The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement: The Blooming Desert Series Book One Read online

  Talitha nudged her lightly with an elbow, and the two of them shared a smile.

  That smile, brief as it was, softened the edges of Hamid’s anger. They enjoyed each other, didn’t they? His mother treasured Talitha’s company. She was happy to have Talitha around. Yes, it had been utterly reckless, but they’d gone on an adventure together. The bond between them strengthened them. His instinct was to see it as a wall between the two women and himself, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was something else?

  Hamid didn’t love the softening he felt near his heart, didn’t love it at all. It meant feelings could creep in—feelings other than righteous anger and physical attraction. Pain could worm its way in. He wouldn’t let that happen now. He couldn’t.

  “Let’s compromise.” This was not good. Compromise hadn’t been on his agenda, and yet there it was, hanging in the air between them. “If you’re interested in something, Mother, we’ll discuss it together. If I approve, then I’ll arrange for you to go there. Safely. Suitably accompanied.”

  Talitha pursed her lips. “Why don’t you send me away if I’m so unsuitable?”

  “I need you,” he blurted out, then got a hold on himself. “I need you at the palace because of our...engagement.”

  * * *

  “Sir?” The driver’s voice was sharp enough that Talitha took her eyes off Hamid. He was so infuriating and so handsome at the same time. It really wasn’t fair. “We’ll have a short delay.”

  All of them looked out the windows. They were about twenty-five yards from the palace gate. Wow, those paparazzi moved fast. They’d obviously given chase from the arcade. Naturally. They knew the streets as well as she did.

  Now that they’d successfully slowed down the royal motorcade, they crowded in, lenses as close to the windows as they could get. Hamid held out his hand toward her.

  For what?

  Oh. Oh.

  Tali took his hand and let him pull her across to the other seat, where he put his arm around her and tucked her in close. She could feel how hard his heart beat beneath his skin, feel it even beneath his ribs, pressed against her side. They’d genuinely scared him, then. The blustering king wasn’t an act.

  “Send out guards to form a cordon,” Hamid said to the driver.

  “They’re blocking the gate. Too many of them. Sir? We’ll have to go on foot.”

  Tali could see the wisdom in this. The paparazzi would be less bold if they stepped out of the vehicle—actually threatening harm to a member of the royal family was treason, and they wouldn’t risk it. However, they’d delay the car for as long as they could. It was an old deal between the royal family and the press, even paparazzi—a free press meant giving them a little freedom to get close.

  But not much.

  The view out the windows was blocked the next second by a wall of black-suited men. The maid opened the door without hesitation and stood by to help Nenet out, and Tali followed, Hamid’s hand a gentle guidance on the small of her back. They weren’t outside for a full heartbeat before he took charge. “Through the main entrance,” he called. “Is the second cordon in place?”

  The second cordon was in place. They were holding back the crowd, forming a no-man’s land around the group in the center. But the guards couldn’t block out the sound. Everyone with a camera was shouting questions—questions about Tali and Hamid, whether Rafiq liked her, what the Queen Mother’s opinion was—

  It didn’t seem to bother Hamid now that they were outside. He kept them moving with military precision, which made sense, because he’d been in the military. Tali appreciated that experience now more than ever. She moved up next to Nenet to block her from the cameras. To protect her privacy. So perhaps Hamid had had a point. Out here, with two rings of guards around them, Tali still felt...exposed. Almost a little in danger.

  They moved fast toward the gate, and as soon as Nenet was in, Hamid called a halt to the rest of the guards. They neatly separated their rings in two, half of them moving with Nenet and her maid. The other half parted behind them so that they were visible, but not reachable.

  Hamid looked down into her eyes, and Tali saw a question there. Please. They’d argued in the car, he’d been shaken by finding her gone, but he was still the king. They still needed to play this game with the press. Slowly, carefully, giving her plenty of time to protest, Hamid took her hand.

  “Are we still engaged?” he murmured, and a flash of confusion was quickly replaced by a giddy excitement. Why did this feel so real, even though it had to be fake? Longing slammed into her next. Was it fake if any of it felt real? How would she ever know, unless they actually got close?

  Tali put on a smile, letting it go all the way to her eyes as she gazed up at Hamid. It was real, absolutely real, not a performance. “Yes,” she heard herself say.

  He paused once more. For all he’d put his foot down in the car, now he waited, silently asking her if it was all right.

  Yes, her heart said.

  Hamid wrapped an arm around her waist, his other hand going to her cheek and caressing her, and Tali’s body responded. Oh, did it respond. She melted into him, her knees going weak and her nipples pulling tight under her dress. He wasn’t kissing her, not really, but he was so close that it was hotter than a kiss. He was such a tease. All the questions being shouted at them blurred into one and hid themselves under the endless click of camera shutters.

  Then the circle of guards closed, cutting off all those other people, and Hamid tugged her through the palace gates. The noise dimmed immediately, bouncing back off the palace walls. It got quieter with every step they took through the outer gardens that lined the public entrance road. Twenty paces ahead they met Nenet and her maid. Hamid let go of her, his fingertips lingering on her back for an extra moment, and jogged ahead to confer with his security team.

