A Family Affair (5 page)

“Easy for you to say. God, Connie, why do you think he invited me here? I know you said he likes me, but he’s half a world away. There’s no way we could have a long-distance relationship and make it work. Remember, he’s not a prince anymore. He’s the sheik. Just because Malik helped me when I was sick doesn’t explain this . . . this vacation. There has to be an ulterior motive somewhere. I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“You’ll figure it out. Gotta go, Trish. Showtime. We just got the final call.”

“Love you. Tell everyone I miss them. I’ll bring presents for everyone, all the way from Dubai.”

The moment the connection was broken, Trish closed her eyes. Suddenly, she felt lost and all alone. The words
ulterior motive
kept ricocheting around and around inside her head. She poured more coffee and fired up another cigarette. She needed to think.

An hour later her thoughts were no different. She was tired of smoking cigarettes she didn’t want, tired of drinking the excellent coffee. She needed to move about. A walk through the garden, sniffing the fragrant flowers, might help. She realized she was still in her bare feet. The mossy, spongy grass felt good beneath her feet. Such a simple pleasure in this land of unbelievable wealth.

Trish let her thoughts go to Malik and how she’d been attracted to him from the moment he lifted her in his arms. She remembered how safe she felt there. She thought then about all his visits to her sickroom, the inane conversations. She remembered how her heartbeat quickened at the look in his eyes, how happy she felt when he smiled at her. All the dreams she’d had of Malik. Sweet, wonderful dreams. She’d cried when he told her he was leaving to return to Dubai, knowing she’d never see him again. She’d cried into her pillow so no one would know how she felt.

When Trish finished her tour of the garden and was back on the Adirondack chair, she ignored the cigarettes and coffee. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She shifted her thoughts to her sister back in New Jersey and her friends in Las Vegas. For some crazy reason, she thought about Ernie and how shocked he was when she told him to return the thousand dollars to Malik. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Trish looked down at her watch. Hours to go till it was time to meet up with the man who had literally saved her life. Hours till she set eyes on Sheik Malik bin Al Mohammed.

Just hours.

T
RISH LOOKED DOWN AT HER WATCH FOR WHAT SHE WAS SURE
was the hundredth time. The time hadn’t changed much since the last time she looked, not even a minute ago. The little gold circle on her wrist said the time was 7:31 p.m. Dubai time. She had been awake now for close to thirty hours and was starting to feel it.

The soak in the massive tub had almost put her to sleep. The heady scent of the bath salts had soothed all her senses. The bathroom smelled wonderful! She smelled wonderful! The world smelled wonderful!

Trish could see her reflection in all the mirrors lining the walls. While a tad creepy, it allowed her to see every part of her body. She whirled and twirled. The white piqué sundress the girls back home had helped her choose was, in her eyes, perfect. At home, in the summer, she could go anywhere in it. To a summer party, out to dinner, on a movie date, out for a walk in the park . . . with someone. The gold chain and cross around her neck, the last gift from her mother, sparkled in the overhead lighting. She hadn’t applied much makeup; the spray tan had done its job. A little mascara, a little eyeliner, some lipstick, and that was it. What she would do when the spray tan faded, she had no idea. Maybe the spray tan was a bad idea. Too late to worry about that.

Trish looked down at her white sandals. She’d paid way too much for them, but the girls had goaded her with the “once-in-a-lifetime vacation and throw caution to the winds” argument. And they did match the dress perfectly.

Trish paced because she didn’t want to sit down and wrinkle her dress. She walked around the suite of rooms and was on her ninth lap when she decided to go outside and smoke a cigarette. She nixed the second half of that idea almost immediately as she didn’t want to smell like cigarette smoke. Instead, she peered at herself in one of the mirrors on her last lap to stare at her hair and the earrings one of the girls had loaned her. Real diamonds, but only half a carat each. Still, they were diamonds. Her hair, now, that was another story altogether. Fortunately, she and her sister had been blessed with natural curly hair, thanks to their father. What that meant was that she could style her hair just about any way she wanted to, and it would stay in place. The only thing she had to do was highlight it from time to time, something she’d done the day before coming to the Arabian Peninsula.

The next thing she knew, she was out in the garden, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm her nerves. She wondered if Malik was as nervous as she was. Probably not. Men played it cool and didn’t get emotional the way women did.

Fifteen minutes to go.

Trish walked up and down the little stone paths. She stopped often to smell the flowers and finally ended up picking a vibrant scarlet flower she’d never seen before. She stuck it in her hair, over her ear, then giggled. Soraya would probably frown. Malik would probably grin. Damn, she could hardly wait to see him. That first moment, she knew in her heart, in her mind, in her gut, would tell her why she was there. That first one-second look would say it all. The girls back in Vegas had agreed when she told them that. Just one second, and she would know her destiny.

