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Rayyan’s bedroom was dark and empty when she finally arrived, but it was just as she expected. After placing her homemade cake and laptop on the table, Hyacinth planted herself in the armchair next to the window and settled down for what she knew could be a rather long wait. The sheikh’s Geneva-based parents had flown in to celebrate their son’s birthday, and Hyacinth expected their dinner to last until the wee hours of the night.
To while away the time, she took her phone out, and the first thing she saw was a notification about the latest articles written about the sheikh. She clicked on the tab, thinking that it could be photos of the sheikh with the rest of the royal family.
Al Afea: Serpent or Snake?
Photographs of Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi having dinner with Ms. Jemima Black, the sheikh’s long-rumored mistress, have recently been leaked to the public. Black is also the ex-wife of Sheikh Abdel Ghulam, and prior to this development, speculations have risen about the couple getting back together.
But with the royal sheikh back in the picture, who could blame Ms. Black for having her head turned by a worldly prince such as Al-Atassi?
WHERE THE FUCK WAS she? The moment he had seen the news about him and Jemima getting back together, his first and only concern was of Hyacinth. He had called Aisha, the undercover agent posing as a high school student and whom Hyacinth used for sleepover excuses, but all Aisha could tell him was that Hyacinth meant to celebrate his birthday with him. As for Gadi, the only thing his assistant could say was that she had used his office to access the palace’s secret tunnels.
Knowing there was only one other person he could ask about Hyacinth’s whereabouts, he reluctantly excused himself from the table to make a call to Cecile in private.
Hyacinth’s homeroom teacher answered right away, demanding shortly, “Is the news real?”
“It’s not.” His voice was just as taut. “Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t right now, but I’ll try calling her.” A pause, and then she said stiffly, “She might not show it to you anymore, but I think you should still know.”
Rayyan’s face hardened as he listened to what Cecile had to say, and as soon as the call ended, he swiftly typed the URL she had given him.
Ah.
His jaw clenched tightly as he started reading her posts, with each one presenting a passionate but concisely written and meticulously structured defense of the more controversial economic policies he had helped pass. And as for every unfair attack launched against him by the international media, she had rebutted them point by fucking point –
It was Hyacinth wearing her heart on a sleeve – with a loaded gun right next to it.
All of a sudden he knew exactly where she was, and when the sheikh returned to the party, he used the news about Jemima to excuse himself early from dinner. In half an hour, he was in his bedroom, staring down at the girl foolish enough to love a man like him.
When Hyacinth woke up, it was to see the sheikh himself stepping out of his fancy bathroom, hair still wet from the shower, bare-chested, and dressed only in a pair of loose lounge pants. She scrambled to a sitting position just as the sheikh crouched down in front of her, his gaze capturing hers.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about having dinner with Jemima.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was being stupid. And stubborn.”
Oh.
“If you told me,” she said slowly, “it would mean that I really did have a chance.” Even without Rayyan saying a word, she knew this was the truth, but what she just couldn’t figure out was why.
The way he was looking at her now – like she was someone he could never have, and she just didn’t understand it.
The sheikh didn’t seem the type to let something like her age hold him back. Maybe that was an issue with someone like Sheikh Malik and Kyria, but they were different people in a different situation.
But with her and Rayyan...
“Why?” She hated the way her voice shook, hated that this man could make her feel so easily weak and fragile when she had always been strong. “Can’t you just tell me why?”
I want to be yours, so why?
Why?
Why?
Hyacinth tensed when the sheikh slowly reached for her.
His knuckles grazed her cheek, the trail mark left by her tears making it slightly wet.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I made you cry.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“The last thing I ever want is to hurt you, but it seems the only thing I’m capable of doing where you’re concerned.”
“That’s not true.”
“Now who’s flattering whom?” This time, she deliberately made her voice light, making it clear without words that the last thing she desired was a post-mortem on the things he did and couldn’t do.
