The Sheikh's Pretend Fiancée (The Sharif Sheikhs 1)

Sahaar grunted, but Liyah knew the old woman was finally relenting. Liyah was relieved to know that she could finally start to help her host-mother out—she wanted to feel more included and at home, and this would be a start. She knew it would hurt Sahaar’s feelings to tell her that being treated like a guest made her feel like an outsider.

As Liyah helped to stir and chop, she listened to Sahaar tell stories about her two sons. They were a little older, so when Liyah had first stayed, they hadn’t been around much. Apparently, they also wanted to explore new things and were traveling across America.

Liyah reveled in the love she heard in the woman’s voice. “You miss them.”

Sahaar sniffed and nodded. “I do, but I know they are happy, and they stay in touch with me. Their wild stories sometimes make my heart stop!” She patted her chest and shook her head. “I love having you and Mila here. You are absolutely beautiful, and I’m so glad that you’ve returned. Please consider this your home, and I beg you to stay as long as you like.”

Home. There was that word again, and it warmed her. She took a moment to let the feeling settle before reaching over to hug Sahaar. Despite her problems finding a job and getting comfortable in her surroundings, she knew that she’d made the right decision.

She helped Sahaar clean up after lunch and returned to her room to look online, without success, for more jobs.

She was just about to reach for her favorite comic books when her door flew open.

“Liyah,” Mila whispered breathlessly. Her eyes were so wide that Liyah worried they might pop. Alarmed that something had happened to Sahaar, she rose from her seat at her small writing desk.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Mila shook her head. “Liyah, there’s a summons from a sheikh—for you. A sheikh!”

Liyah’s brow furrowed. “A sheikh? To see me? Why?”

“I don’t know. The invitation said that he got your address from the bartender at the lounge. You put Sahaar’s address down on your license.” She took a deep breath, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room, and added in a gasp, “There’s a car waiting for you.”

That still didn’t explain why a sheikh was asking about her—or what he wanted. Liyah had started for the door before she realized that she was still dressed in her pajamas. She couldn’t meet a sheikh dressed like this.

Mila grabbed her hand. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

Dragging her to the other bedroom, Mila threw open her closet door and rummaged around until she pulled out a sleek blue dress. Before Liyah could protest borrowing Mila’s clothes, her friend was throwing the dress at her, and she caught it instinctively. “Hurry! Get dressed! You do your makeup, and I’ll do your hair.”

Liyah’s mind raced as Mila helped her get ready. The only person she could think of who even might know her was the man she’d shared a hookah with, the other night. Asad. Was he the sheikh? If so, why hadn’t he said anything of the sort? A man of that kind of status would normally throw his weight around, at least a little.

Less than ten minutes later, Mila hustled her to the dark sedan.

A tall, thin man stood holding the car door open, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. When he saw Liyah, a look of surprise registered, but he didn’t say anything.

“Call me as soon as it’s over,” Mila whispered urgently. “I want to hear all the details!” She gave Liya

h a little push toward the car.

Liyah stumbled, but managed to catch herself, walking the rest of the way to the car with what she hoped was suitable grace and dignity. With a nod of thanks, she seated herself inside.

The driver frowned, still holding the car door open. “You are Liyah?”

Liyah nodded. He raised an eyebrow but quickly composed himself and shut the door. Once behind the wheel of the car, he spoke in a formal tone. “I am Ori, one of the drivers for the Sharif family. You will be meeting Sheikh Asad Sharif and his sister Mira for lunch.”

She was about to point out that she’d already had lunch, but it would probably be in poor taste to turn down their offer. Although, she thought wryly, a little notice would have been good.

Scooting to the edge of the seat, she leaned forward, hovering behind Ori. “Excuse me? Do you know why I’m supposed to have lunch with them?”

“No, ma’am. I was given an address and a note to deliver, with instructions to pick you up and take you to lunch,” he said stiffly.

“And if I wasn’t there? Or if I didn’t want to go to lunch?”

“Then I was to find you and convince you.”

Oh, sure. Just hunt her down. Not like there weren’t three million other people in the city. She was just about to lean back, and his eyes caught and held hers in the mirror. “I was told that you frequent a small cafe just by your home.”

“I don’t frequent it,” she protested. “I just go there sometimes to relax.” Still, she obviously had gone there enough times for a virtual stranger to discover that it was a favorite haunt. It unnerved her a little to know that he knew so much about her.