The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance (10 page)

THIRTEEN

Sadiq came to my house each day that week, as I waited for the morning of my hearing to arrive. Some days he took me out, to a restaurant or a movie. Sometimes he sat in my kitchen and drank coffee while I washed dishes and told him about Marion, my mother, or the friends I'd had in college. He listened with interest and asked questions, but not the hard ones. He didn't ask me why I didn't have friends to help me now or why my father hadn't been around during my childhood. He didn't ask me if I was going to go back to school or how much I'd told Marion about my arrest.

I'd planned to tell her everything. Sadiq had convinced me to let him buy me another phone. The expensive model he'd picked out was nothing like the old, often temperamental phone I'd left in my confiscated car, and I'd told him so. I'd also told him that I didn't need a new phone at all, not really. I could talk to Marion online until I got my stuff back.

"Really? The police left you your computer?" he'd asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.

I'd made a face at him, but hadn't protested further as he'd paid the cashier.

I'd called Marion that afternoon, but the words I'd practiced died inside me. Instead of telling her that her sister was a thief, and that her college tuition, clothes and books were all stolen, I'd made up a story about a bout of food poisoning that had kept me in bed all Christmas Day. She'd believed me easily, and I'd called myself a coward for putting off the inevitable. I'd have to tell her eventually, and now it would just be worse.

Sadiq noticed my mood the next morning when he picked me up. I climbed into the passenger seat of his Jaguar and said a distracted hello.

"Hello to you," he said, eyeing me. "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head.

"Nothing you can help with—sister stuff."

He nodded, but a hint of sadness came into his eyes that reminded me that this man who spent every day seeing to my needs had problems and a past of his own.

"Where are we going today?" I asked, in an effort to change the subject.

"Shopping," he said.

"Sadiq..."

"You can’t appear in court in jeans, Annabelle. However lovely you are to me in whatever you wear, your judge is unlikely to feel the same."

I wanted to argue with him, but he was right. I wanted to tell him that I'd at least pay him back, but I could make no such promise. As much as I tried not to think about it, it was only a matter of time before I went back behind bars. And this time, it would be for years instead of hours.

We drove past the mall to a downtown district so pricey I didn't even bother window shopping there. He pulled his car to the curb and left the engine running. As he opened my car door, a valet in a black vest hurried up and took his keys from him. Sadiq offered me his arm, and I took it, feeling terribly aware of my cheap jeans and tattered sneakers.

The saleswoman in the first store we entered was a fine-boned woman with smoothly bobbed, silvery-blonde hair and makeup so perfect she could have been a painting, or a doll. She wore a dark purple pantsuit and low heels. She started to greet us, then paused as she took in my appearance. To her credit, her surprise registered only briefly before her professional smile returned. However obviously I didn't belong in such a place, Sadiq did, and she was experienced enough to know it.

"Good morning. My name is Marilyn. How may I assist you today?" she asked. She clasped her hands together in front of her and stood waiting, all graceful attentiveness and immaculate French manicure. I half expected her to curtsy.

"Good morning to you," Sadiq said. "My companion is in need of some new attire. Something conservative, perhaps a suit."

"I can certainly help with that. And what is the occasion?"

"I'm appearing in court," I said, feeling the beginnings of annoyance at their discussing me as though I weren't there.

"Ah, of course," she said. Any surprise or disdain she may have felt at this information was expertly concealed. "A suit is the perfect choice; something in navy blue, perhaps."

"Yes, I was thinking that as well," Sadiq said.

"Shall we get your measurements first?" She beamed her plastic smile at me.

I followed her back to a curtained room where I stripped down to my underwear and stood on a circular platform raised about a foot off the floor. She moved around me with a cloth tape, murmuring numbers to herself and jotting them down in a little notebook. Sadiq waited in one of several plush chairs arranged in a cluster on the other side of the curtain. When she'd finished, I reached for my clothes, but she gave me a robe instead. It was white satin, with the name of the store embroidered over the left breast.

"If you'll wait here, I'll bring some things for you to try," she said. "I do think we’ll be able to find just the thing." She patted my shoulder and hurried away, leaving a faint smell of expensive perfume behind her.

I waited obediently for a few minutes, but eventually grew restless. I peeked around the edge of the curtain. Sadiq looked up from his magazine and raised his eyebrows.

