Page 39 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

“Maybe it is,” I say, this time a little less shy. “I believe in destiny. Maybe somewhere it was written that we were meant to meet in Paris.”

I’m only half joking. I truly believe nothing happens by chance. Every step of our existence on this planet has a purpose.

She nods.”Did you two come here for lunch? Do you know what’s safe to eat? My French isn’t great.”

“Are you alone? You can join us if you like,” Jazmina offers. “But just so you know, that won’t save you from accidentally ordering something exotic. Adeela doesn’t speak French, and I’m no expert, so we’d better hope there’s a bilingual menu.”

“I am alone, yes, for now, and I’d love to join you. I hate eating by myself. I’m in Paris to show my paintings at a gallery in Trocadéro. I hold exhibitions here at least once a year, though this season isn’t a major one. I had to split my time between this and another event in Germany a few months from now.”

“You’re a painter?”

“I like to think so,” she says, laughing as we walk to the table.

After explaining to the waiter that she’ll be sitting with us so he can free the other table, we take our seats.

“When’s your exhibition?” Jazmina asks. “We’d love to visit, if possible.”

“It starts tomorrow and runs through the rest of the week. If you really want to come, I’ll leave your names at the reception. It’s open only to select clients. But just to warn you, all the pieces are already sold; they were commissioned.”

I’m impressed. She must be famous, and I make a mental note to look up her work online as soon as I have time.

“Would it be too much to ask for an invitation for my brother too? He’s an art collector, among other things, and I’m sure he’d love to go.”

She pulls a few cards from her purse and hands one to each of us. “Check with him and call me. Then send me the exact day you’d like to come and your full names. You’ll all be welcome.”

It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’ve always wanted to see an art exhibition. Still, my mind is too consumed by thoughts of my mother to focus on anything else. Yet I don’t want to seem rude.

“What do you paint?” I ask.

“I started with landscapes, but now I focus exclusively on portraits. I only work on commission these days.”

Sofia shows us some photos of her paintings on her phone.

“You’re incredibly talented,” I say, captivated as I look at them. “I mean, I’m no art expert, but they’re all beautiful. I can’t even decide which one I like best.”

“You’re very kind, Adeela.”

“It’s not kindness. I mean it.”

For a moment, I drift off, imagining how wonderful it would be to have a portrait like that of my mother. But considering Sofia exhibits all over the world, I’d probably have to save for the rest of my life to afford one.

“So, what do you suggest?” the redhead asks. “I’m starving and fully prepared to forget about my diet today.”

Hours before dinner

My hand trembles as I reach for the phone, the name flashing on the screen sending a shiver down my spine.

“Kaled?”

“Adeela, how are you?” His voice is extraordinary. I’ve known men who needed to raise their voices to assert themselves—my father, above all—but Kaled commands without shouting. He projects strength without intimidation.

It’s astounding that he and Sheikh Naim could share the same father. No, it’s unbelievable that Naim could even be the son of former Sheikh Kamran, a good and gentle man.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I just got back from shopping with your sister.”

I doubt he cares about what we bought, but Kaled makes me even more self-conscious than usual, so I end up filling the silence with pointless chatter.

I hadn’t wanted to shop at all; I only agreed because Jazmina said he hadn’t left room for argument.