A Family Affair (6 page)

“If you say so.”

“I say so. How do you like your hot dog?”

“Best I ever ate. Cooked just right.”

For the next hour, they laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. “Okay, I cooked. You girls can clean up.”

“I think this is where I say good night and leave you two to yourselves,” Soraya said, sliding off her stool.

Trish was already off her stool and gathering up the paper plates and napkins. She had wondered when Soraya would leave them alone or if she would. She now had her answer.

“Let’s take a walk in the palace garden,” Malik said to Trish. “I’d like to show you how we grow things here in the desert. You look tired, Trish. Would you rather go back to your suite?”

“It’s just the jet lag. I would love a walk in the garden. I love the evening air.” She would love anything, she wanted to say, as long as she was seeing or doing it with Malik.

Ten minutes into the walk, with Malik holding her hand and explaining the palace’s horticulture, Trish leaned against a stout trellis and tried to keep from falling asleep on her feet. She closed her eyes and felt her knees start to buckle. Once again, she felt strong arms reach for her and pick her up. Her eyelids felt like they were lead weights. She forced them open a crack and murmured, “You have the most beautiful eyes, and I love your smile.”

Malik cradled her in his arms and smiled down at her. “We really have to stop meeting like this, or people are going to start talking about us.”

“Hmm, yes, but I feel safe here with you.”

“I will always keep you safe, Trish Holiday.”

Trish murmured something else. Malik had to lean down to hear what she was saying. He thought she said, “It takes forty-eight hours to digest a hot dog.” The silly grin he was feeling stayed with him.

Within forty-two seconds, the palace grapevine was twittering and chittering about the sheik carrying the American houseguest from his
cave
to her suite. Thirty seconds after that, the chittering and twittering confirmed that the sheik returned to his
cave
with a silly smile on his face.

The smile wasn’t just silly, but it was sappy, as Malik returned to his cave to finish the cleanup. He popped two bottles of Budweiser and carried them to his sitting room, where he waited for Rashid’s knock.

“Come in, Rashid!”

“Like old times, eh, Malik?” Rashid said, sitting down and propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, how did it go?”

Malik turned so that he was facing his old friend. “She’s the one, Rashid.”

“Does she know she’s the one?”

“I think so. I guess you heard the palace grapevine?”

“That’s why I’m here. What happened?”

“Jet lag. She leaned back against the trellis, closed her eyes, and that was it. I caught her just in time. Kismet! She said I had a beautiful smile and beautiful eyes. She said she felt safe with me. Yes, she’s the one! Tell me your thoughts, my friend.”

“My thoughts are, I am happy for you, Malik. Now what?”

“I have to make a plan. I don’t want to scare her off. This life is strange to her. I want to show her everything, so I’m going to need you to step into my shoes, cover for me at meetings and do my job, while I do that. Will you do that for me? By the way, did you know it takes forty-eight hours to digest a hot dog?”

The stupid look on Rashid’s face caused Malik to laugh out loud. “No, I didn’t know that. Of course I will do whatever you want, but only if you assure me that Soraya won’t be breathing down my neck every minute of the day. If you can guarantee that, I’ll step into your shoes.”

“Done! Want another beer?”

“You know it! How’d she like your cave?”

“She loved it. As much as I do, and as much as you do, but you won’t admit it.”

“The palace is buzzing tonight,” Rashid said.

The old friends laughed and clapped one another on the back.

“Life is good, Rashid. Let’s hope it stays that way.” Malik twisted the caps off the beer bottles and raised his. “To happiness!”

“To happiness.”

T
HE DAYS LEADING UP TO THE END OF
T
RISH
’
S VACATION
passed in a whirlwind. There were times when she barely had time to catch her breath, with all there was to see and do. Malik was the perfect host. Soraya was just as perfect when Malik would have to disappear for several hours at a time “to attend to palace business,” as he put it.

The only regret Trish had was that the romantic part of the vacation, which she longed for, had simply not happened. There had been no kisses and no sex, something she was sure would have happened by now. It was hard not to throw herself at Malik and ask him what was wrong with her that he didn’t at least want to hold her in his arms and kiss her. If nothing else, at least on the cheek.

It was close to midnight, and Trish was getting ready for bed. Malik had seen her to her door. He squeezed her hand and wished her a good night’s sleep. She wanted to scream at him.
How can I have a good night’s sleep when all I do is dream of you?
But she’d said no such thing. She bit down on her lip and somehow willed herself to force a smile she was far from feeling.

Two days to go, and she would be headed back to the States with bags of new clothes Soraya had insisted on buying for her. Jewelry Malik had insisted on buying for her. Trinkets and souvenirs she had purchased with her own money for her sister, her niece, and her friends. Just proof that she had been here. A once-in-a-lifetime vacation that hadn’t begun to live up to her expectations.

She was in bed, nestled between silk sheets that were changed every single day. She leaned back into the nest of pillows and called her friend Connie. She started to babble, almost immediately complaining about Malik’s behavior. “Either there is something wrong with me or he’s gay. I’ve done everything but throw myself at him, and he just smiles at me. I just give up. Two days to go, then I’m homeward bound. You have any advice for me, Connie?”

