The Sheikh's Accidental Bride (9 page)

It was a foolish thing to say. She didn’t imagine that Other Nadya had been here. She didn’t know how traditional her family was, and if she was supposed to have kissed boys in alleys behind now-gentrified punk venues. But right now, in this moment, she didn’t care.

He looked at her as though he had something to say, right on the tip of his tongue, but didn’t know how to say it.

She should tell him now, Nadya thought. She had to. This had gone on far too long already, and if there was the slightest chance that he might ever forgive her, even enough to think of her kindly one day, after he’d gone on and married other Nadya, it was now, here, beneath this moon, with lingering smoke still hanging in the air like there’d been gunfire.

She opened her mouth to speak. “I…” But she couldn’t continue.

Salman didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned in towards her, his hands touching her arms on either side gently. He tilted his head, moving his lips forward and down so that they could reach hers.

Tell him or kiss him. She couldn’t do both.

“Let’s go back inside!”

She pulled back before he could reach her, and then turned, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind her. She didn’t want to see the look on his face. She only wanted to dance.

TEN

Back inside the pulsating heat of Rudy’s, Nadya and Salman danced for hours, only stopping for long enough to catch their breaths. Around 4 a.m., the crown finally began to thin. Nadya noticed a change in the music. It got slower and slower as the night drew to a close.

But the time the surly bartender yelled for last orders, Nadya and Salman found themselves slow dancing. Their arms were around each other, with just enough beat to the music to be able to still call it dancing.

It was an excuse to stay close to him – to remain in the moment like when he had carried her. She held him tightly. After they were kicked out, she would tell him the truth, and that would be the end of it. He would yell, perhaps. Or maybe he would stare at her with a silent anger that would hurt more deeply. She was just tired enough, and tipsy enough from the hours of bone-shaking beats to be able to face it.

And then she’d catch the subway, and then another, until she got to Penn Station. She’d take the nearly abandoned, north-bound commuter train out to Hastings-On-Hudson, where she’d arrive just in time to catch her sister heading out for her morning run.

Her heart raced as she and Salman left the venue. There was no pink in the horizon yet, but the sky was a lighter, duller blue, and she could only see the brightest of the stars.

The first step was to withdraw her hand from his, but when she tried, he wouldn’t let it go.

“Nadya,” he said, and she was struck again by how lovely his accent was as he said her name. “The night’s over.”

It was like he already knew what was coming.

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat.

“Do you know what that means?”

“Salman…”

She tried to slip her hand out of his, again, but he gripped it tighter, and held it with his other hand, as well, bringing it up to his chest, against his heart. He wouldn’t let her finish.

“It means that your part of the date is over, and now it is my turn to show you something
I
love.”

She’d been on the edge. She’d been ready to say it. She’d been prepared to let him go. But to overcome her desire to stay with him,
and
her curiosity about what what he had to show her next? It was too much.

She submitted, and asked him where he was taking her, but he wouldn’t tell her. Instead, he called a car service on his phone, and walked toward the park, where he said the car would meet them.

The square in front of the library, at the top tip of the park, was surreal without people. There weren’t even cars going around the intersection that wound around the arch. So they walked underneath it, and looking up at it without saying anything. After the noise of the hours they’d spent at Rudy’s, the silence was too precious to break.

The car came and carried them back into Manhattan. Salman told the driver to hurry – that they were racing the sun – and he complied. They flew down blocks that, any other time of day, would be packed and impossible to navigate.

“It feels like the city is ours,” Nadya said, just as they came to a stop in front of a nondescript skyscraper.

“Some of it is.” They got out of the car, and Salman continued. “This building, for instance. My family owns it.”

Nadya’s jaw dropped involuntarily. “You own a building in New York?”

She shouldn’t have seemed so surprised – not if she wanted to maintain her cover. But she didn’t care about that any more. She couldn’t.

“We own several. But this one is the best. Do you want to see why?”

Dumbly, she nodded, and then let him take her hand, and lead her in.

The doorman didn’t challenge Salman. He didn’t say anything to him, only nodded, respectfully. They must have seemed like they wanted their privacy, Nadya thought.

