“What kind?”
“To raise funds for a hospital that treats war orphans.”
“Oh my God. An excellent cause.”
He nods. “One of my companies funds the organization, but my PR advisor suggested we institutionalize the event, make it a tradition and invite other businessmen to contribute. It will be good for the image of my Emirate.”
“Will we visit it at some point?”
“Visit where?”
“Sintarah.”
“Yes. Why?”
“I looked it up on the internet. It looks so beautiful. I would love to visit your country,” I say but quickly correct myself, “Um . . .Only if there’s a reason for us to go, of course.”
“Actually, I spend most of my time there, which means that my palace, not London, will be your actual home.”
“Oh!”
“Surprised?”
“No. I mean, yes, surprised, but also excited to go.”
He gives one of his rare half-smiles, as if he enjoyed hearing that, and I try to push out of my mind how handsome he looks in a tuxedo.
Or how his scent is driving my whole system crazy.
Or how the warmth of his thigh, even through our clothes, makes me shake.
There’s enough space in the vehicle for us to sit at opposite ends of the seat, but it’s as if there’s a magneticpull that keeps our bodies pressed together. Thinking about it makes me feel feverish.
When I raise my face to look at him, he’s gazing at me from up close.
“You look beautiful, Madeline.”
I smile, feeling bashful. “I feel beautiful. Almost like a princess.”
“From ‘One Thousand and One Nights’?”
“What would that be like?” I ask, even though I know I should avoid this kind of conversation.
“For my people?”
“Yes.”
“You would be lavished in jewelry and pampered. You would be adored by your husband, and he would satisfy you with his body.”
“Wouldn’t it be reciprocal? The satisfaction, I mean.”
“Oh, yes. Without a doubt. A man would have to be crazy not to take pleasure in what you can provide, and foolish not to make you moan with desire as well.”
I close my eyes, absorbinghis words. “I shouldn’t be thinking about these things,” I say more to myself than to him. “I’m not a princess, and a man from your culture would never want to make me his wife, only a mistress.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“I wasn’t born to be used.”
