“Calm down,ya albi,” Kamal tells me.
“What does that mean, the name you called me?”
“‘My heart.’”
Despite the anxiety, I manage to smile, even though I think he used the word as a term of endearment rather than literally. “You’re mine, Kamal.”
His gray eyes I adore so much darken after my declaration; my heart races. There’s no longer even a faint memory of people watching us. It all comes down to him.
Kamal takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face him. “Don’t look at me like that, my bride, or I’ll steal you away from the guests before the party even begins.”
“I’m so happy for both of you, my son,” my soon-to-be mother-in-law says as she comes closer, and the magic of our moment is broken.
He steps away, and I want to ask him not to let go of me, because the warmth of his hands makes me feel alive.
However, I am not a child, and I know that there are formalities to be followed, so I accept the inevitable and, beaming with a bright smile, I turn to those who have come to celebrate our engagement.
The night goes by quickly, like in a dream you can’t remember being a part of.
People greet me with smiles, while others clearly assess me the whole time. Most of them speak English, and when a woman says something in their language, she is reprimanded by my mother-in-law.
I step back a bit from the crowd and see Kamal talking with a group of men. They listen attentively, but he speaks with his eyes on me. They roam over my tunic in shades of blue,which, according to the stylist, complement my eyes. I never thought I would feel sexy in such a modest outfit, but the pure silk molds to my figure like a second skin.
Even from a distance, the connection between us is strong. My Sheikh doesn’t hide his desire, and I smile genuinely for the first time tonight.
He says something to the men and comes towards me. I bite my lip, suddenly nervous.
Lord, he shouldn’t have such power over my body.
“It wouldn’t take much to make me take you away right now, my beautiful bride.”
A shiver runs through me because of the intensity of his gaze on me. “I love it when you call me that,” I admit, then I remember something. “Your sister said I don’t need to call you “my Sheikh” as you instructed in London because that would be what an employee says, not a subject.”
He smiles. “She’s right, but it was delightful to hear you call me ‘my Sheikh.’”
Encouraged by his lustful gaze, I discreetly move closer, just enough that only he can hear me. “After we get married, I’ll call you that every night in our bed, my Sheikh.”
“Ah, Madeline. I’ll punish you for getting me turned on in front of our guests.”
“Please do. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Do you enjoy teasing me?”
“I never thought I was a tease, to be honest, but with you . . .”
“Yes, only with me. All mine.”
Thank God Nawra interrupts us; otherwise, I think we might have torn each other’s clothes off in front of all the guests.
“I think it’s best we start dinner so that you can give your speech afterward, my brother. Neither you nor Madelineseem to be enjoying the party. Or should I say you’d rather be enjoying a private party?” She steps away from us, smiling.
“Nawra is right. Let’s get this over with, and then you’ll be mine for the entire night.”
The dining table, set up especially for our engagement, is huge, and for a moment I think that if my mother weren’t who she is—racist and arrogant—she would love to dine using this China. The silverware, I learned, is solid gold.
Despite the delicious food, I can’t fully enjoy it because I’m eager for the party to end.
As if reading my thoughts, Kamal stands up. He walks to the head of the table where I’m seated, and I hate that I wasn’t placed beside him.
