His Easter Bride - Hoppily Ever After

Chapter One

Sheik Omar Iben Shah

I sit nonchalantly while I stare at her. Despite not yet speaking to her, I know that I love her. Love at first sight wasn’t something I believed in but all that changed when I saw her. One glance at her thick ass is what sent me on this obsessive stalking mission. She was bent over in Athens at the Theatre of Dionysus, tying the laces of her bright pink Nike’s. Then she stood up and I saw her face. She’s beyond gorgeous. Her short, bright red hair and green eyes have captivated me to the point of insanity. I gather her hair is dyed that color since the rest of her family has blonde hair, but I like that she marches to the beat of her own drum.

Today is the first time I am seeing her head covered in a loose, brightly colored scarf. Her sisters are covered as well, though their scarfs aren’t as brightly colored as Heather’s. While not a strict hijab, she is being respectful of the local culture as am I, and that warms my heart. At home, she won’t need to wear it. I cut my business trip in Athens short and followed her around like a fucking puppy. At that point, she was on vacation with her family, but she’s staying put for now. Until I can claim her, make her love me, and make her my bride all before Easter.

My sources indicate that her parents, Tim and Sandra have been married for twenty-two years and have three daughters. Heather, Irene, and Sasha. Heather is mine. I followed them around Europe for weeks and now they are in Egypt. According to their travel itinerary, this is their last stop. They are permanently moving here while Sasha, the youngest, attends the University of Cairo and Tim has been named the U.S. Ambassador to Egypt. They will live in the embassy there.

My own country, Erurstan, is tiny, nestled on an island north of Egypt. We were colonized by the English in the 1700s, and we retained the language as well as Arabic. Though to be honest, English is the official language. It’s a peaceful country with no political ties to the rest of the world. It’s also religiously free which is rare for this part of the world. Commercially, Erurstan is the only country in the world with the rarium, a natural element used in the manufacturing of all cellular phones. We are touristy as we are right on the Mediterranean Sea. Two miles off of the coast of Egypt, we have the best of both worlds. Erurstan boasts ten square miles of beautiful beaches and villas. As Sheik, I am responsible for all 49,001 souls that live there year-round. We are one of the most densely populated principalities in the world. Monaco comes in a close second with around 38,000 inhabitants.

Rather patiently, for me anyway, I have been waiting for the chance to get Heather alone, but she goes nowhere without at least one member of her family or their security, so today I have brought back up in the form of my brothers, Majid and Hamid, to distract her sisters. Just as we are about to make our move, Heather turns from her place in line at the little coffee shop and stares directly at me. Her eyes widen and I know she’s recognized me. I am not exactly out of place with my keffiyeh and suit, but she knows. She walks right over to our table. I stand, as do my brothers, out of respect.

“Oh,” she exclaims. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but have you been following me, sir? I could swear I saw you in Athens and Casablanca.”

“I am following you, Heather,” I say, going for honesty.

“But why?” she asks looking around. “Are you a part of the Diplomatic Security Service or something?” she whispers. Her agents come forward, but she waves them away. My own bodyguards are inconspicuously stationed all over the cafe, but they know that these girls can’t be touched by them.

“Won’t you sit down and join us? Your sister’s too,” I say gesturing to the three open seats.

“We shouldn’t talk to strangers,” she says. “You have the advantage of knowing who I am, but I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Forgive me,” I begin. “I’m Omar and these are my brother’s Majid and Hamid.” I take her outstretched hand. Her hands are silky smooth, and I relish the feel of her skin on mine. Her sisters walk over to the table. The six of us stand there staring at each other.

“Sorry, these are my sister’s Irene and Sasha,” she says, indicating who is who. “Girls,

this is Omar, Majid, and Hamid.” She also indicates who we are.

“Hey,” Sasha says, sitting down. Majid moves a little bit closer to her.