Sheikh's Fake Fiancee
“Hey, Syd, what’s up?”
“Did you go to the Louvre yet? What about strolling by the Seine?” her sister asked, her tone as perky as it usually was. That was so Sydney. Nothing could get the girl down for long. She adjusted better than anyone Jennifer knew. “Tell me, is Paris da bomb?”
“What?”
“Puh-leeze,” her sister said, and she could imagine the younger girl rolling her eyes. It was, after all, Syd’s favorite motion. “Bahan did tell Rose and it wasn’t like Rose could keep the secret from Mom, and then yesterday I got the big honeymoon secret out of Mom. Thus, you’re getting to run away to Paris with royalty and it has to be the most fun thing you’ve ever done. So tell me. What have you seen so far?”
Well, there was the bedroom of his private jet…
Jennifer bit her tongue. Her sister was a college grad and not a kid anymore, but she couldn’t really share details that, well, detailed with her sis. That was too much. She still had to protect Syd from some of the big stuff in the world. After all, couldn’t she just like freeze her sis in carbonite and keep her safe and secure for the rest of her life?
“I’ve seen the hotel. We got here and I had to shower and unpack and I’ve had that jet-lag exhaustion. I…Bahan’s down in the lobby doing some remote business.”
“So you went to one of the most romantic cities in the world to nap? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard!”
“Jeez, sis, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jennifer said. Then she even felt guilty about that. How could she resort to sarcasm with a sick person, someone so ill they were in the hospital and getting their fucking blood filtered three times a week? If only her kidney had been a match. Then Sydney would already be on her way to recovery. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“That was hardly snapping,” her sister said, her voice quiet and thoughtful. “Don’t stop having a good time because you’re worried about me. I’m going to be okay, and one of us needs to see the world. I’m going to every country when I get better, trust me. Right now, just remember that you’re seeing Paris for both of us, so go have the time of your life. I’ll be begging for the pictures when you return.”
“I…”
“Sis, I’d feel terrible if you were martyring your trip because you were worried about me. Have fun. You deserve it more than anyone I know, and I won’t be the block between you and Bahan getting to know each other. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and I want to know you came back with a ton of pics of you two smiling.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer said, her voice thick with emotion. Sometimes it felt like Syd was the older sister, caring for her in some ways, at least making sure that Jen didn’t burn herself out. Maybe it was just that all the times in the hospital gave one a different perspective on everything. Not that Syd was a Zen master, but she certainly was giving her advice today. “I’ll bring you a cheesy gift from the Louvre, some plush version of the Mona Lisa or something.”
“Now you’re talking!” she chirped again, her former jovial nature returning to her tone. “I love you, Jen. Never forget that.”
“I couldn’t. Love you too.”
***
The day had progressed like a dream. They’d had a VIP tour of the Louvre. Actually, with Bahan’s influence and power, he’d literally shut down the museum for the day. They (and Bahan’s security staff, of course) had been the only people strolling through the exhibits. While seeing the Mona Lisa had definitely crossed an item off her bucket list, Jennifer had to admit it was smaller and less impressive in person than she ever would have imagined. She much preferred the exhibits on the side. There was an entire hall of nothing but the Flemish masters, and she’d appreciated the darker, more nuanced art of Vermeer and Rembrandt. Even the wild colors of the impressionists had caught her eye more than the small wooden painting with the world’s most famous and enigmatic woman on it.
When they’d moved on to the Eiffel Tower, the same secluded, VIP experience had been hers. Jennifer had to admit that being a sheikha came with its advantages. Not having to wait in line or deal with crowds was a massive bonus. But those were the more typical tourist experiences, the ones that everyone had shared. Now they were standing on the Pont des Arts, overlooking the flowing river Seine as it passed beneath them.
She frowned and pointed to the hundreds of simple, hardware-store padlocks that greeted her on the sides of the bridge. “What is this?”
“This,” Bahan said, crossing over to the side of the bridge and leaning against all the slightly rusted brass and iron, “isn’t just any bridge.”
“I think I can tell that,” she said, arching her eyebrow wryly up at him. “But I don’t understand why there’s so much hardware on it. It can’t be good for the structural integrity.”
“One day it may very well collapse. I’ve heard they want to take the locks off,” he admitted. “However, these are the love locks. People often carve or engrave their names on the side, sometimes even with a pen or whiteout…whatever it takes. Then they lock the device through the chain link and throw the key in the river. Once they do, the story holds that they’ll be lovers forever.”
Her heart swelled in her chest. She stood across from him, her heart hammering in her chest and her breath coming in more ragged gasps. She was stuck there, completely uncertain about how to move forward or continue this conversation.
“Is this an educational tour? We’ve seen all the other sites. Is this about seeing this attraction as ingrained in Paris as Notre Dame or the Seine, itself?”
Bahan shook his head and pulled a brass lock from his jeans pocket. “You know it’s not. I think there’s no better way to bless a marriage than to start by taking advantage of all the good luck that we can.”
“A blessing then?”
“I suppose it’s no more real than a rabbit’s foot or horseshoe, whatever else you Americans prefer for a good-luck charm. But to me, I think it matters, that it helps set us up together in the best light and with the best of good fortune.”
She nodded and felt her body pulled closer to him, as if he were a magnet and she were the iron filings. Jennifer tried to stay independent, tried to remain outside of him, but she couldn’t ignore that any longer.
Drawing near, she reached out to his hand and traced her fingers over his own, feeling the warmth of his tawny skin. The pen clutched between his fingers was an afterthought.
“So I just sign it?”