The Sheikh's Priceless Bride

“About the women he’s prepared to match me up with?” I laughed, tossing my hand through the air. “As if he believes I can’t find a suitable mate for myself.”

Alim’s eyebrows were raised now. “You really think any woman would go for you?” he asked.

“Alim, Alim,” I cackled. “You’ve known me nearly your entire life. Have you ever known a woman to resist me, if I gave her eyes?”

“Sure. Last weekend at the bar. That Indian girl, with the cinched waist and the tight little—”

“Come now, Alim. Don’t talk about women this way,” I said, winking at another attractive one who walked past us, her heels clacking on the ground.

Alim rolled his eyes, protesting. “You talk about them this way all the time—”

“Alim, Alim. If you ever want to find a woman to settle down with, you have to learn to woo them,” I told him.

“Woo? What is woo?” Alim asked, his eyebrows stitching together above his nose. “Don’t just make up English words for the fun of it, Rami.”

“I would never,” I told him, grinning slyly. “Due to my ability to ‘woo,’ as I said, I know that I can have any woman I want in the world.”

Alim tilted his head, halting quickly. With his eyes sparkling, he protested, saying, “Sure, you can get anyone in Al-Jarra. But it’s because you’re the Sheikh’s son, Rami. No other reason. You’re a local celebrity, and that’s that. If you can’t see that—”

“Ah, but there’s so much more to it than that!” I told him, smacking my palms together. With a sudden lurch of curiosity, I said, “What if we make this interesting, hey? Make it into a challenge?”

Alim turned his head away from me. Beyond us, we watched as an older man, his hair an impossibly bright white, meandered past, leading a donkey. His back was hunched, showing years of hard labor. But after giving me a stern look, he saluted me. I felt a wave of affection for all of Al-Jarra. I felt more self-assured than ever before.

“See? Even he wants to date you because you’re the Sheikh’s son,” Alim said.

“I don’t think I hear a hint of jealousy, do I?” I asked, teasing him.

“Stop it.”

We walked along for a few minutes, both of us stirring with a strange mix of resentment and pure, unvarnished friendship. We’d been together for too long for us to not be holding both sides of this friendship coin. To feel more like brothers than anything else.

“All right,” Alim said, his voice growing more certain. “I have the perfect bet for you, if you’re up for the challenge.”

“When have I not been up for a challenge?” I told him, waggling my eyebrows.

“What about you get a woman who doesn’t know you’re a sheikh to agree to marry you?” Alim continued, darting across the street and toward our favorite local cafe. He perched at the edge of it, poised to enter. From inside, an aromatic wave of roasted beans washed over us.

“There’s just one problem to this challenge, Alim,” I said, holding the door open. My deep red and yellow robes swirled around me. “I’m always wearing my royal attire. And—”

“Well, what if you didn’t?” he asked, tilting his head.

We stepped toward the counter, ordering our usual with cocky smiles. I watched as the barista ducked her head beneath the espresso machine, eyeing the inner workings of the grinder. Her buttocks were tight beneath her dress, leading up to a little cinched waist. When she turned back to see it was me, a blush ran from her forehead, all the way down to her chest.

“What if I didn’t what?” I asked.

“Wear your robes. Look like a sheikh at all? You could play it off like you were a normal guy, to set the record straight. If someone could fall in love with you when you looked like everyone else—”

“As if that wouldn’t be possible, Alim,” I said, pointing to my stellar grin. “With these looks and this charm…?”

“Come off it. There’s tons of men in Al-Jarra who are twice as good looking as you, and they don’t have the luck you do with women. This will be the ultimate test.” Alim lifted his hands to the counter, accepting our coffees from the barista. He knocked his head to the right, gesturing toward me. “What do you think?” he asked, addressing the barista. “Do you think, if you didn’t know his name, you’d still find him attractive?”