point.

“Which everyone in Bezira has had their hands on, including you.”

“I don’t remember you complaining when you had your hands on them.” Hamad took another draw on the pipe.

The thought of his short relationship with Chrystal made Rashid feel sick. At the time, he had lusted after her and couldn’t wait to get her into bed. It hadn’t been difficult. A few presents and an expensive dinner, and Chrystal was all his. She had been fantastic in bed, but that was the problem: she was too good. Where did she learn those tricks? She knew things that the prostitutes in Bangkok didn’t know. And Rashid knew that she’d done all those things with his other friends, including his best friend and cousin, Hamad.

“Pretty hot, isn’t she?” Hamad winked. “You know when she gets hold of your...”

“Stop! I don’t want to discuss it,” Rashid interrupted. “I’m not marrying Chrystal.”

“But just think, you could have those tits all to yourself and every night she would grab hold of your...”

“Hamad, please,” Rashid interrupted again. “There is more to marriage than sex.”

“If you say so. I admit, there’s always the issue of children, but Chrystal’s got good hips. I reckon she could push out a few healthy sons.”

“Can you imagine having her as a mother? I can’t see Chrystal raising kids.”

“That’s what maids are for. All you need is a couple of nannies. And just think what Chrystal’s boobs will be like when she’s pregnant!” Hamad put the end of the shisha pipe into his mouth and sucked on it hard.

As much as Rashid loved his cousin, he couldn’t sympathise with his outdated views of women. Rashid’s years studying in the UK had shown him that there was more to women than just sex and children.

“All right then, if you’re not going to marry Chrystal, who are you going to marry? Don’t tell me you’ve found someone with better tits?” Hamad asked.

“I haven’t found anyone. That’s the problem. How can I possibly find a foreign bride who my father approves of in just two weeks?”

“I don’t see why you can’t. Your dad says you have to marry a foreigner who’s acceptable to the family. If he’s willing to accept Chrystal, he’ll probably accept anyone, especially if you find a girl who’s got a dad who gives great financial advice. I suggest you start checking out some banker’s daughters.”

“But I want more than that. I want someone I can love. A friend, a companion.”

Hamad laughed. “Rashid, that’s what men are for. I’m your friend, your companion.” Hamad slapped him hard on the back. “Remember when your father caught us messing with his vintage cars? He walked into the garage with the Queen of England and there we were running around in our shorts, jumping in and out of his 1920s Rolls-Royce. Your father threw a fit. He was furious!”

“And you told him that it was all your idea, when actually it was mine.” Rashid laughed.

“My dad had me flogged so bad I couldn’t sit down for a week!”

“But then my father had us all out camel riding with the queen watching and you had to have a specially padded cushion. The queen asked you if you had a medical condition and you said it was a birth deformity!”

Rashid and Hamad doubled up laughing as they recalled their various childhood exploits. After a bit, Hamad called out to one of Rashid’s servants to refill his shisha pipe.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much, Hamad. Those things are really bad for you.”

“You’re turning too Western, my friend. You don’t smoke shisha and now you want a love marriage. What next? Are you going to shave off your beard? Take up sewing?”

“I am as much of a man as you are. I just don’t want to marry Chrystal.”

“Find a banker’s daughter, or something like that. What about the girls you met when you were at Oxford?”

“If I’d found anyone suitable there, I’d already be married, wouldn’t I?”

“There are lots of foreigners here in Bezira. Surely one of them has a daughter you might like?”

“You’ve met them. You know what those expat girls are like. A load of sycophants all desperate to get their hands on our oil wealth, Chrystal included.”

“But at least she has great tits and knows what to do with a man’s...”

“Enough!” Rashid called out.

“How about your mother?”

“My mother? I can’t marry her! That custom died out centuries ago.”

“Rashid, I’m not that stupid. I meant, does your mother know any suitable girls? Maybe she could help.”

“You’re a genius.” Rashid slapped Hamad on the back, knocking the shisha pipe out of this mouth. “My mother’s in LA at the moment. She’s bound to know some suitable girls. One of her rich friends must have an acceptable daughter. I’ll call her and fly out immediately. She’d be bound to help me, especially if it means annoying my father. He’ll be furious when he discovers that Mother’s found a better bride for me than he did.”

“LA, here we come.”

“We?” Rashid asked.

“You can’t go on your own. You’ll need someone to stop all those California girls trying to grab your money. They can grab something of me instead.” Hamad made a gesture between his legs. “I can’t wait to meet some movie stars. When do we fly?”

“I’ll call my pilot and ask him to have my plane ready first thing tomorrow. Do you think you can manage an early start?” Rashid knew that his friend wasn’t a morning person.

“Tomorrow? What’s stopping us from going today? There’re a lot of beach babes just waiting for me right now.”

“I have to attend a boring function at the palace tonight. My father insists.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone there?”

“I doubt it. It’s for a load of middle-aged engineers and other oil workers with their ugly, overdressed wives.”

“And of course the lovely Chrystal.”

“Hamad, keep your hands off her. If things don’t work out in California and it turns out I do have to marry her, I don’t want you groping her just a few weeks before my wedding.”

“Don’t worry, Rashid. I’m saving myself for a busty LA girl in a tiny bikini.” Hamad took a long, relaxed draw on the replenished shisha pipe that one of Rashid’s many servants had just put by his side.