The Sheikh and the Virgin. KIM LAWRENCE
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CHAPTER TWO
‘ARE you all right, miss?’
It required a supreme effort, but Bea forced a smile as she turned to the concerned-looking silver-haired man who had stopped to make the anxious enquiry. Concerned people who gave a damn were rare commodities nowadays, and in her opinion deserved at least a smile.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she promised.
He didn’t look entirely convinced, and if she looked anything like she felt, Beatrice wasn’t surprised.
‘Perhaps you should sit down …? A glass of water.?’ He glanced towards the large impressive-looking building Beatrice had just emerged from.
‘Really, I’m fine,’ she insisted, able to hide her shaking hands in the pockets of her jacket, but unable to control the emotional quiver in her voice.
In truth, she had never felt less fine. She was, in fact, furious. A laid-back, easygoing person, Beatrice rarely lost her temper—but when she did she lost it big time!
She remained so angry that her furious long-legged stride got her back to Emma’s flat in record time. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped into the sitting room.
‘You’ll never guess what—’ She stopped abruptly. The room was empty, but a muffled sound from the bedroom indicated her friend was home.
‘That didn’t take long,’ Emma said, belting a robe around her waist as she emerged from the bedroom, her blonde curls tousled and her cheeks flushed. ‘Well, what was your meeting all about? Has a rich relative left you a fortune?’
Bea, struggling to control her anger, barely registered her friend’s breathless voice as she gritted her teeth. ‘A fortune was involved,’ she admitted, kicking off her shoes and flopping down onto the sofa. ‘But, like I told you, I don’t have any relatives—rich or otherwise.’
Neither, after living in foster care after her mother’s death, did she have Emma’s romantic imagination.
Bea had responded to the mysterious invitation that had arrived in the post with curiosity and an open mind, but no great expectations. Definitely not the expectation of being insulted so comprehensively!
‘Neither did I bump into a white knight at the corner shop.’
‘Don’t be like that, Bea. There’s someone out there for you … a soul mate.’
Sometimes Emma’s incurable romanticism could be irritating. ‘I won’t hold my breath—’ She stopped, tilting her head in a listening attitude. ‘Did you hear that? It sounded as if it came—’
Emma threw a nervous look at the closed bedroom door, before perching on the arm of a chair and asking quickly, ‘What on earth did the lawyer say to put you in this mood?’
‘It wasn’t the lawyer I spoke to. The man I did speak to offered me a small fortune.’
Actually, Beatrice thought, not so small! The number of noughts on the paper he had handed her had looked like a misprint, but apparently it wasn’t.
Emma looked bemused. ‘And that made you angry?’
‘The money was conditional on me … I warn you, Emma, you’re not going to believe this.’ She unclenched her fists, sucked in a deep breath and tried to smile—it really was absurd. ‘It was conditional on me not marrying Khalid!’
She paused, fully expecting Emma’s incredulous laughter, but not expecting to see the colour seep from her friend’s face.
‘What did he say when you told him you weren’t engaged to Khalid?’
‘He didn’t give me the chance. And then I got so mad, because he was so utterly detestable and smug, and … Well,’ she admitted ruefully, ‘I lost my temper and told him I fancied the idea of being a princess. Princess Bea …’ She struck a pose and chuckled. ‘What do you think? Shall I suggest it to Khalid? Incidentally, I must give him a ring and warn him what his brother is up to.’
‘Oh, God, Bea!’ Emma moaned, looking if it was at all possible, even paler. ‘Why did you say that to him …?’
Beatrice was perplexed by her friend’s attitude. ‘Could it have had something to do with the fact the man treated me like some cheap little tart? I don’t think you understand, Emma.’ Beatrice spelt it out. ‘Poor Khalid must have fallen in love with some girl. His brother is trying to buy this girl off, and for some weird reason he thinks it’s me.’ She laughed, lifting her hair from the back of her neck and stretching with feline grace. ‘Weird doesn’t really cover it.’
‘Oh, Emma understands, Bea.’
At the sound of the rueful voice Beatrice jumped up—in time to see Khalid emerge from the bedroom, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his bronzed torso.
‘Khalid …?’ She looked blankly from the man in the doorway to her friend and back again. ‘But you’re …’ Colour flooded her face as comprehension dawned. ‘How long?’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘Never mind. It’s none of my business.’
Emma looked stricken. ‘We wanted to tell you, Bea, but …’
Khalid put a protective hand on Emma’s shoulder. ‘Tariq and my family have very traditional views on this matter.’
Things were slowly beginning to sink in for Beatrice. ‘I knew something was going on, but I never—’ She stopped, her eyes widening. ‘SO you and Emma—you’re getting married?’
Beatrice watched her friend struggle with tears as she glanced at her lover. ‘It’s difficult,’ she said unhappily.
‘Yes, we are getting married,’ Khalid contradicted her, sounding firm. He sounded less firm as he added bleakly, ‘Somehow.’
How difficult could it be?
Beatrice bit her tongue and forced a smile. ‘That’s …’ She was still finding it hard to get her head around the situation, but now she thought about it, it made perfect sense. Khalid and Emma made a perfect couple. ‘It really is fantastic news.’
Well, it would be if you took one apparently oppressive and old-fashioned sibling out of the picture.
Frowning, she expressed her bewilderment and indignation out loud. ‘What is your brother’s problem anyway? He’s the one who’s going to be King, isn’t he? Why does it matter who you marry?’
‘Tariq is King in all but name. Since our father had his stroke he isn’t seen in public.’
‘If it was me you were going to marry I could understand.’ Beatrice could see realistically that she wasn’t anyone’s idea of a royal bride. ‘But Emma. Well … if I said you could do better, Khalid, I’d be lying. Emma is perfect.’
‘I think so,’ Khalid agreed.
The glow in his eyes as he looked at his prospective bride brought a lump to Beatrice’s throat. She had to do something for them. They were meant to be together.
‘Tariq has strong views about marriage. He thinks we shouldn’t marry—’
‘Beneath you?’ Beatrice cut in, unable to repress the bitter retort. ‘Yes, I sort of got that.’
‘It’s not that … Our mother was English, and when our parents’ marriage broke up it was pretty rough. I was small, so I don’t really remember, but I think that it made a big impact on Tariq. When they finally split up she came back to England. She wasn’t allowed to take us with her.’
‘That must have been terrible for her.’ And pretty tough on the boys, deprived of their mother, she privately conceded.
‘We saw her in the holidays or I did. Tariq always refused to see her and our half sister—then there was the accident.’
‘He