The Sheikh's Purchased Bride (8 page)

Malik was quick to rush off after their almost-rendezvous on the cinema chair, Amie still none the wiser as to where he was going.

At the dressmakers, there was a lavish spread of tea and homemade cakes sprawled out across a low table as Amie, Zafina, and Sadira sat patiently with the intention of finding the perfect wedding dress. Deep down, Amie knew she wasn’t actually going to get to wear the dress, but since when could she say no to shopping, let alone a personalized gown?

She just couldn’t say no to Sadira. Ever since the woman had warmed to her, she had quickly become her second mother; her home away from home. She had given her tips on how to handle Malik, as well as asking endless questions about Chicago and the state of Malik’s business. This proved to be an uncomfortable topic for Amie, since she didn’t really know anything about it. When she touted that business was booming, Zafina responded with a frown and said, “I thought the market just took a hit?”

Amie didn’t know what to say. Her face flushed red until Sadira politely laughed it off, citing how protective Amie was over her son’s reputation.

After tea, Amie would finally begin trying dresses on. Sadira asked Amie if she missed her mother being here on such an important occasion, and Amie was quick to reply that she hardly felt left out, now that her new family was present.

“Besides,” Zafina said slowly, “Your mother will be there for the American ceremony, no?”

“What do you mean?” Amie frowned.

“Generally, when our people marry foreigners, there is a long, traditional wedding celebration here in Rabayat, and then a second celebration back in your home country. Malik did tell you this, yes?”

“Oh right,” Amie said, somewhat unconvincingly. “Yes, he did mention that. My mother is so excited!”

“Did you mother like Malik right away?” Sadira asked, absent-mindedly watching the dressmaker hanging wedding gowns onto a rolling rack to display. “I hope she had no qualms about his background.”

“Oh no, no, no!” Amie protested. “She was absolutely charmed by Malik. How could she not be?”

“I don’t know, his awful reputation, perhaps?” Zafina snorted.

Sadira looked uncomfortable and began fiddling with the fabric on her dress, fussing with any loose beads she found. It was clear she was trying to distance herself from the conversation, but Amie could tell she was still listening intently.

“We heard he beds a different girl every night.”

Amie’s heart sank. How was she supposed to respond to that?

Zafina watched her future sister-in-law’s face and seemed to take some pity on her, relenting somewhat as she continued. “All rumors, which of course Malik denies. Though it has to make you nervous, yes?”

“Of course,” Amie said slowly. “But when you turn yourself off from something simply based on unfounded reputations… well, you can lose out on wonderful experiences. After all, I wouldn’t be sitting here with my new sister and mother if I hadn’t taken a chance with Malik.”

Sadira looked up and smiled; tears filling her eyes. “What a wonderful answer, and so true.”

Even Zafina looked quelled by her response. For a moment, Amie thought she might finally be out of the danger zone, until Sadira reached over and grabbed her hand, politely insisting she speak to Amie’s mother over the phone.

“Usually, we would have gotten a chance to sit down and dine together—the whole family. I want to get to know your mother so badly,” she said sweetly. “Please, give me her number and tell her I wish to speak with her.”

Amie’s eyes went wide. “Oh… I don’t know,” she responded bashfully. “There’s a huge time difference between here and Indiana; I’m not sure she’ll even be awake.”

“That’s fine,” Sadira said; all problem solving. “I’ll be sure to call at a convenient time.”

“Oh…” Amie stalled; unsure what to say next as a dawning horror came upon her: she was going to end up giving Sadira her mother’s phone number—what other choice did she have?

“Can I have her call you?” Amie said finally. “She works as a doctor,” she lied—her mother was a cashier at a local used clothing store. “She’s always working. It would probably be best if I gave her the opportunity to call you at her leisure, if you don’t mind?”

Sadira finally relented and wrote down a number for Amie to pass along. She gushed about how much she looked forward to getting to know this successful doctor who raised such a bright and successful young woman. That’s when Amie realized that a new form of guilt had settled in, stretching from her neck all the way down to her toes.

Before long, the dressmaker had wheeled in her display of her most prized bridal designs. While there was no shortage of bridal shops in Rabayat, Sadira had insisted that Amie only consider dresses from her personal seamstress.

Zafina smugly informed Amie that the dress was to be modest; no skin showing. “We don’t show everything like Americans do,” she said. “Leave that for your husband.”

“Zafina!” Sadira laughed, embarrassed.

At first, Amie worried the dresses would be stuffy or matronly, but as it turned out, they were all showy, elegant pieces more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen. The seamstress held up one A-line gown almost entirely made of chiffon; it was a simple form with long sleeves and a high neckline, both of which were painstakingly embroidered with thousands of tiny, sparkling silver beads.

The next gown she tried on boasted long sleeves and a peekaboo neckline; metallic laces woven into the material for a modern feel. Amie thought it nice enough, but Sadira’s lack of enthusiasm was evident on her face.

The real treat came on the fifth dress; a long-sleeved gown that was all lace; vintage and simple in style, with a matching lace head covering with lovely white beading. If she were really having a Middle-Eastern wedding, Amie thought that this would be the dress she’d choose. She’d hardly stepped out before the girls before Sadira began gingerly wiping the tears from her eyes.