The elevator ride was dizzying, both because it was quick, and because the entire back wall of the elevator was a window that showed the city falling away beneath them. When the door opened, they found themselves on the roof. The wind was strong up here, and it was cold despite the summer’s warmth. It blew wisps of Nadya’s hair around, and she struggled to keep them pinned down with her hands before giving up and letting go.

There was a Plexiglas barrier around the edge, and as she grew close to it, it gave her the same feeling the climb up to the helipad had: that she was high above it all, but might topple off at any moment.

“I need you to see this. I know there’s something going on. I’m not as blind as you think I am.”

He said it like a question – like he wanted her to contradict him. But she didn’t. His next words sounded almost dejected, with his suspicions all but confirmed.

“Whatever happens, Nadya… Whatever is going on in that gorgeous head of yours,” he continued, “I need you to know what seeing dawn break over the city looks like. It’s too good for you not ever to have seen it.”

She went to respond, but he put his finger on her lips to stop her. “No, there’s nothing to say. I just… let me have this with you.”

How could she say otherwise? She turned back to the city. The eastern horizon was glowing now. It was dawn, and, like it or not, soon everything would be revealed.

Salman was standing behind her, and she felt his arms wind around her. She caught his hands, and held them in hers, in front of her. His hands were so familiar now.

The light on her face warmed her, in spite of the breeze. It felt like it warmed her heart, too. Since the bathtub, when she’d seen their future together, and known that it could never happen, there was a piece of her that had been cold. Numb, even. Even as she’d enjoyed his company, and loved hearing his laugh, and his words, and everything about being with him, it had remained locked. But the sun was rising, and his arms were around her, and she felt something beginning to thaw.

She let go of the fear of what he would say when he found out. She let go of the thought of him and Other Nadya, standing together on the podium, pledging their lives to one another. She let go of the guilt of the deception she had found herself caught in, and then perpetuated.

She let herself go, to be caught by his arms, and held fast against the wind, warmed by the sun he’d brought her that little bit closer to. She could feel his head, down low close to hers. So close were his lips, that she could hear the tiny sound they made as he opened them to speak.

In one quick, deft motion, she turned her face and her body into him, bringing her lips to his. She found them waiting for her. And as she kissed him, she felt as though she had been lifted up off of her feet, off of the rooftop, and out of a city so tall, but still not tall enough to reach them.

***

When dawn had broken, and the city began to wake, Nadya and Salman went back to the hotel. They held hands, as they had done all night. But before it had been in hope – as though they were holding on to try and feel closer towards one another. Now it was in true closeness; in acknowledgement of how they both felt.

At the top of the elevator, she knew they would part. She would go right, to her suite-within-a-suite, and he would go left, to the master bedroom. She saw it in her mind’s eye as they rode, and the image brought with it a sharp pain of separation.

But when the elevator reached the top, this didn’t happen. They both went left.

ELEVEN

Nadya’s eyes opened slowly. Painfully. The whole world hurt, and she felt groggy and exhausted and sore.

The sheets were soft on her skin, and the bed still felt like a cloud, but it wasn’t
her
cloud. She looked around her, expecting to be in her own room, but found herself mistaken. In an instant, the events of the night before came rushing back. The subway ride, the walk in the park, the pulsing beat of the basement at Rudy’s. The moment in the alley when the intensity of being near him had taken over from the memory of her first kiss. The smooth ride over the bridge and empty city streets. The dizzying ride to the top of Salman’s skyscraper. Sunrise over the city. The kiss, and all that came after.

He was sleeping next to her, his breathing slow and peaceful. The light coming through the skylight made it seem like afternoon to her, though she didn’t dare turn on her phone to check.

The light of the afternoon spilling into the dark room felt harsh on her tired eyes. But the reality of what she had done – how far she had allowed herself to deceive a man who had done nothing but show her kindness, and more – that was harsher still.

She was finding it hard to breathe. There was an aching hollowness in the center of her chest, and it hurt with each labored, slightly panicked attempt.

He deserved to hear the truth from her. He deserved that, and so much more. He deserved to hear her try and make her explanations to him, however thin they may be.

But even as she lay there, thinking about how much he deserved from her, she knew that she couldn’t give it to him. She’d tried already, several times, but each and every time the pull that he had for her had been too strong.

And now,
especially
now, she had no chance. Not if he was awake.

She would need to leave him; now, while he was still asleep. The next day would be his wedding, and if she left him now, maybe he would still have an opportunity to put all of this behind him.

