The Sheikh's Purchased Bride (5 page)

“Then… why?”

“A reputation isn’t as easy to buy as a home,” he said, a hint of sadness behind his usually jovial tone. “My family is important to me; I would never want to bring shame on them.”

“Ah…” Amie nodded, staring down at her plate. She decided a subject change was in order and her face brightened as she offered him a big smile. “Well, Mr. Playboy, I’m flattered you chose me as your star cast member.”

“The choice seemed pretty clear to me,” he said, seeming less tense now that the conversation was taking a different turn. “You’re brilliant. You really roll with the punches.”

She wrinkled her forehead with disbelief and gave a tired laugh before rubbing her eyes with her hand. “I wish you were a real casting director, in that case.”

Malik seemed puzzled but didn’t move to speak; his eyes alone asking for the rest of the story. When none came, he finally bit, “Your performance in
Carolina and the Bridge
was fantastic.”

“Yeah?” she blanched. “You know, I was only the understudy.”

“Oh really?”

“Really,” she repeated. “You see, Malik, like you, I also grab opportunities when I see them. But, apparently my judgment sucks and those opportunities rarely grab back.”

He grimaced briefly and then looked hopeful once more. “I’m sure success will come in time.”

“Yeah, maybe, but it’s already been two years. How long am I supposed to spend pursuing a career that pays nothing and never gives back? What if I’m just throwing my life away?”

Malik gave a coy smile and walked over to the couch to sit with her, and Amie thought fleetingly that it felt strange being so close to him, despite having been around him all night.

He sat beside her and looked into her eyes, the way a helpful friend might. “You got this job, didn’t you?”

She blinked, but said nothing as she watched him.

“And from what I hear it pays pretty well.”

Finally, Amie laughed. “Yeah, not nearly enough. Note to self: always read the small print.”

The two locked eyes and then looked away from one another. Despite the awkward tension, Malik didn’t get up. Instead, he leaned back into the couch and Amie instinctively leaned back against him. He resumed playing the movie and the two sat up for an hour or more watching the rest of the film.

By the end of it, Malik made sure to mock her for getting emotional, insisting that deep down she was an old film lover, just like him.

Amie laughed, just as she noticed she was leaning into the crook of his neck, and the two of them sat up suddenly.

Sensing that she was about to leave, Malik grabbed Amie’s hand and rubbed his thumb across her palm. “I really do think you’re a brilliant actress,” he said lowly. “Anyone who can pretend to adore me for an entire evening deserves an award, for sure.”

She offered a wry smile. “Isn’t women adoring you what got you into this mess in the first place?”

He let out a bested
humph
noise and the two locked eyes once more. Suddenly Amie felt overwhelmed with unprofessional feelings towards her new boss. Either she was ridiculously exhausted, or he looked absolutely handsome—even more so than she’d realized before.

She blinked and reached up to brush her hand through his hair. As soon as she made the move, she knew she shouldn’t have, and a moment later she could see his lips moving closer to hers.

Great job, Amie. You finally meet an attractive billionaire who makes you laugh. One problem: he just so happens to be your boss. Don’t. Be. So. Stupid!

Amie backed away from the oncoming kiss with extreme effort not to make the movement too awkward or hurried. She breathed out and mentally patted herself on the back for practicing some willpower. She smiled at Malik then got to her feet.

“I should probably get some sleep,” she said awkwardly.

“Of course, yeah,” he said as he stood from the couch, sounding equally as awkward. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded. “Goodnight, Malik.”

“Goodnight.”

SEVEN

The next morning began with familiar steps as Amie made her way from her bedroom back downstairs to the kitchen. After her late-night rendezvous with Malik, she’d slept in well after 11am, and jumped up, dressing quickly as soon as she realized what time it was.

The smell of cooking hit her as soon as her feet touched the tiled floor. The house was even more majestic in the light of day than she remembered; the kitchen was beyond large, with marble countertops, elaborate ceiling carvings, and a kitchen island with two stainless steel sinks embedded in it. Pendant lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the way to the feast that awaited her.