  Tali fell into step beside Nenet, breathing as hard as Nenet had been when they got back to the car. She searched for something to say, but Nenet beat her to it.

  “Well, well, well.” Nenet looked at her slyly out of the corner of her eye.

  “He didn’t have a choice,” Tali’s aid quickly. “There were press. We’re ‘engaged.’”

  Nenet laughed, the sound rich and full and utterly devoid of any weakness. Tali could hardly believe anything would hold her back. “Don’t you know Hamid yet? My son is a proud man. No one makes him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

  He’d been so close, his arm banded around her waist, and he’d breathed her in as if she was the source of all worldly oxygen. Nenet’s words only made the situation more confusing. If Hamid really did want her, then what was the point of playacting an engagement? Why didn’t they just do it? She huffed a laugh. Because he was the king, that’s why. Marrying a jeweler’s daughter wasn’t going to be on his agenda.

  “Should I send for a doctor?”

  Hamid’s voice made her jump, it had come from so close by. When had he stopped his conversation with the guard?

  “I’m fine,” Nenet said pointedly. “You don’t have to rush me to the hospital every time I go shopping.”

  Hamid looked like he wanted to say more, but he only crossed behind Tali and bent to kiss his mother on the temple. “Of course, of course.”

  She waited for the spark to fade, for the adrenaline rush to stop. He wasn’t near her anymore, so why did she still feel like he was holding her? Why did she want more of it so desperately?

  “Tali, come help me decide where to put my new things,” said Nenet. And that was that.

  9

  “Look at the designs on this vase.” Three days later, Tali and Rafiq paused next to one of the display pillars in the gallery section of the palace. The palace, of course, was large enough to essentially house its own museum collection. “They were carefully put here by an artisan.”

  Rafiq nodded seriously. “Did artisans do other things?”

  “Of course. They did, and do, all kinds of things. Like weaving. Clothes, blankets...” Tali snapped her fi
ngers. “If I had access to a sewing machine I could show you. We could come up with our own designs. And I bet the palace has plenty to learn from, somewhere—”

  “The sewing room,” chimed in a voice from behind her. A maid, on her way to one of the bedrooms with a stack of clean linens. She grinned at the pair of them, and Rafiq waved back. “It’s down on the lower level.”

  “The sewing room?” Why was Tali surprised? The palace had everything, didn’t it?

  “There used to be a larger staff, back when the royal family had clothes made for them in the palace. As far as I know, all of the equipment and storage is still in the sewing room. Would you like me to show you?”

  “Yes!” Rafiq rose up on the balls of his feet. “I would like that so much. I want to see the artisans.”

  The maid laughed. “There aren’t any artisans down there now. But you could become one for an hour or two, I think. This way.”

  Ten minutes later, they were walking down a wide hallway in the palace’s basement. “Basement” seemed wrong to Tali. The lower level—there, better—boasted marble floors and gentle lights, and it didn’t seem to matter that it had been a place for hired help. Every part of the palace was gorgeous. The maid stopped in front of a pair of doors and opened them wide, then stepped in and flicked on the light.

  When she’d said sewing room, Tali had pictured a narrow closet with a single sewing machine, but this—this was almost on the level of a factory. The huge room was filled with wide tables, several with sewing machines. Tools hung on the walls in every direction.

  “Back there is the storage.” The maid looked at Tali, then Rafiq. “I’m sure it’s all right for you to look at what they’ve kept. It’s antique, though.”

  Tali heard the caution in her voice. “We’ll be very careful.” They’d spent plenty of time looking through catalogues and inventories the last few days, matching up the pictures with the antiques. It had become a bit of a staff project. The staff members at the palace liked for Tali to speak English to them and their children, and she could sense an energy gathering within their group. They’d already planned an English-language play to put on for the rest of the palace, and it could turn into a more formal program someday. Maybe soon, for all Tali knew. The momentum was there for it, certainly, with the play and the impromptu lessons in the children’s classroom and wherever else they happened to find things to talk about in the palace. She could think about all that tomorrow.

  For now, they’d look at the textiles.

  She and Rafiq went to the back, where hundreds of bolts of fabric and projects and clothing had been stored. They marveled at cotton appliqué embroidery that was clearly inspired by the ancient traveling people who had first lived in the country. They stumbled across a collection of wall hangings that must range from the beginning of the palace construction to now. Tali’s mind was flooded with ideas for her designs. “This is what artisans did?” whispered Rafiq.

  “They’re still doing it now. It’s a tradition,” she found herself saying. “A tradition that gets passed down for generations.” What else got passed down through generations? Lots of things, like Hamid’s nose and his penchant for rules and regulations.

  Tali stayed up late that night finishing her own work—more website orders had come in, and her father had asked her to design a splash page for his business. If he’d ever allow her a bit more control, she could really expand the business through the website. They could have clients choose from a set of premade designs, a selection of gems and metals...almost like a sandwich shop, but with jewelry. She laughed out loud in the silence of her room. That was all up in the air now, wasn’t it? Now that she and Hamid were engaged.

