TWO
Omar had hired out the grand ballroom of the city’s most exquisite hotel to serve as the venue for the party. I’d been by Omar’s side for plenty of black tie affairs, but none of them compared to the opulence of this one—the birthday party for his mother, Mirah, Queen Regent of Al-Thakri.
Paparazzi flash bulbs strobed against the tinted windows of the car as the limo circled the driveway and headed up toward the gilded front doors. Photographers crushed against each other to try and get as close as they could, while the black-suited security detail worked just as hard to form a chain and keep the vultures at a safe distance.
My nerves lit up, as they always did when I had to step out in public as part of Omar’s entourage. I still hadn’t got used to all the glitz, all the noise, all the attention poured on the Sheikh and his family. It wasn’t something a girl like me was used to dealing with, and I wasn’t sure it ever would be.
But Jada was clearly not a girl like me. Her thin, delicate hand, glittering with jewelry, reached over to clutch at Omar’s hand, and my stomach jumbled in a wave of nausea.
“Sir, we’re ready when you are. Security is in position,” said the driver. He put the car in park but did not kill the ignition—in the blazing, Middle-Eastern sun, every heartbeat without the air-conditioning was unbearable.
“Thank you, Abdul,” replied Omar. He leaned closely to Jada. “My dear, would you do me the honor of stepping out first so the crowd can see what a divine woman I’ve been graced with this evening?”
I couldn’t look at them anymore. I opened up the sequined clutch purse that matched the hue of my midnight blue dress and dug out the lipstick and compact mirror I had stuffed in there. Rafiq was responsible for carrying my triage bag; all I had to do tonight was look like I belonged at this glamorous party and try to have a good time.
Ignoring the canoodling happening on the seat beside me, I reapplied my lipstick with care, despite the fact that it looked as perfect as it had when we left. The stylists at the palace had done my light blond hair into a sophisticated updo, and borrowed diamond earrings dangled from my ears—dripping waterfalls of sparkling gems that matched the necklace on my chest.
I almost didn’t recognize myself, and couldn’t think of a single instance in my life where I’d been so gussied up before. I tried to enjoy it instead of focusing on the heartache—or comparing myself to Jada. Her tall, lithe form was goddess-like in comparison to mine. I was average height, with curves and a flat stomach, and while I had never had trouble attracting men, there also weren’t a lot of women of Jada’s caliber in the dusty towns of Ohio.
Not comparing myself to her was easier said than done, particularly when Omar leaned in to whisper something in her ear, making her giggle as she nuzzled against his clean-shaven face. My stomach tensed as my imagination went wild.
After a few excruciating moments, the valet outside received the signal from the driver and opened the rear of the limo. A furnace of heat rolled into the car, despite the sun setting stubbornly behind the cityscape, and the sounds of the crowd and photographers became loud and unsettling.
Like a practiced starlet, Jada stepped out of the limo and onto the soft red carpet with a beaming smile. Omar followed suit, and as I waited to follow them out, I could see one of his strong hands resting on the small of her back as he walked her into the building.
Rafiq was staring at me when I looked over at him.
“What?” I asked curiously.
He nodded towards the hotel. “Tonight will be the night, yes?”
“The night for what?”
“The night you tell His Highness about the truth of what is in your heart.”
Cheeks flushing, I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No need to lie to me, Doctor. I won’t be the one to share this secret.”
“There is no secret,” I replied with a little hiss in my voice, and Rafiq only shrugged and didn’t press the point.
Carefully, I made my way towards the limo door to step out and follow the Sheikh with Rafiq close behind. The paparazzi didn’t give a damn about the two of us, thankfully; we were just the help. We trailed a few steps behind Omar and Jada as they made a show of their approach to the hotel.
Inside, the ballroom had been turned into an exquisite banquet hall, large enough to hold the hundreds of guests invited by the royal family. Debutantes, kings, ambassadors, and even a few journalists mingled in the huge and well-dressed crowd.
As my eyes scanned the room, I realized that well-dressed was an understatement. I had never been in a room full of so much decadence—and that was saying a lot after this job. Giant chandeliers studded the dark ceiling, dripping with crystals that shuddered when the hall doors closed. Round tables with crisp white linens had been arranged throughout, with gilded table settings surrounding exquisite centerpieces bursting with colorful blooms and feathers. Guests mingled, moving around the tables like shoals of fish, their feet sinking into the plush maroon carpet.
