Miranda Lee - Modern Romance - The Best of the Year

They’d stopped for gas at a station outside Abu Dhabi. She’d gone inside and discovered the station was not that different from the ones at home. Same brand of candy bars, same sodas, same everything—except the labels had Arabic writing on one side and English on the other. Using her credit card, she bought a bag of chewy fruit candy and tucked it in her purse. She also got two coffees and brought them out to Sharif, who’d just finished refueling the flashy red car.

He’d stared at the outstretched paper cup, frowning, as if she were offering him jewels, not an espresso worth ten dirhams. Taking a long drink, he gave a sigh of satisfaction. He looked at her, his eyes deep. “Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal,” she’d said uncomfortably. “It’s just coffee.” She tilted her head. “Aren’t you used to people bringing you stuff?”

“Yes. Servants. Sycophants. But not—” He cut himself off. He looked at the coffee, then shook his head as his lips twisted upward on the edges. “It’s not poisoned, right? As a warning to make sure I never try to kiss you again?”

She snorted, then gave a wistful sigh. “I can’t really blame you for that. I’m the one who kissed you this time.”

His eyes met hers sharply, and for a single insane moment, electricity crackled between them.

No! She would not let herself want what she could not have!

Turning, she opened the passenger door. “Your sister,” she said.

“Yes.” His voice was low. Getting back into the car, he started the engine.

But as they drove north from Abu Dhabi, she’d looked out the window, far too aware of Sharif next to her in the small interior of the sports car. She tried to focus on the gleaming buildings, the desert, the brand-new, immaculate highway with road signs written in Arabic, with English translations beneath.

Now, as they approached Dubai, Irene said, “How do you know she’s here?”

“She was angry at me yesterday. For firing Gilly.”

“Gilly?”

“Her companion who thought it would be amusing to ambush me while she was naked in my bed.”

“Oh.”

“Gilly was not a good influence on Aziza. She convinced her that things—luxury handbags, jewels, royal titles and money—would make her happy.”

Irene leaned her arm against the window of the Ferrari and said sardonically, “I can see why that would bother you.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “She convinced my sister to accept the Sultan of Zaharqin’s proposal, because of his lavish gifts and high position. It wasn’t my idea. But now I’ve given my word. I cannot allow her to back out.”

“Nineteen-year-olds change their minds all the time.”

“If my subjects do not believe my word is inviolate, how can I expect their respect? Their obedience?” Setting his jaw, he stared at the skyscrapers of Dubai ahead of them. “I suspected Aziza might come to our vacation villa here...”

“Vacation villa, huh? For when you’re bored with being waited on hand and foot at the palace?”

“The guard called me a few hours ago. He confirmed that my sister’s there, with only her nurse as chaperone. I’m grateful it wasn’t worse.”

“Nurse? Is she ill?”

“Nanny, I guess you would call her. Basimah virtually raised her.”

“Why didn’t she call and warn you what Aziza was up to, then?”

“Basimah?” He snorted. “She’s protective of Aziza like a mother bear to a cub. She sees me as the enemy. Especially since the engagement.”

“Hard to believe. So why has your sister changed her mind about the wedding? Did the sultan send her a gift she didn’t like? Last season’s handbags? The wrong color of jewels?”

He stared grimly forward at the widening highway, as the traffic on the outskirts of Dubai increased. He said reluctantly, “The Sultan of Zaharqin is older than she is.”

“How much older?”

He paused. “Forty years.”

For an instant, Irene just stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she exploded.

“You are making a nineteen-year-old girl marry a man three times her age? Are you out of your mind?”

“Aziza agreed to it. If she’s changed her mind since, her duty is to serve her people,” he said coldly. “Just as it is mine.”

“It’s ridiculous!”

“No, Miss Taylor.” Sharif’s eyes were focused on the road, but his jaw was tight as he said, “You are ridiculous to criticize something you do not understand. You have no responsibility to anyone except yourself and your own family. You do not know what it means to rule a country. It is Aziza’s privilege and her duty to protect and defend all of our people. That means doing everything she can.”

“But she is only nineteen—”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I was fifteen.”

“You grew up early.”

“So did you.” He gave her a hard, quick look. “You’ve spent so much time asking why my sister ran away. Why did you?”

She stared at him. “I didn’t run away.”

“You left your home, went to New York, then thousands of miles across the ocean to take a job in Paris. Then you traveled even farther to the Middle East. What else would you call it except running away?”

“I just needed a job...”

“You had a good job in New York. But you chose to leave, when a position became available working for your employer’s cousin in Paris. It’s not just about money. You wanted distance.”

Her whole body went cold. If he already knew that...

“How much do you know about my past?” she whispered.

Sharif gave her a dark look.

“Everything. You think I would have hired you if I did not? I had a complete dossier on you before the plane even landed in Makhtar.”

The chill in her heart became a freeze. “Then you know my mother and sister...” Her voice cracked.

“Yes.” His expression changed, became gentle. “I know everything.”

“And you don’t—want me a million miles from your sister?”

He shook his head.

“But reputation matters so much to you—”

“Honor matters to me,” he corrected sharply. “And you are not to blame for the choices others have made. Even if they’re people you love.” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and she suddenly remembered that Sharif, too, had good reason to believe this.

They drove in silence. Then he said, “The only thing I couldn’t understand from the report is how you got that first job in New York. Why would a wealthy family on Park Avenue choose you from their agency, and send for you all the way from Colorado?”

“I was so young and from a small town in the West.” She gave him a sudden impish grin. “They wanted a nanny with a wholesome, sheltered background.”

He snorted, then sobered. “You are sheltered in your way,” he murmured. “You protect your heart.”

“Yes.” Her smile faded. “And you’re wrong to force Aziza to marry against hers.”

Sharif’s expression turned to a scowl. “With your beliefs about the sanctity of marriage, I thought you would support me.”

Ahead of them, she saw gleaming skyscrapers, with futuristic architecture twisting improbably high, high, high into the blue sky. “Marriage isn’t just a bunch of words on paper. The commitment can only come from your heart. From love.”

Sharif’s lip curled. He turned forward to stare stonily at the road. “Spare me your further thoughts on the subject.”

Her cheeks turned hot. “Look,” she tried again, “as ruler of your country, I understand your sense of honor, but surely even you can see that—”

“You, Miss Taylor, may lead your life however you want.” He tossed her a contemptuous glance. “Make lifelong decisions based on romantic fantasies. Break engagements, marry on a whim, divorce as often as you like. You are free to make whatever self-indulgent, foolish choices you wish...”