  The next morning came with a fresh burst of energy. That afternoon the casual English lessons and the play solidified into afternoon English classes for the palace kids. She added videos and songs with some help from her online friend Annalise, who taught English as a second language for a living. Four days after that, the play was as ready as it would ever be. She could hardly get a handle on the kids’ excitement. Even if she’d wanted to practice for a few more weeks, they wanted the show to go on.

  She loved that about them.

  Rafiq tugged at her skirt after their final practice, a paper folded in his hand. “Can we take the invitation now?”

  “Of course. We’ll see if the council can spare a moment.”

  The council could always spare a moment for Rafiq, and Tali accompanied him into the big room with its round table where council meetings were held. Hamid sat at the center seat, amusement in his eyes, but he kept a serious expression on his face. “What brings you before the council, my son?”

  “We’d like to invite you and your council members to our play.” Rafiq ran up and handed his father the handmade invitation.

  “We’ve been holding classes for the children,” Tali explained. “And we’ve been working on a play in English. We’d like to invite you to be in the audience.”

  This was met with a long row of furrowed brows.

  “That’s not how learning is conducted,” said one of the men far down the row. “Puppet shows?”

  “No puppets,” said Tali. “Only children.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he told Rafiq, giving him a warm smile. The councilors murmured among themselves as Hamid leaned over, picking up a stack of papers from the desk. “Some invitations have come for you as well.”

  “For me?” Tali resisted the urge to look behind her. Why was he telling her this now, in front of the council? What kind of invitation had been addressed to her at the palace?

  “To a fashion show.”

  “Oh!” She rushed up and took the stack of envelopes from Hamid. “I promised my friend I’d distribute her invitations to anyone who was interested. She’s a designer, and it’s her first big show. I have to be there.”

  “The venue doesn’t meet with council approval.”

  Tali blinked. “How?”

  Hamid leaned back in his seat, and she felt painfully aware of the rest of the eyes in the room. No matter. She wouldn’t show her discomfort now. Not in front of Rafiq and the council. “Security concerns,” Hamid said. “It’s a rather bizarre venue. It would be better if you didn’t go.”

  “I must be there,” Tali insisted. “My jewelry is being featured in the show. I’ve helped to style the show.”

  Rafiq’s eyes had gone wide. “If Tali can put on our show, then she can do her show, too. She’s good at it!”

  Hamid’s face softened. Who could resist Rafiq? “We’ll discuss it,” he said noncommittally. “But Rafiq...” He leaned over to Rafiq and swept the boy into his arms. “Let me see those nails.”

  Rafiq obediently held out his hands, fingernails up for inspection, and Hamid tsked. “What did we say about constantly showing up for dinner with paint under your nails?”

  “You have to get paint under your nails to make a good set,” said Rafiq, and a smile broke over Hamid’s face. How could he be so relaxed with Rafiq in front of the council? It was a side of him she didn’t often get to see, even though she spent most of her time with Rafiq. Her face heated. Here she was, standing in front of the council and fantasizing about getting to know Hamid better. Better than pretending to kiss him for the press. Better than being a required guest in his palace. So much better.

  Two days later, the council and Hamid and all the palace parents gathered in a ballroom they’d commandeered for the show, each in their traditional robes for a traditional performance. They’d set up rows of seats and their set, which was made from painted cardboard boxes. Each child had worked to come up with a costume assembled from clothes they found in the palace and traded among each other, along with an assortment of funny hats. By the time everyone took their seats, it felt like a real show.

  And it was a real show, Tali thought as she helped them through the scene, whispering cues from the side of the makeshift stage. It was a short scene, but it felt momentous. She also sto
le glances at the audience, delighting in their shift from parents here to support our children to genuinely impressed. The scene ended in a standing ovation.

  “Wait, wait,” Hamid called. “Are you sure you know what you’ve said?”

  The children grinned. “We know,” one of them said. “We do!” The others echoed.

  “What color is this, then?” Hamid jumped up and pointed at a swirl of color on one of the boxes.

  “Blue,” they answered in English.

  “And this?”

  “Orange!” “Red!” “Brown!”

  “And how many boxes?”

  “Seventeen!”

  The chorus of children’s voices lifted Tali’s heart. They’d learned more than even she had suspected. Hamid put his hands together one more time, and the rest of the adults joined in thunderous applause. The clapping broke the spell of the show, and the children ran out to their parents, taking off hats and bits of costumes as they went.

  “Oh, no, no. Pictures!” The parents shepherded the group back in front of the stage and cameras flashed one by one as they got photos of all the grinning kids with their hard work around them.

  Hamid appeared at her side. “It seems your methods worked. I’m impressed, Tali. So is everyone else.”

  Her chest swelled, and she put a hand to her collar to keep it in check. More pictures, more clapping. And then Hamid called for everyone’s attention once again. One of the children darted behind the set.

  “Before we go, I’d like to thank Talitha, the excellent teacher and director, for sharing her time with our children. Her engaging methods have worked wonders, it seems. Talitha, thank you.” The student, a boy named Ahmed, ran up and presented her with a lush bouquet in pink and white. “Thank you.” Hamid’s voice dropped again, sounding so low and affectionate, and her mouth dropped open.