Staring at the counter, Amie nearly salivated, and was only interrupted when Malik came up behind her, wearing navy blue dress pants and a button-up shirt. Despite having been up just as long, if not longer, than her, he looked perfectly rested.

He reached his hand up and scratched his shoulders, smiling bashfully. “No hello this morning?” he asked.

She eyed her fake fiancé playfully, raising her brow uncertainly.

“You walked right by me at the staircase,” he explained.

Amie blushed as she walked to the kitchen island and began thumbing through the delectable dishes before her. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you!”

“Momentary lapse in judgment on my part,” he smiled. “Should have guessed you’d go straight for the kitchen.”

Her heart fluttered suddenly. Damn him for being so cute and sarcastic.

He approached, handing her a plate and a fork before moving to where the food was laid out. “I made breakfast,” he said and began pointing to the various items. “It’s a traditional Middle-Eastern breakfast. We have freshly-made pita bread, hummus, hard boiled eggs, olives, pickles, tomato and cucumber salad, fresh jams and cheeses. Take your pick.”

“You’re not saying you made all this?” Amie laughed in disbelief. “You must have a personal chef, or something, right?”

“What can I say? I like to cook,” he said simply.

“You’re kidding.”

“What else does an insomniac do in the early morning hours?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I usually just curl into the fetal position hoping I’ll magically fall asleep. But hey, that’s me.”

Amie began piling food onto her plate and licked her finger after dipping it into the hummus. “Let me get this straight,” she said with some suspicion, “You guys have pickles… for
breakfast
?”

“It’s a wild world we live in,” he mocked.

“Clearly.” She hopped atop the counter and set her plate on her lap, hungrily devouring the food she had chosen as Malik snacked on a hardboiled egg and grabbed a spoonful of fruit. “That’s all you’re having?!”

He raised his brows and gave an absent-minded nod, leaving his breakfast momentarily to grab Amie a cup of coffee. “There’s tea, if you prefer.”

“Coffee’s great,” she said, accepting the mug from him. “So what’s the plan for today? Any more relatives to draw into our web of lies?”

“I was thinking maybe a tour?”

Her eyes beamed. “Yes!”

“I didn’t even tell you where the tour is.” He laughed. “We’ll start with a tour of the house.”

***

The two of them sat through their breakfast in comfort, Amie firing questions at Malik about his childhood in the Middle East, including the weather, what it was like growing up there, as well as the schooling he had received. She asked as many questions as she could, hoping to avoid being at a loss, as she had been so many times the previous evening.

He was so patient; never once did he seem annoyed or puzzled, and eventually he began to reciprocate question for question. When she asked him about his friends growing up, he asked her about her high school days in Indiana. When she asked him why he put up with her annoying questions he simply shrugged, and with no small amount of charm said, “We’re supposed to be married soon. We should probably get to know one another.”

With that said, Amie was under no delusion that her research was helping. After all, she was playing a role, not herself. Her middle-class high school experience was probably nothing compared to the character Amie Shaw’s life, growing up in prep-schools, with a multi-millionaire father. Fake Amie probably never had to work at a chicken restaurant, didn’t get dumped the day before junior prom, and had never had braces. Fake Amie was perfect; the dream girl next door, perfectly suitable for meeting the parents.

So that’s who she would be.

After breakfast, Malik began the tour of the house. They moved from the kitchen into the massive living area. It had three large antique sofas centered around a coffee table. A grand, marble fireplace sat in front of the set-up, only overshadowed by the ornately-carved ceiling. While Amie wasn’t exactly well-versed in home decor, she knew that marble meant money.

A sleek piano sat near the seating area and Amie asked Malik if he knew how to play. He laughed at that, saying he’d had a tutor for 16 years and couldn’t remember so much as a chord—he’d never liked sitting still as a child.

Nobody likes a show-off, Amie.
Her mother’s words rang in her ear, but still, she couldn’t help slide onto the piano bench and begin playing a classical piece. “I took piano lessons on the internet.”

