“It was a one-time thing only,” I reply, opening the door.
Right before I leave, he says, “Pity. I would’ve loved a second try.”
But the door’s already closed behind me, and with it, my dignity has left the room as well.
Why? Because I’m still thinking about how badly I wanted him to kiss and fuck me again too.
Shit.
Chapter 6
Maya
The royals have given me an actual workshop to create all my designs. I’m flabbergasted at how generous they are, but then again, nothing’s too extravagant when it comes to royals. I found that out the moment Amir told me professionally hired ladies wash him.
Not that I could ever complain. This workshop is literally all I could ever ask for. My place back home isn’t this large. Plus, the closets are full of all the tools I need and more giant tables to work at, several mannequins, and different sewing machines. And best of all, I’ve got the place all to myself. It’s a literal dream come true.
So I’ve spent the entire morning drawing out some designs, and now it’s time to go shopping for fabrics. I mean, they do have some lying around here, but I need more, and Mrs. Adallah said I could spend as much as I wanted. They even gave me a credit card to use, which made my creative soul want to squeal.
When I’m done, I put all my sketches and pencils in my bag and go outside, locking the doors behind me. This damn heat makes me feel like I’m being bombarded by the sun, but after a while, I get used to the blistering heat. The city is bustling with people and vehicles, so it’s tough trying to get through the crowd, but it’s a rich experience nonetheless. It reminds me of New York; so much traffic in one place makes you feel like an ant.
I go to the market where I find stalls selling all sorts of things. Food, jewelry, clothing, bags, dishware, anything. You name it, they have it. But I’m not looking for a bargain; I’m looking for quality material, and Mrs. Adallah told me about a certain shop where I could find the best fabrics to make clothes with, so I’m headed there.
After a few locals point me in the right direction, I find it behind a few stalls. It’s an open store without doors and windows, but it does have a roof. The lady behind the counter is folding some colorful fabric that awakens my inner magpie.
She follows my every movement as I search through the store, picking up various fabrics that I like. My hands can’t help but touch every single one because texture is everything. And as I traipse through the store, my eyes can’t help but catch some men arguing at a stall.
But I stop in my tracks the moment I notice the familiar clothes … that I saw at the club the evening I met Amir.
My eyes widen as I realize it’s really him.
Again.
And this time, he’s not wearing that white garment, but black pants and a dark blue shirt with a scarf around his mouth instead. Almost as though he’s trying to blend in with the crowd of people again.
He grasps something from a lady and places it in the hands of the man. He scolds the woman, who seems to be crying, and then speaks to the manager again. They agree on something, and the man returns to business. After which, Amir turns his head back toward the woman, places his hand on her shoulder, and whispers into her ear.
A smile appears on her face, and she nods. Then she scurries off, and Amir covers his face with the same scarf I saw before.
That’s when he glances my way, and our eyes momentarily lock.
Shocked, I grab the first thing I can find—a few long drapes of red fabric—and hide behind it.
Nothing will hide my obvious blush the moment he rips it away from my hands.
Shit.
Why now? Why is he here? And why do we always run into each other?
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he mumbles with a lopsided grin.
“Oh, brother …” I roll my eyes as I turn around and grab a random piece of cloth just so I can take my eyes off him and hide my embarrassment.
“You mean prince?” he muses, placing his hand on the fabric I’m touching. “But if you prefer brother, I can get used to that.”
“Okay …?” I say, making a weird face before trying to grasp something else and turn around again.
Except he keeps following my every move, copying what I’m doing as if he’s making fun of me.
“Why are you here again?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Oh, I just happen to like going to the market.”
“While pretending not to be a prince?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.” His handsome smile follows, and it’s hard not to smile back.