Sheikh in the City

“Elle’s bridal shower is next Sunday.”

“You know I can’t come. As I’ve told you half a dozen times already, I’m booked that day.” It was a lie. She had that particular Sunday free.

“Please try. For the sake of family harmony.”

Emily hung up wondering why she was the only one expected to carry that load.

Dan flipped his cell phone closed on an oath as Azeem maneuvered the Mercedes through Manhattan traffic. This message, like the one before it, was from his mother. Given the time difference between New York and Kashaqra, Fadilah must consider the matter to be vitally important. That meant he couldn’t avoid calling her back much longer.

“Is everything all right?” Azeem asked. “Your father?”

“Is well.” Fadilah would not have been so vague if that were the case. “My mother says she needs to speak with me,” he said wryly, knowing that would explain it all.

Azeem nodded. “She is the only woman I know who can make you squirm. But not for long, sadiqi. If you insist on going through with the wedding, Nawar will enjoy that right as well.”

Though the words were offered in jest, the challenge was unmistakable.

“Drop me off at the next light,” he said.

“But Mayhew’s is at Fifth Avenue and Forty-Third,” Azeem reminded him.

“I know. I want to walk the rest of the way.” When his friend frowned, he added, “This is the first warm, sunny day we’ve had in nearly a week. I want to take advantage of it.”

“As you wish.” But Azeem’s expression said he wasn’t buying the explanation.

Madani glanced at his watch after the Mercedes drove away. It wasn’t quite noon, which meant he still had forty minutes before his rescheduled appointment with a potential distributor. He started walking, his pace slow and leisurely. Even with heat rising from the street, the temperature was pleasant and the humidity low after a week of thunderstorms, making him glad to be outdoors and moving under his own steam. In Kashaqra, even with all of the amenities his wealth and position afforded, Madani enjoyed walking. In addition to being good exercise, it gave a man time to think, plan and put things into perspective. He needed to do that now, he decided, his thoughts returning to the phone message.

His mother probably wanted to discuss the engagement announcement or, he swallowed thickly, his wedding. Just thinking about marriage had Madani tugging his necktie loose as he strode down the sidewalk. As his parents kept reminding him, it was the next logical step in his life. He was thirty-two, educated, well-traveled and established. The time had come for him to take a wife and start a family. As the next in line to rule the country, it also was Madani’s duty.

Turning matrimony into an obligation hardly made it any more palatable.

Still, he shouldn’t complain. Nawar, the bride his parents had chosen for him, was beautiful in both face and form. She also was bright, only recently finishing up her PhD in economics at Kashaqra’s leading university. Per her request, all talk of marriage had been postponed until she had completed her education, causing Madani to wonder if her pursuit of a doctoral degree was an indication of her own mixed emotions.

Here in the West, arranged marriages were considered archaic and unromantic. Even in his country many of the younger generation considered such alliances old-fashioned and unnecessary. After all, shouldn’t picking a life partner be left to the two people involved?

Azeem, who to Madani’s knowledge wasn’t even seriously involved with anyone, was surprisingly outspoken on the matter, which in turn made him annoyingly outspoken in his dismay over Madani’s decision to honor his arranged betrothal.

“You have an opportunity to lead even before taking your father’s place,” Azeem had hollered during one of their many arguments on the subject. “If you refuse to marry under these conditions, others would be willing to follow your example.”

He’d considered that at one time, but he’d shaken his head. “It is done.”

Madani hadn’t just been referring to the fact that his betrothal to the daughter of one of his father’s closest political allies had been arranged when he was still a toddler. As he’d told Azeem, it was his father’s wish. What reason did he have to risk his father’s health? Nawar would make a suitable wife. Besides, the notion of marrying for love seemed far-fetched. He’d spent time with plenty of women over the years, but he’d never felt the intense emotion the poets claimed existed.

For no reason he could fathom, his thoughts turned to Emily Merit.

“I was unaware you knew someone in this part of Manhattan,” Azeem had said when they’d arrived outside her apartment building that morning. “She must be very pretty to have roused you so early after a late night. Am I to conclude you have changed your mind about a final fling with which to remember your bachelorhood?”

“This is a business meeting,” he’d answered irritably. “Nothing more.”

It was a business matter, but the pretty young woman he’d hired to cater his dinner party also had captured his interest.

Chapter Three

THE FOLLOWING week, Emily was still on Madani’s mind, which he supposed made sense since his personal assistant had given him the list of the RSVPs for his dinner party. He decided to call her.

She answered on the fourth ring, sounding cheerful if breathless.

“Hello, Emily. This is Dan Tarim.”

“Dan, hi. You must be psychic. I’ve been thinking about you and was just about to call.”

Her laughter, light and musical, floated over the line. He pictured her face with its errant dimple, blue eyes and soft mouth. Interest, an uncomfortable portion of it sexual, gave a swift tug.

“You’ve been thinking about me?”

“Yes. I’ve put together the most amazing menu for your guests.”

“Menu,” he repeated.

“As I promised, I want to run it by you before I purchase all of the ingredients, especially those pricey white truffles. And, of course, I will need a head count.”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “That’s actually the reason for my call. One of my guests and his wife will be out of town, leaving just two other couples and myself.”

“That’s too bad. I’ll adjust the portions accordingly.” Then, “You don’t have a date?”

“A date?”

“I only ask because Babs Henderson insists on an even number at her gatherings. I’ve known her to ask her social secretary to sit in to avoid going odd.”

“No. I don’t have a date.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “Okay.”

“You think I should have one?”

“Well, no. It’s not a requirement or anything. I just thought that someone who looks like you would have one if not several women…” She coughed, clearly embarrassed. “Um, never mind.”

Manhattan was far from his homeland, but Madani had spent enough time in the city that he knew plenty of women he could invite. Women who would drop everything to spend an evening in his company, even though he always made it clear, without going into too much detail, that a long-term relationship would never materialize.

He didn’t feel he was being unfaithful to Nawar. After all, they were not officially engaged. In truth, they had met on only a handful occasions during which he’d been allowed no more than to brush both of her cheeks with his lips in his culture’s customary greeting.

He pushed thoughts of Nawar and all other women away. All other women save Emily.

“When are you free to discuss the menu?”

“You want to meet?” She sounded surprised. “We can…or, if your schedule is full, I can e-mail you the proposed menu and we can go over it on the telephone.”

“Is that how you normally conduct business?”