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Chapter Five
An equal mix of men and women cheered as the all-black Land Cruiser blazed down the desert, racing up and down to bash the first dune on its path. The men were there purely for the love of sport, all of them professional drivers, with ‘sand dune bashers’ as their official job title. The women, on the other hand, were also there purely for love – for the man behind the wheel.
The trail set for the day’s main event was filled with dangerous twists and turns, precipitous slopes, and narrow passageways, all of it strategically incorporated into the route to mimic the thrills of a roller coaster ride and provide paying tourists with an unforgettable desert experience.
Binoculars went up in unison as the crowd of onlookers eagerly followed the vehicle’s progress, and breaths were collectively drawn as the powerful 4x4 raged up the tallest of the dunes, a hundred-foot behemoth with the most vicious of angles, steeper than anything that could be found in Dubai’s own slice of the desert.
The crowd gasped as the off-road monster shot straight up in a burst of speed, and the crowd inhaled sharply as the vehicle practically flew straight down...down...down...
The vehicle landed sideways before immediately righting itself with an impressive maneuver of the wheel, and the crowd went wild with thunderous applause just as the 4x4 spun back to the main path. The force of its turn created a spectacular tsunami display of sand in its wake, and a wall of coral pink sand rose in the air like a rising ocean wave set against the desert’s crimson sunset.
There was a moment of stunned, awed silence – and then a moment of pure, delirious joy as the men roared their approval and the women screamed their hearts out. Such was their love and admiration for Tarif Al-Atassi, a man whom the world thought of merely as a carefree billionaire but was a hero in the eyes of his people.
Malik waited until the 4x4 slowed down to a safe cruising speed before reopening the communication channel between him and his older cousin. “Good work, brother.”
“Thanks.” Tarif’s tone was uncharacteristically brief and business-like, or at least it would have sounded so to most of the world, whose idea of the sheikh was that of a work-allergic playboy. “We both know, however, you’d have enjoyed this P.R. stunt more.”
“That’s true,” Malik acknowledged with a grin. Extreme sports such as this were more his element, and although evidence suggested the contrary, Tarif abhorred being in the limelight more than any of them did. “You know I’d have done this in your stead if you asked.”
“And have little Kyria biting my head off,” Tarif scoffed, “because I allowed the father of her future babe risk his life needlessly?”
Malik’s grin widened. Tarif’s words were also true, with pregnancy turning his normally gentle wife into an adorably spoiled, moody termagant. Of course, he also knew that he might be the only one who found the change adorable and so said by way of consolation, “Cheer up, brother. Fate has already delivered the reward for your good deed.”
“She’s here, then?”
Malik wasn’t fooled at all by his cousin’s indifferent tone. “Give it up, Tarif. We both know it’s been eating at you nonstop that she still hasn’t given in to you.”
Like the rest of the royal family, Malik had found himself somewhat divided by the noticeable change between Anisah and his cousin, which was as entertaining as it was disconcerting. One moment it had been Anisah acting like a schoolgirl trying desperately to hide her unwanted fascination with the school delinquent, and then the next moment, it was Tarif struggling to act cool and hide his interest like he was John Travolta to Anisah’s Olivia Newton-John.
“Truth be told, I never thought you the type to waste time pussyfooting,” Malik couldn’t help commenting bluntly.
Tarif didn’t bother to answer. It wasn’t as if Malik wasn’t speaking the truth – or at least something close to it. The fact of the matter was, it had been two weeks now since they had last talked, and his plan to have Anisah come to him first had disastrously backfired.
Two weeks had already passed, and he had yet to find a chance to talk to her, much less have Anisah back in his arms. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He would still stake his life on that. But what he had not counted on was his harpy’s sheer pigheadedness, and her continued refusal to surrender had him alternately seething and brooding like some damn moody bastard aspiring be a modern-day Heathcliff.
Why would she just not give in to him, dammit?
Why insist on an utterly pointless struggle that only caused both of them unwanted suffering? He didn’t fucking like the way she seemed to grow thinner and paler every time he chanced upon her in the palace, didn’t fucking like the way the circles under her eyes seemed to grow darker, and most of all, he goddamn hated every time he heard of Anisah’s increasing trouble at work.
He fucking hated knowing that he was the cause behind all of it, fucking hated it because he knew it shouldn’t be so in the first place.
Malik almost smirked when he heard Tarif mutter an expletive.
Damn her.
And no doubt the other sheikh was referring to none other than Anisah.
In their years of growing up, Tarif had always been the one among them who had the most luck with women. His older brother Altair, Rayyan, even the king – all of them had at one point or another had experienced woman trouble. But Tarif had always been the exception to the rule.
Or at least he used to be...until now.
“If you want her, take her,” Malik said mildly. “Hasn’t it always been that simple?”
“It’s different this time.”
Malik was amused. “You do know that’s just your pride talking and you’re acting like an idiot—-”
“Fuck off.”
