The Sheikh Surgeon's Proposal

“Aih, ed’hukki—laugh at a poor man’s expense with your time-defying smoothness.” He pantomimed running his fingers down said smoothness. She felt each touch, barely stopped herself from jerking away. “And to think women lament what they do to maintain their beauty. Try shaving twice a day.”

“You mean you don’t have someone or two to do it for you?”

He pouted. “What, alongside those assigned to scratching my itches? Wonder whatever befell them this past week.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “OK—that was stupid and prejudiced.”

“The ‘never apologize’ rule, remember?” His eyes held only amusement, soothing her. “And then I can have others waiting on my every whim. So you have a good excuse to think it.”

No, she didn’t. She knew how unfair that comment had been.

She knew he didn’t abuse his privileges just as she knew he hadn’t been bequeathed his position. In the past week she’d pieced together how he’d risen to it. How previous ministers had centralized medical care, squandered resources, imported protocols that hadn’t worked for the culture and environment.

Then he had come, with a comprehensive vision of where Damhoor was and should go, with updated knowledge of medicine and the world and how to apply it here.

At thirty he’d been the land’s leading surgeon, then he’d won his position, only to surpass its demands, rewrite its parameters. In the six years since he’d become Health Minister, he’d salvaged the medical system, reformed it, turned it into a model advanced countries were vying to emulate.

But she hadn’t relied only on his people’s reports in forming her opinion of him. Those could have been slanted by worshipping subordinates. She trusted the evidence of her eyes. The reports didn’t do him justice.

“Even without bristles invading your face,” he murmured, “you must be longing for the forgotten luxury of a bath.” He advanced on her and she stumbled back. This time he noticed. His face lost all lightness, confusion draining his eyes of their usual bone-melting focus. “Anyway, we’re returning to Halwan.”

That made her find her voice again. “But only the rescue and medical relief work is done.”

“That’s what you signed up for. And you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. Rebuilding Mejbel is Damhoor’s job, government and people. I set up a system with GAO that will keep the camp and field hospital running smoothly until everyone is back home or has a home built. The good news is I went over the hardest-hit areas at dawn and the water has almost receded. Some parts are coming back to life. Rebuilding can start soon.”

“You went without me!”

“I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. You’d only been sleeping half an hour when the survey flight was scheduled.”

“You mean when you scheduled the survey flight. When you haven’t slept at all. Oh, Malek, I wanted to see that!”

“And you will, on our way out of here. After all you’ve done to help during the disaster, you must see its end.”

“What about our patients?”

“All serious cases we’ve kept here to follow up will be airlifted to Halwan. You can follow up any of your personal patients any time.” His voiced suddenly thickened. “I checked on Adham just half an hour ago. His coma is lightening.”

He understood, shared her specific concern. He was incredible. He was also dead on his feet.

“I was coming to tell you that and to … er …” A spaced-out look came into his eyes. “Azeff elaiki—as we say here—bring you news of your imminent release in a—a festive procession.” He groaned. “OK, literal translation didn’t work there. If it ever does …” He stopped again. “That’s it—I’m officially delirious. I jumble Arabic and English only when all my synapses are fried. Good thing we’re leaving in an hour.” Before he turned away, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “And, Janaan, do check with Saeed about our departure. I may have hallucinated it all.”

“You were born this way, weren’t you?” Malek growled.

Jay refused to let his irritated vehemence intimidate her and held his infuriated gaze.

Something rumbled deep in his chest. “I bet you drove the doctor who delivered you crazy, dictating non-negotiable terms about the specifics of your delivery.”

“What does my delivery have to do with you trying to deliver me to this seven-star hotel?” She waved a hand across her window at the Taj Mahal-like edifice. “I already have a room with all my stuff waiting for me in a hotel I can afford.”

“If there were a championship for being perverse, you’d rake in every medal. B’Ellahi, why won’t you let me do this for you?”

“Because I like the hotel room just fine, thank you. Because I’m not in the habit of accepting six-figure gifts, which a stay of even ten days in this hotel will amount to. And because you don’t owe me anything, even if it seems you think you do. Besides, GAO will be providing my accomodations soon.”

“You think I’m repaying you …?” He drove both hands into the depths of his luxurious hair, seemed about to pull it out. “Ya muthab’bet al agl wad’deen! And this is one occasion where literal translation works. I do need God to tether down my mind and faith with you around or they’ll fly out the window.”

“One sure way not to have me around is to drop me where I specified.” She scowled back. “And for your information, I had no say in my delivery. I was born by Cesarean section.”

“You see? You wouldn’t get out, had to be forced out!”

“Like you’re tempted to do to me now?”

“As if I could. I suspect the good doctor only got the best of you because your obstinacy was still in its infancy.” His exhalation flayed her even from two feet away. “Zain. Fine. I will take you to your hotel. At least I get to do that at last. But—and this, Janaan, is something you won’t win, so save your exasperation—I am taking care of the time the room was reserved while you were with me.”

She wondered at the level his beauty attained with aggravation. Whoever had coined “beautiful when angry” didn’t know the half of it. She shrugged. “Zain yourself. Sounds fair.”

He looked flabbergasted. “What? No struggle? You’re conceding? You’re accepting, just like that?”