Khalid saw Casey stiffen. While he wished his father to call off any wedding, he did not want a family war started. He turned to Zaid and asked after the business deal pending with two American companies bidding on offshore drilling rights.
The sultan overheard the question and it was enough to divert his attention—business usually did.
Frowning, Casey turned to pick at her food.
The rest of the meal passed quickly. Casey offered no other comments, and when conversation drifted back into Arabic it became clear she knew nothing of the local language. That left her isolated, making it clear how distant she was from any other woman at the table. Khalid almost wished he could do something to draw her back into the conversation, but this was what he wanted—to show his father that Casey was not a wise choice of bride so that his father would simply tell Khalid not to marry for a time.
Dinner ended when the sultan rose and left the room. Ahmed and Zaid gave Khalid long looks, promising questions would be coming soon, but Khalid had every intention of ducking that ordeal for as long as he could. He escorted Casey back to her room and when he had the door closed behind him, he told her, “That went well.”
She stared at him. “Really? I had the impression your father would like to put me on the next plane out of here, and what is with your brothers? I could swear they know this is a fake.”
Khalid shrugged. “Zaid always asks too many questions. But he and Ahmed will not make trouble for me.”
“And what about my interviews? The sooner I can get them in, the better. This isn’t going to last all that long.”
He held up his hand to keep her from saying more. “In due time. Tomorrow, we have another event hosted by my father for his American business partners. You and I will attend—the whole family will be there. I would just as soon have that event go well for my father, but I will see about arranging your interviews as soon as I can.”
Casey shook her head. “I need a date. My editor has a deadline, and I’ve got to tell him more than…soon.”
Coming over to her, Khalid took her hand in his. “Tomorrow we will schedule things? For tonight, sleep well.” The impulse rose and he did not question it—she was a lovely woman and he found her attractive. Leaning down, he kissed the corner of her mouth. She stiffened, and he wondered if she was alarmed or interested. Pulling back, he could see confusion in her eyes—as if she did not know what to do about this attraction between them. He did.
He put his arm around her and started to pull her close, but her cell phone rang.
She pulled away. “That’s probably my editor. I’ve got to take his call. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Turning, she headed for the bedroom and her phone call.
He was more than tempted to follow her, but he also knew the danger of letting this attraction grow out of hand. He wanted her to be a woman his father would dismiss as unworthy of any man of the family—he did not want a wife. Turning, he headed out of her room—and he kept trying not to picture the allure of her hips as she had walked away from him.
No, she was a woman meant to do away with the idea of Khalid having to marry. He was not going to give into the allure of her charms and make this romance into something real.
The next day, Khalid intentionally avoided Casey. He buried himself in business calls and paperwork and email. However, he could not avoid thinking of her. Was she bored in the palace? Was she writing? Or pacing her room? Five different times he almost asked one of the servants what she was doing. Four times he caught himself heading toward her room and had to turn his steps back to his office. He thought of taking lunch with her in the gardens, but instead took his meal in his office.
Such a plan backfired on him, however, when his father stopped by and gave an approving nod. “If this is the influence an American girl has on you to work harder, I approve.” His father smiled, turned and walked out.
And Khalid knew he was going to have to not be so consumed by business—he wanted his father to get the idea of marriage out of his mind. Not to think that Casey was reforming Khalid’s playboy ways.
The event that evening was to take place in the gardens. The sultan had asked for traditional dress. Khalid intentionally chose a black suit and white shirt, leaving off even the formality of a tie. He sent to Casey a request for her to wear the red gown he had chosen for her. It was not the least traditional. Oh, it covered her skin, but when she stepped from her room, he saw it did just what he had hoped.
The long, red dress showed off her curves. The skirt flowed loosely around her legs, but the top hugged her thin waist and the swell of her breasts. Khalid smiled—she looked very American with her golden hair loose and her pale skin.
With his hand resting at the small of her back, he escorted her down the stairs. “Did you have a good day?” he asked.
She lifted one shoulder. “More like a long call last night giving excuses to my editor about not having a deadline or an interview li
ned up—and then a long day of writer’s block. Khalid, it’s hard to write a story if you don’t know what the story is. I need some interviews.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow, I promise, I will arrange all.”
They stepped into the gardens.
Small, white lights had been strung in the trees. Candles in lanterns floated in the three different fountains. Food had been set out in one area, a band played traditional instruments in another, and the air smelled of scented flowers—jasmine and honeysuckle.
“There she is,” the sultan said coming to meet them. He glanced at Khalid’s casual dress and frowned, but Casey stepped forward and said, “Masaa el kheer.”
For a moment, the sultan seemed taken aback that she had spoken Arabic, but his mustache twitched and he gave a nod. “Good evening. It is good to see you learn a few words.” He waved impatiently for Khalid. “Come, I have told everyone they are to meet my son’s bride-to-be.”
Khalid took Casey’s hand and escorted her around the gardens. He lost track of the number of hands shaken. Most of the guests he knew already—the crowd was mostly men, and mostly American. Casey seemed to become more a reporter than a person. She could not, it seemed, resist asking questions.
“What do you think of Sharjah’s stance on women’s rights? Do you think Sharjah should be sanctioned until it does away with forced marriages? Have you ever thought of using your business ties to Sharjah to enforce a change in how women are treated?” The questions would have pleased him—if his father had been close enough to overhear.