“We’ve skirted around this for almost two weeks now. Are you in love with Malik, Trish?”

“No. Yes. Oh, Connie, I don’t know. The customs here are so different from ours. For all I know, he might have a woman stashed somewhere, and he’s just being nice to me because . . . I don’t know why. None of this makes sense. Why bring me all the way across the world just to be nice to me? I guess I hoped . . . I read the signs wrong. That just makes me a foolish woman. I wanted so badly to talk to Soraya, and while we are friends, Malik is off-limits in our conversations unless she brings up his name. I would never dare ask Rashid anything about Malik. Women over here have their place, and you stay in that place unless you are invited out of said place. I tried talking to my sister the other day, but she has her own problems, and she never approved of my coming here to begin with.”

“Well, you have two more days, Trish. What’s on your agenda for those two days?”

“I don’t have a clue. Malik and I meet for breakfast, and he outlines a plan for the day. We dine here at the palace in the evening, and usually, Soraya or Rashid joins us. It’s all very formal. After dinner, Malik and I take a walk in the garden. There are many gardens here, each one more beautiful than the previous one. He holds my hand. That’s it.
He holds my hand.
Are you telling me you have no advice for me?”

“I guess I don’t, Trish. What do the two of you talk about?”

“Everything and nothing. Malik’s time in the States. His cave, where he goes to unwind and relax. He talked at great length about his father’s passing. He wasn’t ready ‘to step into his father’s sandals,’ as he put it. He thought he would have at least another thirty years of being a prince before he became a sheik. He said his father sent him to school in the States so he would learn business, because the oil is running out here and it yields only a six to eight percent return.

“He needs to run this country commercially, and I guess he’s pretty good at it, to his own dismay. Everyone over here is concerned about the country’s prospects when the oil runs out. He said that Dubai would be doomed if his father hadn’t seen the handwriting on the wall earlier and put plans into motion for the country. Now he has to follow through on those plans.”

“It sounds like he has a lot on his plate,” Connie observed.

“He does. Soraya told me several days ago, just in passing, that Malik did not want to step into his father’s sandals, but he had no other choice. Here’s the kicker, Connie. Soraya would love the job, but since she’s a woman, that can’t be. The only way, according to Soraya, a woman could step in is if she was married to the sheik and he passed away. Only then could a woman, the wife, step in. I don’t know if that’s carved in stone or something Soraya just thinks could happen. Sometimes, to be perfectly frank, she’s a little ditzy. Can you imagine a life dedicated to shopping, massages, manicures, pedicures, facials, and having teas? That’s her whole life.

“Soraya can be a bit of a spitfire, though. She refuses to marry any one of the men her father picked for her. Malik says she’s going to be an old maid if she doesn’t make up her mind soon. The flip side to that is there is no chance she can find a man, because she is not free to pick one and goes nowhere where she could find one. Secretly, I think she has a thing for Rashid.”

“Sounds like palace intrigue to me. I miss you, Trish. The girls and I can’t wait to see you again. Let’s get together the moment you get back.”

“Okay. Guess it’s time to go to sleep. Did I tell you they use pure silk sheets here, and they get changed every day? It’s hard not to get used to some things.”

Connie laughed as they said good night.

Trish curled up and tried to settle herself. Was she in love? How could she not love the kind, considerate, handsome man who had held her in his arms twice? A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away, but then more tears flowed. In less than forty-eight hours, she would be on her way home.

Since sleep was out of the question, Trish got up, put on a robe and slippers, and walked out to her own garden, where she sat down and smoked a cigarette. Then she smoked another, and still another, all the while crying and sniffling. She wished she had a strong drink, maybe two drinks. Anything to take away the pain she was feeling.

Trish sat for a long time, the tears trickling down her cheeks. When she couldn’t stand sitting any longer, she got up and paced up and down the little paths until finally she thought maybe she could sleep.

She didn’t see the many eyes that watched her, and she had no idea that the palace grapevine operated in the dead of night. Within minutes, Sheik Malik bin Al Mohammed was wakened and apprised that his guest was crying in the garden and smoking cigarettes. She had been doing so for hours, he was told.

Alarmed at this strange news, Malik called in Rashid, then his sister, to demand an answer to his guest’s distress. Both Rashid and Soraya stared at Malik as if he had sprouted a second head, saying they had no clue as to what was wrong.

Unsettled at being awakened in the middle of the night, Soraya fixed her gaze on her brother and opined, “Perhaps it is you, my brother, that has upset our guest.”

“Me! Don’t be ridiculous. If that is the best you can come up with, go back to bed. Rashid?”

Rashid shrugged. “Women are strange creatures. How many times have we discussed this? Too many to count. Maybe she was crying with happiness. It is possible. Women do cry when they are happy. Your sister herself told me this.”

“And you believe my sister!” There was such outrage in Malik’s voice that Rashid cringed.