The women in the room looked like they could have been drawn to life by animators of some fairy tale movie, moving with grace and poise in dresses that ran five and six figures, at a conservative guess. Rhinestones and diamonds glittered under the lights, making shining stars of the beautiful women flashing around the room. While most of the men were dressed much more uniformly, there was no denying the attractiveness of their tailored suits, fresh-cut hair, and pampered skin.
My stylist had selected my gown for the evening, something from a designer I’d never heard of, but which she assured me was top quality. Nonetheless, it was hard not to feel insecure in a room full of rich, beautiful, high-class women, even if you were masquerading as one of them.
Fortunately, no one was worried about looking at me. I was just a shadow trailing behind Omar and Jada as they soaked up the attention. Watching Jada cling to his arm tightly, comfortably, I suddenly realized why my stylist had picked out a dark blue dress for me to wear: the color helped me fade out behind the Sheikh’s party—behind his actual date.
After all, I was just part of the entourage; an employee of the palace, there to do a job and nothing more. I didn’t have any royal bloodline to claim or inheritance to offer, and that’s what was needed in Omar’s world. The parade of fine ladies he’d been courting for the past six months all had it, and they were all vying for one thing: to become his wife and mother to the heirs of Al-Thakri.
These women that came to earn his heart, they pretended it was love when they were by his side, but it wasn’t, and Omar was smart enough to know it. They didn’t know him or care about him, they just wanted to be close to his power and money. They just wanted to cling to his side and giggle, pretending they hadn’t been on a thousand dates just like this one as they tried to find the richest and most well-connected man they could. And there would be no better offer than the Sheikh; they turned up their well-practiced charm to the maximum when they were by his side.
But so far, Omar had broken up with each and every one—some of the breakups turning dramatic when the women realized they weren’t going to become queen. It wasn’t something I had expected, but Omar was often not what he seemed on the outside. He was consumed with trying to gather the power owed to him as the oldest of his father’s two sons, and yet it was increasingly obvious that he had no interest in giving up his heart to a woman for whom he didn’t care, just to have an heir and gain the throne.
There was warmth to him none of these women would ever see. He wanted true, honest love to produce a child, not just some grab for power.
Feeling anxiety rise in my chest, I took a deep breath and tried to divert my thoughts. It wasn’t easy since I was forced to stare at Omar’s back as he made his way through the banquet hall, stopping to shake hands and kiss the hands of beautiful ladies.
My skin flushed, and I had to turn away. It was getting harder and harder to deal with the feelings growing in my heart. Danger was on the horizon; I co
uld feel it. Every day I woke up wondering whether it would be the day when I blurted out to Omar how much I had grown to admire him; how much I was falling in love with him.
This job was supposed to be an easy meal ticket, something to clean the dust off my skin after Doctors Without Borders. But now it was threatening to undo everything I had built. If I told Omar how I felt, I had no way of knowing how he would react. I might be fired, and my reputation ruined forever. Omar’s family had the power to make that happen.
My frantic thoughts thankfully began to evaporate as we approached the head table and the buzzing din of conversation grew louder. The guests, even those Omar hadn’t personally greeted, were all aware of his arrival, and stood to give him a round of applause as he approached the table. Omar smiled with his trademark charm and waved at the room.
Already seated was Omar’s mother, Mirah. The Queen Regent was a gorgeous middle-aged woman with jet-black hair and deep brown eyes, just like Omar’s. She wore a lovely, modest dress the color of champagne. She stood and welcomed her son with a beaming, loving smile, wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders in a warm hug. Omar introduced her to Jada, and to my surprise, Jada curtsied appropriately.
To the left of the Queen, Omar’s brother Sajid was waiting to greet him, with his wife Alima and three beautiful daughters standing beside him. The brothers exchanged tense smiles and a rough handshake before Sajid pulled out the chairs of each of his ladies and took a seat himself.
Omar turned to face the crowd and was immediately handed a wireless microphone by an attendant who scurried out of the way as fast as he’d shown up. Rafiq and I watched from the other side of the enormous round banquet table as Omar turned on the charm he was well-known for.
“Good evening everyone!” he smiled. “I wish to thank each and every one of you for coming this evening to celebrate the birth of the most beautiful and wondrous woman in the world: my mother, the Queen Regent of Al-Thakri.”