“This is it!” the older woman shouted joyfully, approaching Amie and caressing the fabric of the dress. “Look at you! You beautiful bride!”

Amie stared in the full-length mirror before her and inspected the dress. While the bust fit a little looser, she couldn’t help but get butterflies as she looked at her reflection. This was it. This was her faux wedding gown.

“It’s perfect,” she said finally.

“Nan!” Sadira called to the dressmaker. She began requesting that the seamstress take Amie’s measurements and tailor the dress ready for their nuptials. Amie couldn’t believe what was happening and almost moved to protest but what was she supposed to do?

Was she supposed to stop her fake mother-in-law from putting a hold on her fake wedding dress; reveal it was all some big charade Malik was staging? She felt her stomach sink in utter discomfort as she watched Sadira leave the room with her checkbook in hand; ready to put a down-payment on the gown.

Zafina watched her mother leave the room and suddenly her eyes were fixated on Amie. The sister brushed her hands through her long brown locks, fussing with it as she spoke. “Malik is a hard man to love,” she said.

“Well…” Amie shrugged. “Perhaps you don’t know him the way that I do.”

“I know he doesn’t respect women, and that he
definitely
doesn’t like the theater—whatever he might have told you,” she said pointedly.

Amie could feel sweat forming at the top of her hairline and could only pray Zafina couldn’t read how nervous she’d just become. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it isn’t because of love for my brother,” Zafina continued. “Are you in this for his money?”

“What?” Amie frowned. “No, of course not!”

“You’ve won my mother’s heart, and that worries me,” the woman said simply. “If you break her heart, you will have broken many.”

“I love your brother,” Amie said emphatically, realizing that her words were no longer those of an improvised script/performance. “And I understand your reservations about my being here…” Suddenly she felt anger in the pit of her stomach and her face flushed as she turned sharply to face Zafina. “Actually, you know what? I don’t. You’ve been hostile towards me since the moment we met. Don’t you want your brother to be happy?” she snapped. “How can it bother you so much knowing he’s no longer getting into trouble or bringing shame on your family name? And how am I
the least desirable
candidate for him? Don’t you care what makes him happy?”

Zafina’s eyes went wide with a ferocity Amie hadn’t seen before as the woman stood from the seating area. “I know something’s going on,” she said coldly. “I might not know what it is yet, but you’d better be certain that I’m going to find out.”

With that, she turned and left.

***

Amie apologized profusely when Sadira returned. She explained—in vague terms—that she and Zafina had gotten into an argument and that she didn’t think Malik’s sister liked her very much.

Sadira took the news as gracefully as Amie had imagined she would; telling her not to worry and stating that Zafina could be a very unpleasant girl if the mood struck her. True to motherly fashion, Sadira assured her that, deep down, Zafina would be a good sister to her and had a good heart—just like Malik.

Amie went straight home after the shopping trip, after thanking Malik’s mother over and over again for buying the dress. That phrase she’d used, ‘a good heart’, stuck with her for the rest of the evening. Did Malik really have a good heart? Did she?

Sadira certainly seemed to think so, but how would she really feel if she knew Amie had just let her pay who knows how much money for a dress that was basically the crux of a drawn-out sham. And what about Malik? Was he as good and kind as she thought he was, or had she just been sucked in by the same charms that had seduced dozens of women before her?

Amie shuddered at the thought. She usually didn’t think of herself as a jealous person, but the idea that her affections were going unreturned was driving her insane. Then again, if Malik told her that he
did
share her feelings, that probably wouldn’t be good, either. Amie had been witness to too many careers ruined by young actresses who dated their agents or producers.
Ick
, she thought. It just wouldn’t work.

In the dark of night, Amie wandered from her bedroom to the theater room. She hadn’t bothered grabbing anything for supper that evening, even though she’d been starving.

She fell into the overly padded theater chair and selected a black and white movie to watch. She didn’t even care which one it was; if Malik had set it up for her to enjoy, there was a good chance she was going to enjoy it. She snacked on the sour candies beside the chair and quickly devoured the box. She told herself that she wouldn’t have done so had she eaten a proper dinner, but the truth was when gummy candies were around they didn’t stand a chance.

The movie was sweet and funny; everything you’d want to watch when winding down for the evening, yet Amie’s thoughts kept twisting over to Malik. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him… He was sweet, thoughtful, romantic, and had gone above and beyond to make her feel comfortable in her temporary home.

She kept tracing back to when he’d grabbed her hand; tickled her; brushed her hair behind her ears. There was nothing about his behavior that said
I’m only acting.
Yet, even with her feelings becoming clearer, she couldn’t shake the basic fact that her very presence in Rabayat was little more than ruse for Malik to return to Chicago and continue his high-finance, playboy lifestyle in peace.

Thoughts of ‘
should I or
shouldn’t I?’
kept her mind reeling for most of the night until she finally fell asleep in front of the projector screen.

She awoke to Malik caressing her bare shoulder and whispering, “What, are you a 70-year-old man, now?”

“What?” she asked groggily.

“Who falls asleep watching TV?” he chuckled.

She smiled and locked eyes with him; her gorgeous, enticing playboy employer. It was in that moment, staring into his deep brown eyes, that she decided she couldn’t cross any lines. Not for Malik, and not for any boss. Instead, she reminded herself that she had a job to do.