Rashid shrugged. “There is a way to find out, Malik. You simply ask her in the morning, when you meet for breakfast. Of course, she might not like your asking, knowing that people are and have been spying on her. You don’t know a lot about women, do you?” Rashid said.

“About as much as you do, obviously. Women cry. I understand that. I just don’t know the why of it. We have treated her like a princess. We showered her with gifts. We have seen to everything. What did we miss? Well? What did we miss?”

“Look, this is just a wild guess on my part, Malik, but maybe it’s
you.
Maybe she expected you to . . . I don’t know . . . be more amorous, more like American men. She is an American, you know.”

“What are you saying? I have too much respect for Trish to . . . to . . .”

“Yes,” Rashid drawled.

“You know what I’m saying. Do you really think she thinks I should . . .”

“Like I’m suddenly an authority on women? I don’t know, Malik. Maybe she was expecting you to sweep her off her feet, declare undying love, like in American films. It is a possibility, and it’s the only one I can think of.”

Malik sat down on the edge of his bed. “Rashid, I can’t kiss her, have sex with her, not that I don’t dream of that night and day, because I have to be true to my faith. Only if we are betrothed can I kiss her.”

“Aha! You know that. I know that. But does Miss Holiday know that? Of course she doesn’t. She’s American. She thinks you aren’t interested in her in a romantic sense. See, Malik? Now it all makes sense. She thinks she isn’t good enough for you. Otherwise, you would have made a . . . What’s the saying? A move on her . . . by now.”

“Is that possible, Rashid?” Malik asked, misery ringing in his voice.

Flushed with this newfound knowledge of women, Rashid beamed and said, “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Therefore, it must be true.”

“Then that makes me stupid, Rashid.”

“Yes, my friend, it does.”

“So, what do I do now?”

Rashid threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to do? Draw you a diagram? Figure it out. I’m going back to bed. Remember this, though. You have only two more days. Actually, less than two days. Good night, Malik.”

The moment the door closed behind Rashid, Malik got dressed and beelined to his cave, where he popped a bottle of Budweiser and sat down to contemplate his next move. All those years of study, all the academics, and here he sat, looking like a fool.

He was a fool. He now had less than forty-eight hours to make a decision. Why had he thought that miraculously something would come to him to help him along? Was it his intention to wait till the eleventh hour to declare his intentions? How stupid was that? Where did that kind of thinking come from? Rashid was right: He knew less than nothing about women, and he had no one to ask. Just blunder along and hope for the best. Well, obviously, that wasn’t going to be good enough.... Correct that thought.... It wasn’t good enough for Trish Holiday.

He loved her. Had loved her the minute he set eyes on her. Had been waiting for her to give him a sign, a clue, that she felt the same way. She’d told him that she loved his eyes, his smile, that she felt safe with him. Wasn’t the man supposed to make the first move? But they were of different faiths. How could he expect her to know or understand what he was thinking if he didn’t tell her? The playing field had to be level; only then did the game start.

Not that any of this was a game, though in a way it was. He’d thought that by inviting her here, she’d know he cared about her. So, he screwed up there. He’d waited too long to tell her how he felt.

Malik popped another Budweiser, then another and a third and a fourth. When he consumed the fifth bottle, he stopped. By the time he had the bottles lined up like soldiers, he had a good buzz on. And with the buzz came clarity of a sort. He looked at his watch: 4:55 a.m. He squared his shoulders, looked around for his baseball cap, and jammed it on his head. He left his cave and strode down the hall, then down another hall, around two corners, until he got to Trish’s suite. He didn’t bother knocking. Why should he? He owned the joint. He knew eyes were on him, but he didn’t care. He walked toward the bedroom, and here he did knock. He waited until he saw the light go on, then opened the door.

Trish sat up in bed, a look of alarm on her face. “What’s wrong?” she managed to gasp.

“Everything is wrong! I did everything wrong! I’m sorry! Will you marry me?”

Will you marry me?
Four of the most beautiful words Trish had ever heard in her life. She tried to make her tongue work. It refused. So she nodded and leapt out of bed and into Malik’s arms.

“Since you said yes, I can kiss you now.” And he did, until they were both so light-headed, they had to hold on to one another to stay on their feet.

Trish found her tongue. “What took you so long to ask me? I would have said yes on the first day.”

“You would have?” Malik said in stunned surprise.

“Uh-huh. Kiss me again. I liked it.”

When they broke apart the second time, Trish said, “I thought there was something wrong with me, that I had bad breath, I smelled, that I wasn’t good enough for you. I thought a hundred different things. How many beers did you have?”

“Five!” Malik said proudly. “I needed them for courage. I’m not supposed to be in here without a chaperone.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Everyone already knows, trust me. I’m going to leave you now. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

Malik looked at the bed. “No!”

Trish laughed. She waved good-bye and absolutely loved the silly grin she saw on Malik’s face. She wondered how she looked to the eyes that were watching her, not that she cared. When the door closed, she turned around and hopped up on her bed and did a jig among the tangled silk sheets.
Oh my God, I am getting married!