Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife / Marrying the Scarred Sheikh: Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife. Barbara McMahon
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likes and dislikes, certainly,” Rashid said. “But there is something to be said about learning about each other as the years go by, and have enough differences to be interesting.”
His mother gave Bethanne a sour look and then nodded to her son. “That is important as well.”
The rest of the meal processed without much comment. Bethanne was glad this was only a charade. She would not like being married into a family where the mother didn’t like her. Or was it only because of her disappointment Haile hadn’t come?
They did not stay long after dinner finished.
The ride back to the villa was completed in almost total silence. Bethanne knew Rashid had to be regretting his impetuous suggestion about their charade. Perhaps he’d end it tonight. The thought depressed her.
To her surprise, Rashid did not simply leave her at the door.
“It’s early yet. If you are not tired, perhaps a few minutes on the veranda,” he suggested.
“That would be nice. So do we change the charade now that we both know your mother doesn’t like me?”
“My mother does not dictate my life. She is annoyed I didn’t bring Haile tonight. She was instrumental in making that arrangement.”
“It’s more than that. She doesn’t like me. Not just because I’m not Haile, but because of who I am,” Bethanne said. She didn’t need everyone in the world to like her, but she was a bit hurt Rashid’s mother found her wanting.
“It’s of no account,” he said.
Of course not. This wasn’t real. It was make-believe—until he had his huge deal signed and sealed. Then she’d be on the next plane to Texas and his life would resume its normal course. Gossip would be quelled. He’d get his way and his mother would be very relieved.
“Her home was lovely,” she said, looking for conversation. “Did you grow up there?”
“There and here and other places.”
He looked out at the garden, visible now by the discreet lighting illuminating paths and special plants. He could hear the soft sound of the sea, noticeably different from faint traffic noise. “My flat today is not as pretty as this estate. It’s downtown, not far from Mother’s. I like living there yet I had almost forgotten how enjoyable this place is.”
“Well, I appreciate being allowed to stay here. It’s so much better than a hotel.”
“I’m sure my grandmother would have been delighted to have visitors enjoy her home. She spent several months a year here. But had other property, as well.”
Well, duh, Bethanne thought. His family probably had two dozen residences among them. She wondered idly if there were enough bedrooms among all the residences for him to sleep in a different one each night of the month. What must that feel like?
She had a sudden longing for her small apartment, with its familiar furnishings and photos. It might be fun to consider being Cinderella, but at the end of it all, wasn’t she happier in her own home?
As Bethanne prepared for bed some time later, she thought about the evening. It would not have been better for Rashid’s mother to welcome her into the family. She was not truly involved. And if the woman had liked her, she would have been disappointed when the charade was exposed.
Talking with Rashid on the veranda had given her a glimpse of what life married to him could be like. Only—there was no good-night kiss. She sighed softly. Was she going to be disappointed with no kiss before returning home? Yes. Yet she wasn’t bold enough to kiss him.
Before turning off the lights, she opened the French doors to let the sea breeze sweep in. The light curtains billowed. The scents and fragrances from the garden were a delight. She slipped between cool sheets and lay down.
An hour later Bethanne was still wide awake. She’d tried lying on one side then the other, then flat on her back. Nothing worked. If she had a book or magazine to read, it might lead to sleep. She considered the situation, then sighed and got up. She had not brought a robe, thinking she’d be alone in a hotel room and not need one. Quietly she dressed in her slacks and shirt. Bare feet would be okay, she was sure. It was unlikely she’d run into anyone. It was after eleven. Surely all the staff had retired for the night.
She opened the door and stuck her head out, struck suddenly with the romantic-comedy picture that flashed into her mind. People sneaking from one room to another, peering into the hall to make sure the coast was clear. She planned nothing of the sort and stepped boldly out. She walked down the stairs, surprised when she reached the foyer to see a light coming from the library.
Silently she walked to the doorway. When she was within hearing distance she heard a phone. It was answered before the second ring.
The words were in Arabic, but she recognized Rashid’s voice. She thought he had left long ago. When he’d bid her good-night, he said he had to pick up something from the library.
He was still here, and the phone call wasn’t going well—not if the terse tone was anything to go by. She hesitated at the doorway, not wishing to interrupt, but still wanting something to read. She’d come this far; she’d wait for the conclusion of the call and then step in to find a book.
The conversation didn’t take as long as she’d expected before a harsh word was sounded, then a string of them. She wondered what was going on. He sounded angry. Sudden silence ended the call.
When the silence had lasted several minutes, she took a breath and stepped closer, knocking slightly on the door frame. She saw him standing by open French doors. His back was ramrod straight. His body seemed to radiate strong emotion in contrast to the stillness with which he held himself.
He spun around, glaring at her for a second. Then he quickly adjusted his expression to reveal nothing.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought you left a while ago.”
“I did. Then I remembered a file I had left and returned for it. I was about to leave when I got a phone call on my mobile phone.” He still held it in his hand.
“I heard. Not that I understood a word, but it didn’t sound like a very friendly call.”
“It was from al Benqura. He found out about Haile. She contacted him. He was angry with me for not letting him know.”
“How awkward that would have been.”
Rashid sighed and walked back to the desk, leaning against it and nodding. “Awkward for him. He’s threatening to end the deal. I told him in no uncertain terms that would not be acceptable unless he never wanted dealings with anyone in Quishari again.”
Bethanne could empathize with the father whose daughter had run away and put him in a difficult situation. She watched as Rashid gradually relaxed. He was quick to anger, but also quick to regain his equilibrium. She saw when his curiosity was piqued by her arrival.
“What are you doing here?” His gaze dropped to her bare feet. His lips curved in a slight smile.
“I came for a book to read. I can’t seem to sleep. You said you had some English books—I thought I’d get one of those.”
He nodded and gestured to the shelving on the left. “English books on that wall. My grandmother used to entertain several friends from Great Britain. She has an assortment. The mysteries are on the lower shelves.”
She crossed, conscious of his regard, and began to scan the titles. Finding a couple that sounded promising, she drew them from the shelf. Had Rashid read them? Could they discuss them after she finished?
Deciding to take both, she hugged them to her chest as she turned to face him.
“Now what?” she asked.
“You read them and fall asleep?” he asked.
“I