“Very impressive,” he said and came to sit next to her on the bench. “Did you have a tutor?”

“Nope, I just watched free videos online. Whatever I could get my hands on. I have a small keyboard at my apartment.” She shrugged. “Not as snazzy as what you’ve got going on here, but it does the job.”

“Well look at you, Amie,” he said, sounding impressed.

She raised her eyebrow and shrugged.

They dabbled at the piano for a while until realizing the only music they were making together was noise. Laughing, they exited the living room and headed toward the dining area. The room was massive, with a huge table over by the bay windows. A giant chandelier hung dangerously close to the tabletop, adding an extra air of class to the room.

Amie stared and marveled at the craftsmanship in the walls and furniture that surrounded her. Everything was so authentic. It was like being in a museum, only this time she didn’t have to stay behind a velvet rope.

She dusted her finger along the extended dining table and glanced at Malik, “Fourteen chairs for your fourteen friends?”

“Stop…” he said bashfully.

“Seriously, this is ridiculous! You actually have this many people over at once?!”

“Of course not,” he laughed softly, pausing briefly before continuing, “Okay, maybe a few times. It would be poor form to run out of chairs when entertaining.”

“Entertaining
who
?” she teased, referring to his female callers.

He raised his brows and clapped his hands together. “Moving on,” he said quickly.

They continued the tour of the house, each room more grandiose than the last, to the point that it made Amie want to laugh. She wasn’t jealous, really. Well, maybe a little. This was more wealth than she’d ever fathomed, and to Malik it was just a talking point. This marble came from here; these walls were designed by so-and-so… Of course, she ate it all up like the happy tourist she was, but she was continually surprised by how unimpressed Malik was with his own success.

The house contained many rooms worthy of excitement; a theater, a vast library, and her favorite: the swimming pool. At the entrance was a faux poolside; complete with lounge chairs and other upscale patio furniture. The roof peaked into an oversized skylight that let the sun’s rays in. Tiled stairs led into the L-shaped pool; the water so clear you could see the multi-colored tiles floored beneath it, as if there were nothing in the way.

Amie leaned over and dipped a toe into the water, heavenly and warm, before lazily spinning around one of the stone pillars lining the poolside.

“Okay, so instead of saying ‘we’re going on a tour’, you definitely should have said ‘we’re going swimming, like, right now.’”

“‘Like’ isn’t a big word in my vocabulary,” he teased. He watched her reaction for a moment before asking, “You really want to go swimming?”

“Is that even a question?”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

The two went their separate ways—Malik having to remind Amie exactly how she could get back to her bedroom—and changed into bathing attire before convening back at the pool.

While Amie bashfully tiptoed down the tile stairs into the water, Malik simply splashed in at the side, racing over to drag her into the water.

“You’re one of those!” she scorned as she tried to run away from him, the water slowing her down.

Eventually, he caught up to her, grabbing her waist and spinning her around in the water, mocking as though he were going to dunk her under. The two laughed and began walking the length of the pool together.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather be in the hot tub?” he asked, pointing across the room.

“I’m pretty sure I’d rather be right here.”

He nodded and began leading her to a smaller staircase by the pool. He walked her up and opened a door at the top. The entrance led to a sprawling garden and a connected pool outside. Tall trees were planted in front of the entrance and gave way to endless greenery.

Amie beamed, taking in the stunning flora and fauna, until Malik came up behind her, picked her up, and carried back into the outdoor section of the pool. The water was perfect, and her new boss wasn’t so bad himself.

With that, she wriggled away from him and splashed water his way. “You are a man of many mysteries,” she said. “Let’s talk.”

“Let’s talk,” he repeated.

“We’re in the Middle East now,” she said factually. “So, aside from pretending to be affianced, I should probably also know, you know, how not to offend people… with my American-ness.”

“You’re trusting stereotypes and American propaganda?” he asked, only partially joking. “You’re not seriously concerned are you?”

