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She came out suddenly—the door sighed a breath of moist air perfumed with spices and roasting meat—saying, “Sorry about that. We’ve been very—Bashir—I mean, your Highness—I mean—”
“Just call me Bashir,” he said.
“Bashir, then,” she said, switching to English. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you,” he said.
“I thought you were leaving for England today.”
“Tonight.”
“So I guess this is it, then.”
Her words stung, but when he looked at her eyes he saw that she was in just as much pain as he was. “I don’t want to leave without you,” he said.
“But I have a life here—my life is here. And anyway, it makes no sense—what are we doing? You’re a prince, I’m a caterer—we barely know each other—”
“But do you want to get to know me?” he asked.
She stopped, her eyes confused and hurt. “Of course,” she said. “But I’ve also worked incredibly hard for everything that I’ve built here. To give it up on a whim—”
“Would it hurt you to give this up?” he asked, tenderly.
She nodded. “I don’t even mind the thought of going back to England,” she said. “Not anymore. But leaving this—I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s all I have and it’s my pride and joy—”
“Then I’ll stay,” he said.
He felt as surprised as she looked. Until that moment, he’d had no idea that he would stay, either. But now that the words had been spoken, he began to realize how easy it could be, and that the sacrifice wasn’t really a sacrifice: he loved living in London, sure, but he had no real attachment to the place. The busy streets, the smog, the tourists—it had its charm, to be sure, but it wasn’t home, and it would never be home, not in the way the desert was. For all that he complained about the heat, there was a part of his blood that was sand and sun, and after three days here he was already beginning to feel an ease which he hadn’t felt in quite some . His apartment was in a prime spot; he could rent it out. A furnished flat would bring in thousands a month, easily. As for his studies, there was nothing that couldn’t be done via Skype and a VPN key.
“Are you sure?” she was saying. “I mean, there’s a chance that all this could go belly-up in a heartbeat.”
“Well, that’s a chance we’ll have to take, isn’t it?” he asked. “I just want to have the chance to take a chance.” If he didn’t take this, he knew his father would eventually find a way to make him marry someone he chose. “And as for my studies, it won’t be too hard to arrange to do it abroad, although the odds are I’ll probably have to fly to London at least once a month to take care of things. But it could work.”
The look she gave him was one of relief. He was relieved that she was relieved: she, too, had been anxious about not being just another notch in his belt. She, too, had truly felt a connection, and the confirmation that the feelings were mutual brought a bigger wave or relief than he’d thought it would, for it had occurred to him that they were being hopelessly naive and romantic, declaring that they were in love after just a day and one date.
Yet there was something about her that he’d never felt for any of the many women he’d known, in any of the many ways that he’d known them. This attraction was intense, and as she reached up and kissed him, it pleased him to know that it was mutual. Her lips were hot against his—a promise of what could be his.
***
He spent the afternoon making phone calls to London; arranging to rent out his flat and talking with his thesis adviser. He sensed that Professor Parker wasn’t too keen on the idea of him staying in Bahrain, but then again his father was covering his tuition and then some, so he wouldn’t complain to the deans. And anyway, it wasn’t as if he was the first student to do his studies from abroad. The university policies were rather flexible with respect to “family matters”, and while Melinda wasn’t technically family he did hold out hope that she might one day join his.
“Aren’t we leaving?” asked Misha. His bodyguard had appeared at the door, of his room, both of their bags packed and ready to go.
“Not anymore,” Bashir said. The look of shock mingled with confusion that passed over Misha’s face was almost funny, mostly because Misha simply didn’t move his face most of the time.
“Sir,” Misha said, after he had a moment to process it. He made a short bow with his head and began to leave.
“No, wait,” Bashir said. “I need you to go to London for me and get our things. I’ve made arrangements with a realtor to rent the place furnished, but it’ll need to be cleaned and you can make the necessary arrangements—”
“Sir, I am your bodyguard,” Misha said. “I’d be remiss in my duties if I went to London and left you here.”
Bashir managed not to roll his eyes. He appreciated Misha’s devotion and sense of duty, but he couldn’t deny that it wasn’t tedious sometimes. “I’ll be fine here,” he said. “This is the royal palace, after all. There are guards all over the place. And it’s not as if I can leave until I’ve arranged for a place to live here, so you’ll definitely get back before I’ve moved out.”
“Does your father know about this?”
“He knows I’m in love.”
He could almost feel the exasperation rolling off Misha, but the man thought better of voicing it and merely said, “I’ll be going to London, then.” He left one of the bags at the entrance to Bashir’s suites.