"You'll cause a scandal, naked girl," he scolded, frowning in mock disapproval.

"No I won't," I said in a low voice. "Didn't you see how she treated you just now? We could walk through this place wearing nothing but Mexican sombreros and she'd just tell us about the lovely weather we've been having."

He laughed. "You might be right about that."

"I think I am, not that it makes any difference. It seems to me that rich people are the only ones who can get away with breaking the rules, and yet they follow them more than anyone else. I don't understand it. I'd be a terrible rich person."

There were only a few other shoppers in the store; two middle-aged women browsing shoes on the far side of the room, and an elderly woman carrying a huge purse who looked at me sourly. I ignored her.

"You watch and see, Sadiq. When we leave here, I'm going to look exactly like Marilyn. I hope you like frosted hair."

He laughed again, struggling to muffle the noise in the quiet shop.

"I like your hair, and I will defend you to the death against any who would frost it." He sat tall in the chair and held his fist solemnly to his chest.

I spotted Marilyn hurrying back to us, a hefty pile of navy-blue clothing in her arms. I ducked back into the room and sat down on the pink-upholstered bench.

"I think I have some excellent options here," she said as she came in and tucked the curtain tightly shut behind her. "And if these don't work, there are plenty more we can choose from." She started hanging the suits side-by-side on a row of hooks along the wall.

"Wow," I said.

"What's that, dear?"

"I just had no idea there were so many blue suits in the world."

She shook her head and smiled with gentle exasperation.

"Your gentleman has his hands full with you, doesn't he?"

Her words caught me off guard, but I found it impossible to be offended.

"Yes, he certainly does," I said, slipping out of my robe.

We tried all of the suits, one by one. Two of them looked fine to me, but Marilyn ordered me to remove them at once, without even showing Sadiq.

"Terrible, just terrible," she said, as though she were describing a natural disaster or similar tragedy. "A suit that can make
you
look boxy does not deserve to be viewed by any human eye."

I still wasn't sure what crime the suits had committed, but I sensed that somewhere, in the middle of all that, she had meant to compliment me.

One of the suits was too long in the torso, apparently.

"It's fine," I argued. "I'll just sit up straighter."

"Nonsense," she said. "Ill-fitting clothes are one of the few horrors in this world that the Lord saw fit to give us the power to change. But the tailor can't adjust the bodice on this one, we'd have to order the entire thing as a custom, and there's not enough time for that." She raised one perfectly arched brow and held her hand out for the offending jacket. I sighed and took it off.

The next four were possibilities, apparently, but not so great as to allow me to stop changing clothes. I showed each outfit to Sadiq, who just nodded and asked Marilyn what she thought.

"Nearly, but not quite!" she said each time, giddy with power. She'd clearly determined that neither I nor Sadiq had proven a competent consumer, and it was up to her to make me presentable to the American justice system.

The eighth suit looked no more impressive than the others while it was on the hanger, but, when I zipped up the narrow skirt and buttoned the jacket, Marilyn clasped her hands together in front of her chest and release a breath so long it made me wonder if she'd been holding it since suit number one.

"That, my dear, is a revelation." She stood behind me and turned me to look at myself in the mirror. "Do you see?"

I tilted my head and pulled at the bottom of the jacket as I studied my reflection. I had to admit, there was something different about this one. The lapels were simple, not fussy. The jacket buttoned high, making it conservative enough for church, but it still showed the hollow of my throat and a hint of my collarbones. My neck looked long and graceful, my waist trim, the curves of my breasts and hips admirable, but subtly so.

"Well? What do you think?" Marilyn prodded.

"It's a lot better than the one that made me look like Cap’n Crunch," I deadpanned. She pursed her lips, disappointed at my lack of enthusiasm, and I felt a stab of guilt. I hurried to reassure her. "It's wonderful, really. I never would have found this on my own. Thank you."

"Well, it's certainly a challenge to fit a conservative suit to such a young woman. I hope you didn't find the process too taxing," she said tightly, picking at a piece of lint on my shoulder.

"I mean it," I said. "I love it. Sadiq's going to love it, too."

She didn't meet my eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

"Well, all right, then. Shall we show him?"

Sadiq gave his approval of the suit at once. I could tell that he didn't gush about it quite enough to please Marilyn, but she was happy to take his credit card as consolation for the slight.