Her adrenaline was at an all-time high. She knew when she crashed, it would be for twenty-four hours. Then she’d miss out on a whole day of her vacation. Was there an alarm clock in her bedroom? She couldn’t remember seeing one. Maybe she would need to tell Nada to wake her in the morning. Jet lag was awful, just awful.

Ten minutes. Trish continued to walk in the garden.

Five minutes.

Three minutes.

Trish headed back into the suite and walked to the huge sitting room. She just stood there, her eyes glued to her watch.

Two minutes.

One minute.

Trish almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the knock on the door.

Nada appeared out of nowhere and opened the door. A tiny little lady wearing a pale yellow gown of some sort smiled and motioned for Trish to follow her.

Nada whispered to Trish as she swept by. “You look ravishing, Miss Holiday.”

Startled, Trish swung around and hugged her new maid. “Thank you for saying that. I was worried I might . . .”

“You look perfect. Enjoy your dinner.”

Like that was really going to happen. She wouldn’t be able to eat a bite of food. She was absolutely sure of it.

“Where are we going?” Trish asked nervously after they had walked for over five minutes, up one hall and down another, then around a few corners.

“To Sheik Malik’s apartments. He wanted dinner to be informal this evening. Normally, dinner is served in the dining room. Tomorrow or the next day, Nada will show it to you. My name is Lily, Miss Holiday. I am Princess Soraya’s personal maid.”

Trish wondered if Malik had maids or male stewards.

“Ah, here we are. Do not be nervous, Miss Holiday. I can feel you shaking as you stand next to me. The sheik and the princess are wonderful people. They will put you at ease. I am going to knock on the door now, then leave you. Have an enjoyable dinner and a pleasant evening.”

Trish didn’t trust herself to speak. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, then opening the door. Which she did.

And there he was, striding toward her with his arms outstretched, his sister behind him. He was dressed in creased khakis, loafers, and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to mid-arm. Trish locked her gaze on him as he did with her. This was the second she’d been waiting for from the moment she received the invitation to come to Dubai. She didn’t know what Malik was seeing in her eyes, but she knew what she was seeing in his. She smiled from ear to ear, her knees turning to rubber as she stepped into his arms, his grasp tight.

Patricia Holiday, also known as Trisha or Trish, had just met her destiny.

Malik released her, stepped back, and looked at her with such burning intensity, Trish was mesmerized. “It is so good to see you again, Trish. I am so happy, as is my sister, that you agreed to accept my invitation to visit us here in Dubai. I hope everything is to your satisfaction.”

“Oh, it is. It is. It was so kind of you to invite me. I can’t wait to see your world.”

“Come, come. We must sit and talk. You must tell me how things are back in Las Vegas, the city that never sleeps and has no clocks.”

Trish didn’t realize until that moment that Malik was holding her hand. It felt cool and dry, whereas hers felt like a hot rock. He squeezed her hand just before he motioned for her to sit in one of the deep, comfortable chairs in a small seating arrangement.

“It’s different in here,” Trish blurted as she looked around.

There was no gold or gilt here. What she was seeing could pass for a bachelor pad back in the States. Or an elevated dorm room. The room they were sitting in had the same kind of comfortable furniture she had back in Vegas. There were ordinary carpets on the floor, cone-shaped floor lamps, end tables with pictures of young American guys, probably friends from college. Green plants dotted the corners and looked healthy and lush. Huge pictures of the ocean, with giant waves crashing on shorelines, hung on the walls. Plantation shutters, a product of the South, covered the windows. Paddle fans hung from the ceiling and whirred softly. Bookshelves lined the far wall and were crammed with books of every size and description. A humongous television that looked to be at least a hundred inches was directly across from the seating area, along with a stereo system.

Beyond the sitting room was a small kitchen with stainless-steel appliances and four stools resting under the counter. Beyond the immediate kitchen was a bit of a dining room with a round table holding a bowl of fruit and four chairs with padded covers. Cozy. A carryover from Malik’s days in the States, which he wasn’t ready to let go of. Trish felt sad that in this mind-boggling building of gold and wealth, this little area was Malik’s personal oasis. There was no need to see the bedroom or bath. She could envision them with her eyes closed.

Malik laughed, his eyes lighting with mirth. “I rather thought you would like it. My sister thinks it is horrible. She said she could never live in such . . . I believe the word she used was
squalor.
”

“Stop it, Malik. He loves to tease. What I said was, it was much too small for me. As long as he can drink his American beer and toast hot dogs, my brother is happy. Rashid, too. Both of them are incorrigible.”

Trish winked at Malik. “I love hot dogs with the works and good cold beer. I swig from the bottle, do you?”

