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It took everything Anisah had to not pick up her skirts and make a run for it. This...this was just a whim of his, she decided feverishly.
But what about the fact that he said he had been observing you for two months
Just a whim, Anisah!
But what about that smile
A whim, she forcefully tried to convince herself.
And the way he’s still looking at you now
Nothing but a whim, Anisah Kahveci, and by the morrow, she would see the truth of this, with the sheikh ignoring her like he always did, and treating her no differently from any of the other hundred or so employees working in the palace.
The sheikh was used to having women at his beck and call, and it was impossible for Tarif Al-Atassi to waste another second of his precious time pursuing someone like her – a nobody, and even worse, a nobody who obviously did not welcome his advances.
Anisah found herself nodding determinedly as she hurried down the stairs.
Yes, that was surely how it would be.
Surely.
But only a few hours came to pass when the sheikh proved the opposite true.
Chapter Two
Hail the Queen of Ramil, for in her womb rested Ramil’s most precious heir to the throne!
Such were the cries that rung throughout the desert kingdom, with every town celebrating Queen Harper’s pregnancy and the announcement that the Emir Sheikh’s wife was carrying a boy. The palace was of course having a celebration of its own, with its ballroom welcoming a steady influx of well-wishers for the royal couple.
Following a lavish dinner, King Khalil took the hand of his beloved queen for the night’s first dance, and the couple made a majestic and breathtakingly romantic figure as they swirled and twirled until finally, at the end of the song, the king literally swept his queen off her feet as he lifted her high up in the air.
“Malaka lilia, malakti.” The king uttered the words for the whole world to hear, which meant ‘forever yours, my queen.’
Tears stinging her eyes, Harper could only whisper back, “Malaka lilia, mikkhi.” Forever yours, my king.
As the orchestra played the next song, Khalil gently lowered his wife back to her feet, and with one arm curving protectively around her waist, the king bid his guests to join them on the dance floor.
No second invitation was needed, and in moments the floor was completely taken up by couples swaying to the gentle notes of a Ramilian ballad. Love was in the air, and with everyone under its spell, invited members of the press had the time of their life taking one glorious photo after another, the innumerable beautiful couples waltzing before them making the perfect subject for tomorrow’s news.
There was Sheikh Malik Al-Atassi with his dazzling young wife, Kyria, and although the fires of controversy that once surrounded their union had finally died down, the two still made quite the intriguing couple: a man and woman who had still fallen in love with each other despite having been raised as brother and sister under one roof.
And then there was Sheikh Altair, Malik’s older brother and the kingdom’s military commander, dancing with his rarely seen fiancée, Safiya, daughter of the recently-turned-recluse Sheikh Mahmud. A story was to be made there one day, and the press was determined to circle around the couple like hungry hyenas waiting to pounce at the first sign of trouble.
The press also attempted to take a photo of Sheikh Rayyan, but the silver-haired sheikh was as aloof as ever and had retreated to one of the private lounges as soon as dancing had commenced.
Four Al-Atassi sheikhs down, one left, the paparazzi thought as they went hunting for the last of the king’s vassals to be accounted for. They searched for the kingdom’s playboy sheikh high and low, far and wide, but even so, not one of them realized that the sheikh was merely hiding in plain sight. A small observatory reserved for the palace’s staff overlooked the ballroom from far above, and outlined against its glass panes were two figures – and one of it was none other than Tarif Al-Atassi himself.
Oh for the love of Allah, why was he here?
One moment Anisah was happily alone in the observatory, busy scribbling her notes, but then the next moment he was suddenly there, and the resplendently rare sight of the sheikh dressed in a formal white robe had her scrambling off her chair with a gasp. “Sheikh!”
“Maehdina, anisdi.” The sheikh’s tone was polite, but the gleam in his gaze was mocking. “Did I startle you?”
Of course he did, and the infernal man knew it. Pasting a smile on her face even as she bristled inside, she asked, “May I be of service to you, Your Highness?”
“You may.”
Anisah’s toes curled involuntarily inside her shoes. Curse him. Just two words, and he had somehow made her offer sound positively indecent.