She didn’t dare let herself think that he might not want to put it all behind him. He couldn’t be hers. Even if he decided that he didn’t want to go through with the plans that his family had for him, or if his fiancée wouldn’t forgive him for falling for Nadya’s deceit, he couldn’t be hers. How could he ever trust her, knowing what she’d done?

She hoped he was a heavy sleeper, and that he wouldn’t wake as she slipped out of bed. She moved as smoothly as she could; the mattress was some kind of memory foam hybrid, so it didn’t jostle much, luckily. When she stood on the floor, having freed herself from the warmth of his bed, she held still for a minute, observing him carefully. She thought she saw some semblance of movement, but it was just a trick of the light. She’d done it.

She set about searching the room quietly for something to write on. The drawers opened and closed soundlessly, and she quickly found a little notepad with the hotel’s name embossed on it, stashed in the drawer of the little writing desk. Next to it was a pen, with the hotel’s logo on it. By the weight of it, Nadya guessed it was worth quite a bit. The pen was a hateful thing, to her. It was how she was going to say her goodbye.

She revised the note in her head several times before putting the pen to the paper. Each second she stayed in the room was another second for Salman to wake up, and for her to have to face him. She couldn’t do that, but neither could she tolerate the idea of leaving him without at least a farewell note.

In the end, she opted to keep it simple. There was no real explanation for what she’d done to him, so she offered him none.

Salman,

I’m sorry, but I’ve been lying to you. I’m not the person you think I am.

My name is Nadya, but I am not your fiancée. I only met you because of a misunderstanding at the airport. It was a mistake I should have corrected immediately, when I realized as much, but I did not. I have no excuses to offer you; only an apology. Please know that everything I have felt for you was the truth, even if everything you believed you knew about me was not. I wish you every happiness. I will leave New York tomorrow, and never return, so you needn’t worry about seeing me again.

I will always think of you. Thank you for the memories.

Nadya.

There was no more to say, and no less. She folded the note in half, and carefully stood it next to him, where she should would still be lying if her heart had its way, and where he would find it immediately upon waking.

And then she left. She walked quickly and silently through the suite, only stopping momentarily in her own suite to gather her things and slip into her travelling clothes.

It wasn’t until she was in the elevator that she felt like she could breathe again. But no sooner could she breathe, it felt like she was breathing too much. The air ripped in and out of her, far too much of it, too quickly. She felt dizzy and sick. When the elevator got to the bottom, she was sitting on the floor of it, but had no memory of falling.

A bellboy helped her up, asking gently if there was anything he could do for her. She told them there wasn’t, and had to put him off when he asked if her fiancé would like to have his suit jacket and tie sent up to him, after leaving it with reception the night before.

She wasn’t sure what she told them, in the end. The words left her mind as soon as they left her mouth. They had more questions for her, but she couldn’t understand them. Why did all of these people insist on referring to half the things in the world by their French name? It made no sense at all.

People were starting to stare. She must have looked a mess. It was mid-afternoon, and she had panda eyes from sleeping in her makeup. She had to get out of there. They were offering to call up to her room. She did her best impression of a woman who was all right, and walked out of the lobby as quickly as she could.

When she was back on the street, it felt like she had come back down to earth. It hit her hard. The pavement beneath her feet came up to her shoes too fast and too firmly, like the world was trying to beat her up.

To the subway. She needed to go to the subway, and take it to Penn station. Take the train to the suburb. Call her sister to come get her. The plan was simple, but she’d only gone half a block before she knew she wouldn’t make it.

It wasn’t until the fourth cab she was able to flag down that she found a driver willing to take her all the way to her sister’s house. The other three just laughed and drove on. And this man, a middle-aged Pakistani with kind eyes, looked like he was about to do the same, until the desperation in her eyes called up his pity, and forced him to agree. Thankfully, he didn’t ask her what was wrong. He didn’t make any conversation. He just drove.

Their progress was slow as they headed uptown. It was a beautiful, if sweltering, day, and everyone was out. Traffic was stop and go. Nadya couldn’t help but compare it to how everything had been with Salman. He’d flown over traffic. If he ever did have to wait, it was in a carefully maintained limo, with a built in flat screen and high-speed internet access. He’d never find himself in this position. How could he?