"When will it be ready?" he asked

"Ready?" I repeated. "Isn't it ready now?"

"Goodness, no!" Marilyn said, as if I'd suggested something improper. "It's not been tailored, dear. Do you think we'd send you out with the skirt like
that
?"

I examined the skirt in the mirror, but could find no clue as to what she found so offensive. Whatever the problem was, the large woman from the store's alterations department felt the same way. She made a disapproving clucking noise as she put pins into the skirt and up the sides of the jacket. Through the open curtain of the changing room, I gave Sadiq a helpless look as he went up front with Marilyn to pay for the clothes, leaving me alone with the seamstress.

***

I was tremendously relieved when I was finally allowed to get back into my own clothes. I held onto Sadiq's arm as we walked out of the store. The weather was chilly, but there were still some shoppers out. The critical looks a few of them gave me didn't bother me. If always knowing how to wear the right thing and do the right thing in the eyes of the upper class meant being like Marilyn, I'd just as soon not fit in.

Sadiq put his warm hand over mine, and I looked up at him. My smile faltered. He always fit in. I wondered if having me around was embarrassing to him. I wondered what kind of woman was a proper companion for a wealthy and powerful Sheikh.

"Have you ever been married?" I asked.

His step faltered for a second.

"Why do you ask?"

I shrugged.

"I guess I'm trying to imagine you with a woman. You know, the right kind of woman."

He stopped walking and turned to me.

"And what, exactly, are you? The wrong kind of woman?"

His serious tone made me laugh uneasily.

"No, I mean. It's not a big deal. But I know I'm not the kind of woman who goes around with men like you."

"What kind of woman do you think I'd want?" He jerked his head back toward the store we'd just exited. "One like her?"

"I think Marilyn's a little old for you," I joked. "Maybe her niece or something."

"You do. You really think you're not right for me, all because of that foolishness."

He caught my hands in his, and I looked away, down at the pavement. People passed by us, but he seemed oblivious to their annoyed glances.

"Don't worry about it," I said, feeling my face go red. "I'm not trying to make this a serious thing. I know we're just having fun, as friends...or whatever. I just... I guess I just wondered if it bothered you, that I don't fit in with the people who are like you. When we go to places and people stare at us... I just wonder sometimes if you wished—"

He cupped my cheek in his hand and tilted my face up so that I was looking at him.

"Those people are strangers to me, Annabelle," he said, his voice suddenly hard. "And what we call 'fitting in' only means giving them the lies they prefer, for their comfort. Why would I want that more than you?"

"I'm not..." I shook my head, fighting tears. "You're not embarrassed to be seen with me?" I looked at him, feeling foolish, and somehow naked.

His expression turned tender. A single tear escaped down my cheek, and he wiped it away with the rough pad of his thumb.

"I'm unconcerned about 'being seen' with you, Annabelle. This is not why I want you. It's true that many in my world take great care to choose a woman who will gain them the approval of others, but I'm not that kind of man. I learned years ago that it's folly to pay to do what others expect, in the hope of gaining their approval. You bring me joy, little thief, and I'd come to believe that such a thing was no longer possible for me. I'd never trade our time together for some society mannequin."

His words made my heart ache in a way that was almost physical, but I didn't know if the ache was one of sorrow or joy.

It should be easier to distinguish love from pain
, I thought as I reached for him. I slipped my arms around his neck and drew him down to me. His arms came around me at once, holding me close as I kissed him. He returned my kiss in earnest, and it soon became impossible to say which of us clung to the other more strongly.

When we moved apart, only slightly, I saw in his eyes the same raw longing that burned in my own chest, in my lips and hands... Every part of me wanted him.

"Annabelle...?" He breathed my name like a question. I understood what he asked.

"Sadiq, I..."

I think I might love him
.

The realization jolted me. It terrified me. I took a half step backward; Sadiq released me with an expression of hurt confusion.

I'm going to prison. I'm about to disappear.

"I need to go home," I said. I turned away and pressed my fingertips to my temple.

"What's wrong?" His hand touched my shoulder.

This isn't fair, not to you, and certainly not to him. You can't start to love him right before you disappear.

"I just want to go home," I said. His hand on my shoulder was still, then fell away.

"All right," he said. "Come on. I'll take you home."