Malik burst out laughing, then couldn’t stop at the expression on his sister’s face. “I told you she would love dinner this evening! I’m making it myself. By ‘the works,’ I assume you mean chili, sauerkraut, onions, mustard, and ketchup?”

Trish was giggling now, too. “That’s the only way to eat them. Especially at the ballpark. I hope you have bibs! I dribble.”

Malik continued to laugh, slapping his thigh over and over. “I do, too. I just use a dish towel.”

“That’ll work for me.” Trish continued to giggle. “What’s your feeling about ramen noodles?”

“Ate them three times a week with my friends. We bought them by the case. That way we had more money to spend on beer.”

“You are hopeless, Malik. Our father must be turning over in his grave at the way you turned out. What is Trish going to think?”

Without any prompting, Trish spoke up. “I like it. Everyone I know acts like Malik. It’s like meeting my friends all over again. I guess you don’t like hot dogs or beer, huh?”

“You know what, Trish? She does. She just won’t admit it. She’s as stubborn as a mule. The last time I made them, she ate three of them and drank two bottles of beer. I had to carry her to her quarters.”

In spite of herself, Soraya laughed. “Sadly, what he says is true. Our problem is that Malik treats me to these American things, but he will not allow me to go there to visit. Nor would my father. It is a very sore point with me. He says I am too young to travel by myself. And yet he went with an entourage of his own. Tell me that is fair!”

Always outspoken on anything concerning women’s issues especially, Trish sat straight up in her chair and looked at Malik. “That is not fair. Why were you able to go, and she can’t? Is it because she’s a woman?” The edge in her voice had crept in without her even knowing it. She tried to backpedal by smiling.

“I said I would think about it, sister. I didn’t say no. Many plans have to be put into place.”

“Baloney! That’s his favorite word, more fitting than some he uses. That’s like telling a child you’ll think about giving them ice cream next week if you don’t forget to order it. I want an answer sooner rather than later.”

Malik threw his hands in the air. “No wonder my father banished you to the other side of the palace. All you do is nag and whine. And you’re doing it in front of our guest. Shame on you, Soraya.”

“Get off it, Malik. See? His sayings have rubbed off on me. I think with what I’ve learned from him, I could handle myself in America. Don’t you agree, Trish?”

“Well . . .”

“I think this might be a good time for me to start grilling our hot dogs,” Malik said, getting up. He winked at Trish as he rounded the corner.

“He just wants to show off that new range he bought. It’s a Jenn-Air and grills and does everything but eat the food for you. My brother, the chef!”

So, even here in Dubai, half a world away from her home, things were, to a certain extent, no different. Brothers and sisters argued and baited one another just like brothers and sisters all over the world.

Trish and Soraya made casual conversation while Malik bustled about his mini kitchen. “He is so proud of this . . . this apartment. He spends more time here than in his own quarters. He says he can think better here,” she whispered. “And he had this up and working in less than ten days. He is so proud of that Jenn-Air cooking range.”

Trish winked at Soraya. “You sound a tad jealous. Would you like a place like this yourself? You know, someplace to run off to where you could think or run naked through the rooms, do something silly or unexpected?”

Soraya whispered again. “How did you know?”

“Because I’m a girl, and you’re a girl. That’s what we do back home. We all need that sanctuary we can go to from time to time.”

“Do you have one?” Soraya asked, curiosity ringing in her voice.

“See, that’s the good thing. I don’t need one, because I live alone in my town house. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. There is no one watching me, hovering about me, telling me what to do and when to do it. I’m my own person. I’m independent. No one pays my bills but me. I am in control of me.”

“And you like that . . . that independence?”

“Well, yeah,” Trish drawled.

“Okay, dinner is served,” Malik called from the kitchen. “Everything is on the counter. Help yourself.”

“This is just like a barbecue back home,” Trish observed, giggling as she speared a hot dog and put it on a steamed bun. Thank God the ice was broken and they were just like three old friends, sitting around, eating, and enjoying each other’s company.

Soraya continued to bait her brother. “Show Trish what’s in that icebox you have.”

Malik leapt off the stool he was sitting on and opened the freezer-side door of the refrigerator to reveal stacks and stacks of Sabrett hot dogs. On the shelves of the freezer door were what looked like hundreds of packages of hot-dog rolls. He showed it all off proudly as he grinned from ear to ear.

“Now, show her the refrigerator side,” Soraya chortled as she bit into her hot dog.

Malik opened the other door to reveal shelves of Budweiser beer, condiments, and a small bowl with apples that were shriveled and angry-looking.

“I thought Muslims didn’t drink,” Trish said.

“They don’t. We don’t. Only in here can I do that. It’s like the Jewish guys I went to school with. Their parents, they said, kept a kosher house, but they ate pork and bacon on the outside. At home they kept the dairy away from the meat. It’s the same thing here.” He laughed, that delightful sound Trish loved.