“No,” she shrugged, dancing around the pool. “In fact, I’ve always wanted to come; I just want to make sure I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. He made his way to the poolside and held onto the edge as the floor dropped to a deeper area. “Ask away.”

“Tell me more about the culture here,” she said simply. “Is it… strict? Do people hate Americans?”

“Oh, come on!” he laughed. “No, not at all. My father has been the ruling monarch for as long as I can remember, and he’s always been fairly progressive.” He paused, as if wondering what else there was to tell. “Rabayat isn’t so strict about tradition; you’ll find things are a little more relaxed here than in some other areas in the region.”

“So… do I have to cover my face?”

He thought for a moment. “Not if you don’t want to; especially not here, or out in the markets. If we approach any spiritual grounds or temples, you might want to cover yourself—just out of respect.”

She nodded at this, taking a mental note as he continued.

“Saying that, you may want to cover yourself, anyway—if only to avoid the sun. Temperatures are usually in the mid-to-high 90s here.”

“Yeah,” Amie said, splashing some water on herself. “I’ve noticed. And what about my clothes; can I show my ankles?”

“Ha-ha,” he mocked. “People here tend to dress modestly, but ankles are definitely in the clear.”

“Okay, and what about being touchy-feely in public?”

“Well,” he mused, “Obviously people should know we’re a couple, just follow your common sense, and be polite. Easy, right?”

She smiled. “Okay, and what if someone flirts with me?”

“If anyone is flirting with you, don’t worry about kicking up a fuss,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “He’ll leave you alone. However, you’ll be with me…” he laughed, “Pretty much all the time, so I doubt anyone would hit on you with me standing right there. Our culture generally isn’t like that.”

“So, wait…” She paused. “All the time?”

He laughed. “Mostly. So you’d better start liking me soon!”

When it came to cultural differences, there were so many stereotypes Amie had never given a second thought to; what one person thought of as oppressive, others found respectful. When speaking of his mother and the experience of Rabayat women, Malik explained that a husband is to protect his wife as he would protect himself, because she is the guardian of his honor. When asked if women were oppressed in Rabayat, he scoffed playfully and told her that the women here were strong, proud, educated professionals. He spoke of his mother and sister with the utmost respect, telling Amie how these strong figures were the main influences in his early life.

However, he said, when he arrived in America, the notion of female friends seemed preposterous when a woman could be a lover. The respect he spoke of his mother with, and the blithe attitude he held regarding his playboy ways back in Chicago made Amie wonder how these two opinions could be held by the same person.

Re-focusing on the conversation at hand, Amie began, “I read that in the Middle East the husband gets the final say, and if he puts his foot down on an issue,” she paused for dramatic effect, “well, the wife had better listen!”

Malik frowned; his lips then softening to a gentle grin. “Sure… in theory, that’s true. But to be honest, Middle-Eastern men like peace in the home as much as Western ones do. Happy wife, happy life.”

She laughed. “Okay, what about sex? You’ve said you’re not supposed to be affectionate in public, so how does anyone have sex, you know, outside of marriage?”

He shrugged. “We sneak around as much as Americans—we just don’t get caught.” He laughed. “Though when a man is ready to marry, he usually sends his mother out to find him a suitable wife.”

“Yikes,” Amie said, her eyes widening. “Isn’t your mother going to be mad that you brought me here, then? Will she be mad because I’m not from here?”

“Given the circumstances?” He splashed about in the water. “She’s thrilled, trust me. She’ll show you a thing or two about women from Rabayat. They are certainly not passive, secondary citizens.” He laughed. “Trust me, when you meet my mother, you’ll know.”

“When will that be?”

He laughed once more. “This weekend, actually. It is the festival of the Nine Nights. It commemorates the liberation of slaves in Rabayat. The Great Liberation took place centuries ago, but it is still enthusiastically celebrated today—my people love a party.”

Amie’s eyes nearly lit up with sparkles. Sure, she’d met Malik’s father and sister already, but his mother was the person she’d really need to prove herself to. It was going to be the performance of a lifetime, and there was an awful lot hanging in the balance.