Liz Fielding - The Sheik's Unsuitable Bride

It was surreal but she refused to duck and run. She would not hide. Instead, she carried on shopping, bought cheese, eggs, apples.

By the time she reached the checkout there were three of them.

‘Will you be seeing the Sheikh again?’

‘Can you pass me down that jar of tomato paste.’ she replied.

‘Are you going back to work?’

‘Haven’t you lot got a supermodel to harass?’ she asked, losing patience.

‘She’s in rehab. And Cinderella is a much better story.’

‘It’s a fairy tale,’ she replied. Then, ‘Are you lot going to follow me home?’

‘Will you make us a cup of tea and tell us your life story if we do?’

‘No, but you could make yourself useful,’ she said, pointing at her shopping. ‘Carry that.’ She didn’t wait to see whether any of them picked up her bags, but just walked out.

She let them follow her up to the front door before she retrieved the carriers with a smile. ‘Thank you.’ Then, as she slipped the key into the lock, she glanced back. ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’

‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

‘Nothing. But the grass needs cutting and because of you lot Dad isn’t here to do it.’

They laughed, but with the embarrassment of men who’d been caught out misbehaving.

‘No? Well, sorry guys, but that’s as exciting as it’s going to get around here.’ And with that she stepped inside, closed the door on them and leaned back against it, shaking like a leaf. So much for it all being over.

But she’d survived. And as soon as they realised there really was nothing in it for them, they’d drift away. A week from now no one would even remember that she’d danced with a sheikh in Berkeley Square.

Well, except for whoever made a little cash selling an old school photograph.

And her.

Her fairy tale prince might be unattainable, but he was unforgettable. And he had made the magic happen, had brought the world into focus, had reminded her that dreaming was allowed. That anyone could do it. That she could do anything…

Next year she’d have her own taxi. A pink, sparkly one that would turn heads, make people smile. And every day when she drove it around London, she’d thank him for hauling her out of the deep rut she had been digging for herself, had been hiding in.

She drew in a deep breath and walked through to the kitchen. Dumped her bags on the table.

The cat rubbed against her leg, then crossed to the door and, refusing to submit to the indignity of the cat flap when there was a human on hand to open the door, waited to be let out.

‘You are such a princess,’ Diana said, opening the door with a mock curtsey. And found herself staring at her fantasy.

The desert prince she had expected when she’d dashed to the City Airport. The whole white robes, gold-trimmed cloak, headdress thingy.

But it wasn’t his robes that held her. She’d recognised what he was even in the most casual clothes. Now, as then, it was Zahir’s dark eyes that drained the power of speech as she relived that moment when she’d first set eyes on him. But this time she recognised it for what it was.

The prelude to pain…

Ten minutes ago her life had seemed so simple. Her sights fixed on an attainable goal. Her heart safely back behind locked doors.

Now…

‘Your Aunt Alice was kind enough to let me come through her garden,’ he said, answering the what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here? question she’d been unable to frame. He shrugged. Smiled. Just with his eyes.

Oh, no…

‘Aunt Alice!’ she exploded. ‘Why did you bother coming in the back way if you’re going to come dressed like Lawrence of…’ she struggled to keep the expletive in check ‘…of Arabia?’ She made a wild gesture that took in his clothes. ‘And where did you park your camel?’

‘I hate to disappoint you, Diana, but I came by cab.’

‘Oh, great! The driver is probably calling in the story right now. I’ve only just got rid of three journalists who followed me home…’

And, grabbing his arm, she pulled him into the kitchen, shut the door and leaned back against it, hands pressed to her lips.

‘It was not my intention to sneak in unobserved, but I only had Aunt Alice’s address.’ Then, taking her hands from her mouth, kissing each of them, he said, ‘I suppose I could have walked along this street knocking on doors until I found you-’

‘You might as well have done!’

Then, with a gesture of helplessness, she let it go. What mattered was not how but why he’d come.

‘What are you doing here, Zahir?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve just about got my head around this and you’ve chosen to turn a nine-day wonder into a front page story…’

‘I have nothing to hide and neither have you.’ Then, ‘Freddy asked me to give you this.’ From somewhere in the folds of his robe he produced a small piece of rope. ‘He wanted you to see the reef knot we made.’

Diana took it. It was warm and without thinking, she lifted it to her cheek.

Then, looking up at him, ‘We?’

‘The two of us.’

‘But…You said you wouldn’t be going back to Nadira this week.’

‘Is that why you left?’

‘No…’ Then, because he deserved better than some feeble lie, ‘Maybe. But it was more than that. You listened to my story and you…’ She reached for the words. ‘You set me free, Zahir. Showed me how insignificant we are, but how great too. I’ve spent years expecting nothing. Believing that I was worth nothing-’

‘Believing that you were the frog?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t you know that once you’ve been kissed by a prince all bets are off?’

‘No. The true meaning of the fairy story is that we are all princesses. It’s just that some of us lose the ability to see that. But you treated me like one. Gave me the courage to believe. To gather my own stars.’

There was a long peal on the doorbell. It hadn’t taken long…

‘Speaking of fairy stories, why did you come back, Zahir? Haven’t you got something more important to do? Like arranging your marriage?’

Far from looking like a man caught out, he said, ‘That’s the beauty of a system like ours, Diana. Once I have made my decision, chosen my bride, I don’t have to do a thing. Even as we speak, my mother is negotiating with my bride’s family, drawing up the contract.’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying that. It’s…gruesome.’

‘No, no…I promise you, the women will have a very happy time disposing of my assets. Squabbling over the exact size of the house my bride is to have in London-’

‘A house?’

In London?

‘A woman must have a house of her own. Suitably furnished, of course. An income to maintain it. A car.’ He considered that. ‘Make that two.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’

Tiny lines creased around his eyes in the prelude to a smile. ‘Princesses are high maintenance.’ There was another long peal on the doorbell, followed by an insistent knock. ‘Do you want to get that?’

‘No, thanks.’

He continued to look at her. ‘Where was I?’

‘High maintenance,’ she managed. ‘Two cars.’

‘Oh, yes. Then, once all the practical stuff is out of the way, they get to the really good stuff. The jewels I will give her…’

She clutched her arms tightly around her waist, trying to hold herself together, and, as if to ease her pain, he laid his hand against her cheek, so that without meaning to she was looking up at him.

‘My mother thinks I should give her diamonds, but I disagree. I think nothing would become her throat more than the soft lustre of pearls…’

‘Please, Zahir! Don’t do this to me.’

‘What, ya malekat galbi ? What, the owner of my heart, am I doing to you?’