She lifted her chin.“MalikaGeorgedresses the same as every other woman in America.”She stressed the anglicized version of her name that she preferred.
His elegant shoulders shifted under the raw silk of his shirt.“You can play dress-up if you like.But you are not an American, MalikaJiorji.Eli will expect you to behave with more dignity once you’re married to him.He believes in tradition.”
Eli Chamas.A man at least thirty years her senior.
His age wasn’t the issue.Her sisters claimed older men made the best lovers.That they were more inclined to be generous, both with their affection and their money.
But men did not rule their households.Malika would not become any man’s second wife.She’d seen how her mother, a third wife, was treated.
“Please, Adeel.Leave me here.Forget about me.”It shouldn’t be hard.As the daughter of a third wife, and the youngest of a very large, very rich family, she’d been forgotten for most of her life.
“I forget none of my sisters.I’m responsible for you all, and part of my responsibility is to see each of you safely married.You’re twenty-six years old, too old to continue pretending to be a student, and marriage is long overdue.Eli has offered a generousmahrfor you, and I’ve accepted it on your behalf.Besides, if I were to forget your existence, how would you care for yourself?”His eyes darkened.“Aisha won’t be sending more money.I promise you that.”
A mahr was supposed to be hers, in case she was widowed or divorced and forced to return to her brother’s household.It would pay for her keep.
And there was the problem.The mahr was hers in name only.Adeel held the purse strings.
“That’s what’s wonderful about the US.I can earn my own money.”
“How?You’re here on a student visa—which expired the day you dropped out of school.You could be deported tomorrow.”
“There are lots of ways for women to make money in America without a work visa.”
Adeel recoiled.“You will not work as a servant,” he said, shocked.
“Of course not.”
Be a servant?She’d rather become an old man’s second wife.
Besides, she already had a better idea.One of her roommates ran a dominatrix business online that Adeel knew nothing about.Men—sometimes women—contacted her, begging her to order them to do intimate things to themselves.She had more calls than she could manage.
Malika would do something similar.Her sisters had often been indiscreet about their marriages in her presence.Thanks to their talk she had a good idea of what men liked to do with their wives.One brother-in-law dressed as a pirate and insisted his wife pleasure him with a vibrator while he bent over an old wooden sea chest he’d acquired for the purpose.Another liked to be ridden as if he were a horse and whipped with a crop.Not all chose to be dominated—Aisha’s husband preferred her to dress as a concubine and dance suggestively for him, then do naughty things to him with her mouth.A few lacked any imagination and relied on their wives to inspire them.They all, however, desired to be seduced.
The secret was in helping them unlock and indulge those secret desires, then send them home to their wives.Her services could be considered therapeutic.That was where money came in.How hard could it be?
She couldn’t discuss such a business proposition with her brother, of course.
“I’ll reenroll in school,” she said, trying to sound resigned about it, even as her insides burst with excitement.But her excitement didn’t last long.
“I don’t think so,” Adeel said, grinding her dreams into the dirt.“I’m here to take you home.But first, I have a wedding to attend.You’ll accompany me.”
An American wedding.There would be parties and people.Crowds to be lost in.Hope picked itself up and dusted off the seat of its jeans.She might escape from Adeel yet.The money in her boots would buy a laptop and rent her a motel room where she could get her online business started.
“A wedding sounds lovely,” she said.
*
Jayce
Town halls inBurning Scrub, Montana, were rarely dull.Tonight was no exception.
All Jayce Hanson had eyes or ears for, however, was the beautiful woman seated beside him.She’d broken his heart.
Belle Forsythe, the town doctor, was the kindest, the sweetest, the smartest, and the gentlest woman he knew, aside from his mother.In short, she was perfect.She was also about to be married to Beau Jones, a blight on the country music world and the country in general.A more mismatched pair, he couldn’t imagine.He’d waited almost a year for her to come to her senses, but the wedding was only a few days away, and time was running out.
Fading light slithered through windows cut high in the walls.His father, Huck Hanson, droned on, oblivious to the passing of time or the agony his son was in.
“Why would a weasel be considered an endangered species?And why is my durum wheat field considered critical habitat for a rodent?Benny, I expect you to back me up at the next county meeting so we can get this sorted out.”