Nadya thought ruefully that she could use that TV now, chirpy voice recognition software and all. She needed something to distract her; anything to keep herself from thinking of the person she hadn’t known she’d needed until he was there in front of her, but impossibly out of reach.

She dug her phone out of her pocket and turned it on. The battery was low, but the driver let her plug it in to the charger in his cigarette lighter – another byproduct of sympathy, she supposed. She hadn’t had much call to look at her phone over the last couple days. She hadn’t charged it at all, and it had been pretty low to start with. But now she was trying to find something to put her mind off things.

She ignored the notifications for calls and the texts which sprang up again. She would look at them when she got closer to her sister’s; she couldn’t face it now. She needed to see something else. She needed something to push Salman out of her mind. She searched Twitter, and found a link to a YouTube video. Some late-night comedian talking to a politician. No, that wouldn’t do. Too real.

She needed something fake. She needed fantasy and emotion that wasn’t hers.

Scrolling a day back in her feed, she found a cluster of tweets about the finale of a show she hadn’t watched in a couple of seasons, but had once liked. It had been the season finale that week, and people were discussing it like it was a TV event they would tell their children about one day. Nadya found that surprising, because she remembered the show, Date Roulette, being silly, overblown, and needlessly overdramatic. Perfect. She loaded it up on the network’s app, praying her data connection would be strong enough.

She let the show carry her away, laughing too loudly at the jokes, and nearly crying at any hint of emotion. It wasn’t that good, she was sure, but it was an escape. As long as she was watching, and had something to focus her mind on, she wasn’t thinking about Salman.

After the episode was done, she went back to the one before it, and watched that one, too. The taxi had finally gotten out of the city, and things were getting greener and less crowded. As the second episode finished, Nadya was feeling almost ready to face the world. She loaded up the messages on her phone and saw that they were almost all from her sister, with a few from her mother, and one terse, badly-spelled text from her father that basically amounted to “tell these women where you are already; they’re driving me crazy.”

She felt all right until she began to read the timestamps on them, and couldn’t stop her mind from piecing together where she had been when each of the messages had been sent.

It was too much. At the slightest bidding, the full memories of the last few days sprang up into her memory. Everything was suddenly in full color. She could feel his hand in hers, and smell the freshness of the forest by the home he had said she would share with him. Her cheeks practically stung from the dawn breeze on the top of the building, and her eyes narrowed at the memory of the glare from the windshield of the helicopter.

She went back to the show. She’d have time for another episode before the cab got to her sister’s house. She needed it. Just one more 42-minute span where she didn’t have to be herself, and didn’t have to feel what she was feeling. They arrived at her sister’s house just as the third episode was drawing to a close. It was the climax of the episode, but she turned it off easily. She didn’t really care what happened.

Nadya paid the fare with a credit card, praying that it cleared. By some miracle it did, and she thanked the driver profusely. As she was leaving, dragging her bag with her, he spoke the only words he’d said to her other than that “OK” he would take her and that she could use his charger.

“It will go,” he said, with an accent so heavy she had a hard time understanding what he meant.

By the time she understood, he was already speeding away. His words hit her hard. He meant it as a kindness. He meant to encourage her that the pain would pass. But he couldn’t have known.

She didn’t
want
it to pass. She couldn’t. Even if it meant that she had to sit in this shame, and this pain, she didn’t
want
to let go of it. Tears began falling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

“Nadya?”

She heard her sister’s voice behind her. It wasn’t angry the way her texts had been at first, or anxious, the way they had been in the end. It was soft, the way Jasmine had always been growing up.

Nadya didn’t want to turn around and face her. She didn’t have an explanation ready; how could she tell her what the last few days had been? But when her sister came around in front of her, placing her hands on her shoulders, Nadya realized she wouldn’t have to explain anything.

Her sister’s hug happened quickly, but it was strong. She was rocking her back and forth and saying words that Nadya couldn’t quite make out. She felt safe, and loved, and with that feeling of safety came the freedom to let it all go.

She began to sob, hard. Her breath came in ugly, jagged gasps, and her body shook like she was trying to shake off Jasmine’s embrace. But Jasmine wouldn’t let go of her little sister, and she held on to her until the sobs subsided, and she was, again, just a damp puddle of a girl, standing in a driveway.