Carol Marinelli - Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son

It was a little too big for Aubrey’s slender frame, but she had a shawl to wear over her shoulders. She pulled on black pantyhose and court shoes. The clothes that she had taken off were neatly folded and packed into her slim black shoulder bag. Aubrey would not be paying for storage.

She took the AirTrain and then the subway and, following the instructions her friend had given her, found herself on a very busy street on a crisp spring day in Manhattan.

Aubrey stood for a moment soaking it all in, her head tipped back as she gazed up in awe at the tall buildings, but she was soon jolted by the sea of people walking determinedly by. Aubrey headed into a large department store and headed up a level to an in-store coffee shop and bought a well-deserved drink.

She had budgeted carefully for today.

For the last few weeks, having seen on the news that Jobe was nearing the end, she had been trying to put a little away whenever she could. It had been hard. Her ear infection had meant her balance was off, and so she’d been unable to do trapeze, and the tips were less when waiting tables. Still, she’d saved enough to buy the cheapest return flights for her and her mom to attend the funeral.

But Stella had refused to come, insisting she wanted to stay home.

Aubrey’s mom was a Vegas lifer and loved it. Or she had loved it.

Now she never went further than the porch of their trailer, and that was only after dark.

Aubrey made her coffee last then, when it was done, she popped a mint and an antibiotic pill and took the escalator down to the make-up counter. There she tried lipsticks on the back of her hand until the assistant came over and asked if she could help.

‘I hope so,’ Aubrey sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for really. I don’t usually wear make-up...’ That wasn’t true, Aubrey wore several inches of it each night when she performed, but if her friend was right then the assistant should offer a make-over. Sure enough, she was soon invited to take a seat on a high stool, except Aubrey hesitated.

It felt wrong.

‘I wear stage make-up,’ she admitted.

‘So you’re looking for a more natural look?’ the assistant asked.

‘Yes, but...’ Aubrey took a breath. The young woman was around the same age as herself, and no doubt relying on commission and hoping that Aubrey would make some purchases after the make-over. There was no chance of that and Aubrey admitted the truth. ‘I actually can’t afford to buy anything,’

Their eyes met for a moment, but then the assistant gave her a small smile. ‘At least you’re honest.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me give you a make-over anyway. Hopefully we’ll pull in a crowd and both come out winning.’

Soon she was sitting on the high stool. ‘So where are you off to?’ the make-up artist asked, glancing at Aubrey’s black attire. ‘A funeral?’

‘Yes, for a family friend.’ Aubrey nodded. ‘Though it’s going to be very well-heeled. I don’t want to stand out.’

‘It must be the day for funerals. Today’s Jobe Devereux’s—’ Her voice halted when she felt the heat sear in Aubrey’s cheeks. ‘ That’s where you’re headed?’

Jobe was New York City royalty and so, when Aubrey nodded, the make-up assistant knew exactly what her customer was up against. ‘Let’s get to work, then,’ she said. ‘I’m Vanda, by the way.’

‘Aubrey.’

Vanda plugged in some flat irons and smoothed out Aubrey’s wavy blonde hair before taking a very close look at her face. ‘You have the most incredible bone structure.’

‘You should have seen my mother’s,’ Aubrey said. ‘She had the most amazing cheekbones.’

‘Had?’

Aubrey didn’t answer. Her mom insisted that her injuries were kept quiet, and even far from Vegas still she didn’t reveal how her mother’s looks had been ravaged in a fire.

‘So...’ Vanda asked another question as she worked. ‘If you wear stage make-up, what do you do?’

‘All sorts,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘I dance in some shows and do a bit of trapeze...’

‘Get out!’

‘Nothing too glamorous,’ Aubrey was honest. ‘Anything and everything really...’

Anything and everything to avoid going into the oldest profession in the world.

It beckoned to Aubrey, of course it did. When the rent was overdue, when the shifts at work dried up...when her mother, disfigured in a fire, needed her meds. But Aubrey had found other ways to make ends meet.

Jobe Devereux’s money hit her account each and every month.

And each and every month the very generous sum had been spent.

Aubrey had let him think that she was studying music and Jobe, estranged from her mother and a busy man, had never checked.

He’d trusted her, Aubrey guessed, yet instead of education the money had gone on surgery, doctors’ bills, medication, rehabilitation, more surgery...

More medication.

Even her mom thought that she was on the game. It was never said outright, of course, but it was Aubrey who took care of the bills and Stella never asked where the money came from.

Aubrey had had serious offers—and some rather glamorous ones too—but she’d declined them all. In truth, she mistrusted men. Her mother had been an escort, that was how Aubrey had come about. Her mom had, for a brief time, been a showgirl, but when parts in the big Vegas shows had got fewer her mom had done what she’d had to to make ends meet.

Until Jobe had come into her mom’s life there had been a parade of men through their home, and it had left Aubrey both cynical and scared of sex. Despite the skimpy outfits and provocative moves, she had never been so much as kissed, let alone anything else.

‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

And it really was a transformation.

Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’

‘You’re going to blend right in,’ Vanda said, and then glanced down at Aubrey’s rather cheap dress, but decided there was nothing that she could do about that. ‘I’ll give you a sample size of the lipstick so you can top up before the service.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Have you seen how many customers I now have?’ Vanda said. ‘I really hope today goes as well as it can for you.’

So did Aubrey.

She might appear streetwise, but she was terrified.

* * *

Crowds were gathered and the security was tight, with the street cordoned off, but it did not deter Aubrey. She walked towards the barrier and spoke to a uniformed security guard. ‘My driver took me to the wrong drop-off,’ she attempted, but was immediately cut off with a question.

‘Name?’

‘Aubrey,’ she mumbled. ‘Aubrey Johnson.’