Chapter Eleven
His Christine needed cheering.
Ever since she had seen that article—and he wanted to yell at Tess for sending it without reading more than the first two lines—she had moped around the archive. She ate little of the lunches he provided. She stared at the books he brought to her without light in her eyes. She went through the rote of her work, but he could see worry and doubt nagging.
Arif actually wanted to hunt down the author of that article—Tess had only been the unthinking messenger—and throttle the man with his bare hands. He settled instead for arranging dinner in the gardens; there would be no tray in Christine's room this evening. He had no idea what her favorite foods might be, so he would present options—poached salmon in a delicate lemon sauce, roast chicken, steak if she preferred. Pasta or mashed potatoes or a richly spiced rice. Everything American that the cooks could conjure—pizza, beef ribs, even tiny hamburgers. This would be about foods she might love.
Christine followed him from the archives to the peacock throne room, which was now used for informal gatherings. He'd arranged the meal to take place opposite the peacock throne, but even that marvel, with its rainbow of embedded gemstones, could not spark more than a glance and two questions from her. She picked at her food and made idle talk about what might be done to better catalog the archives.
After the meal had been cleared, Arif pushed back his chair. Christine started to rise, but Arif put his hand over hers. "Ah, but we are not done. There is dessert…and this." He clapped his hands. The staff threw open the French windows that opened onto the garden, and music began to play. Tess's latest hit, a love song, filled the room.
The models began their parade.
The first gowns offered up traditional Zahkim wedding colors—black, green, red gowns with wide skirts and sparkles strewn across them like stardust. Christine shot him a suspicious glance, but he only smiled and nodded. Ice cream came out in tiny dishes, along with other puddings. The first models twirled and departed. Colors gave way to stark white in satin, silk, and fluttery fabrics. Arif actually liked one or two, and one in particular, with a low back and slim silhouette, would make his Christine look the princess she would become as his wife.
The fashion show ended. Christine pushed at her melting ice cream with her spoon. "Well, that was impressive, and pretty, but why did all the dresses look like wedding gowns?"
Arif swallowed a nervous laugh. This was not going as he had expected. He had wanted to see Christine's eyes warm, as they had when he had taken her to the harem pool. He had thought the colors and the fabrics would at least spark some interest from her.
"They are all from Zahkim designers. Tarek is trying to grow our country's economy, and his wedding to Tess set off great interest not just in weddings, but fashion."
Christine nodded and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Ah, the joys of being someone who has to dress for magazine shoots. Over the years, Tess has emailed me photos of some of the ridiculous things she's had to wear. She'd look great in some of these. But then, she looks great in anything."
Arif frowned. "There's not a single gown you liked?"
Standing, she gave him a small smile and shook her head. "Not my style. All those puffy skirts…they're for girls who want fairy tale weddings and Prince Charmings. But thanks for dinner. The food was great." She touched a finger to the back of his hand but pulled away as if she’d just touched a live wire. Voice hurried now, she said, "I should reorganize my notes from today. I missed a reference." Turning, she left him, her steps fast, as if she feared staying a moment longer.
He stared after her, drumming his fingers on the table. He caught himself and stood. Glancing around at the table, the beauty of the room, the scents of the garden wafting in, he thought he'd wasted an evening. Nothing could impress this woman. Nothing could please her. Striding for the door, he shouted an order for his car to be brought around. Maybe the problem was simply that he was courting the wrong woman. But how could that be when his heart beat faster every time she came near?
Arif stared at the glass of stout in front of him. The lights of Al Resab glittered below Nasim’s penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows. His cousin kept a supply of British ale and stout in remembrance of good times back in Oxford. But Arif couldn't stop thinking about Christine. The stout tasted far too bitter on his tongue.
"What am I do to? She accepts my kisses, but my ring stays stubbornly on her right hand. She prefers books to designer dresses. She has this obsession with proving her father's theories right, and she has no idea what her own heart desires. And I cannot get her to see any of that!" He fisted one hand and punched the leather arm of his chair.
Nasim threw himself into the sleek, black leather chair opposite. Nasim went for modern furnishings—chrome and leather furniture and abstract art in primary colors on the soft-gray walls. He sipped the foam off his ale and said, "Might not be your job, mate."
Of the three of them, Nasim was the one who held tightest to his days back in England. He preferred jeans to robes and kept his black hair short. Thick, flat e
yebrows gave him a brooding look that did not match his personality. He loved nothing better than a good time, meaning lots of women and few commitments.
Frowning, Arif fixed a hard stare on his cousin. "Fine for you to say. When have you ever been in love?"
With a laugh, Nasim leaned forward. "Love's a fool's game. And if it's a marriage you want, you should be looking at it like it's a business deal. Does it make sense? Do each of you get something you want out of it? And is this a deal worth the fight?"
"Fight? You think I'm giving up too easily?"
"You're being a bloody idiot, is what I think. But if you're mad for the girl, stop whining about how she's so difficult. You'd be bored with some sweet-tempered, easy-going thing clinging to you. Look at all the girls in Al Resab who've thrown themselves at you at every public function you've ever attended, and you've never even noticed them. You're a bloody sheikh of Zahkim. You think our forefathers took no for an answer? Of course not. They fought for what was theirs and ended up ruling the bloody country. If she's what you want, stop doubting yourself and wear her down until you get that yes you want. It's just like any other deal that's waiting to be done."
Arif gave a snort. "Oh, someday you'll learn—it's like nothing else. But you may be right about one thing."
Christine watched her coffee going cold. Had she been a little harsh with Arif about the wedding gowns? She sipped the coffee and let out a breath. The truth was, they'd been beyond beautiful, and she couldn't see herself in a single one of them. She glanced at the ring on her finger, the blue glinting in the sunlight like a trapped piece of desert sky. She'd taken her coffee out into the garden. The beauty around her—colorful flowers, the fountain gurgling, greenery everywhere shading her from the heat building in the day—wasn't helping. She'd asked for three months here, but she suspected three years wouldn't be enough time to find what she wanted.
She wasn't looking for her dad's version of Troy, she was looking for a unicorn. She hadn't found the proof that would lead to confirmation that the Lion People existed because there was no evidence—no mention in any document, not even a hint.
And those wedding gowns meant Arif still thought he wanted to marry her. She let out another sigh. She had it bad for him. Every time he touched her, she went up in flames. She lost her head, and that wasn't good. Because this infatuation of his was going to burn out. She'd seen that before in her other two boyfriends. It all went hot and heavy, and then bam—they started complaining how she spent too much time with her head in a book, or they started talking about better jobs in other locations. Before she knew it, they were out the door. Arif would be the same, and she didn't want them ending up in a messy divorce.
Better for Arif to get bored with playing her assistant now, and they'd both move on.
Or that was the plan.