Teresa Southwick - To Kiss a Sheikh

“You’re quiet—not at all the vivacious young woman you were when we met in New York.”

Okay. Royal humor through exaggeration. She tucked the info away. “According to my mother it’s always better to not say anything and risk being thought simpleminded than to open your mouth and prove it.”

“A wise woman, your mother,” King Gamil commented.

“Yes, she is.”

Crystal glanced to her left toward the head of the table where the king sat watching her. She guessed his age to be somewhere in his mid to late fifties. He was still quite handsome, and the silver glistening at his temples also streaked his black hair, giving a distinguished air to his good looks. Her mother would have said he worked for her in a big way.

Vicki Rawlins would have loved dining with the royal family of El Zafir. Married and a mother before saying goodbye to her teens, she’d frequently vocalized her regrets at never experiencing life outside of Pullman, Washington. After Crystal graduated from college, her parents had finally been in a position to do the traveling her mother had always longed for. But that wasn’t to be. They’d divorced, shocking everyone. Then there’d been her mother’s devastating car accident, followed by a slow, painful and expensive recovery.

In spite of that, or maybe because of it, she’d encouraged her youngest child and only daughter to do everything she wanted before settling down with a husband and starting a family. She’d been giddy with excitement when she’d learned about Crystal snagging this job. That and the generous salary were the reasons Crystal was so determined to make this employment experience a success. Failure was not an option. She’d rather be beheaded.

“The fact you are so quiet,” the king continued, “does this mean you are not enjoying yourself this evening?”

“On the contrary, Your Majesty. I’ve never had such a wonderful dinner.”

It was being scrutinized by the entire royal family that had her nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

“I’m glad you are enjoying the food.” The king set down his gold fork.

“And the company is exemplary, too,” she said.

Glancing around the table, she noted that the king’s sons had inherited superior DNA, probably from their good-looking and distinguished father. During the cocktail hour before dinner, she had finally met Crown Prince Kamal, the third of the three princes. Like his brothers, he was tall, dark and devilishly handsome. Although, in her humble opinion, Fariq was by far the best looking. But anyone could see the royal family of El Zafir was extremely photogenic, which was no doubt one of the reasons they frequently appeared in the tabloids.

Princess Farrah was the king’s sister and seemed to fill the family post of feminine guiding hand for the widower. Her age was impossible to guess. She could be anywhere from forty to sixty, although Crystal leaned toward the low end. The woman looked fabulous with her dark hair stylishly cut into a sleek style that barely brushed the collar of her royal-blue Chanel suit. Her black eyes appeared huge with the assistance of subtle cosmetics.

Princess Johara, the king’s youngest child and only daughter, was seventeen. She was a strikingly lovely girl with large black eyes and a delicate look. She sat on the same side of the table with Crystal. Hana was between them with Nuri on the teen’s other side.

“I can’t help feeling there’s another reason for your restraint,” Fariq commented. “Something other than caution.”

“Really?” she said, stalling. The man was far too perceptive for her own good.

“Is it possible that you are intimidated by your surroundings?” he asked.

“Me? Intimidated?”

She was a small-town girl from eastern Washington. Tonight her surroundings included the entire royal family of an oil-rich country swiftly emerging onto the world stage. She was in a large room filled with the most expensive furnishings she’d ever seen. Candles flickered in crystal wall sconces, and fragrant flowers graced the dining table, as well as numerous arrangements artfully placed on occasional tables. The cloth covering the dining table probably cost more than she could earn in a month. It would be just her luck to spill something on it in front of the entire royal family and stain the sucker so badly even homemaker high priestess Martha Stewart would have no removal remedy.

Hysterical laughter threatened. Crystal managed to hold it back as she glanced around the table, a surface so long and flat it made her wonder if the royal pilot could land the royal jet on it. She wasn’t a country bumpkin by any means, but these surroundings were intimidating. Her frame of reference lacked anything on this scale.

For goodness’ sake, the china was edged in gold, the real, honest-to-goodness, solid twenty-four karat variety. Intimidated? She felt like a sumo wrestler in a tearoom.

“Now that you mention it,” she said meeting Fariq’s amused gaze, “I am a tad overwhelmed by my surroundings.”

“Please don’t be,” Princess Farrah said. “We’re just normal people.”

“Define normal.” Crystal laughed. “Your Highness, My family has never had a cocktail hour before dinner and formal dress is T-shirt, jeans and sneakers.”

She glanced down at her plain, unflattering drab brown dress and sighed. Even if she’d known after-five attire was required for the job, she couldn’t have worn anything that flattered her. Beside her, Hana slid from her chair and ducked beneath the table to retrieve the napkin that had slipped off her lap.

The king frowned as he cleared his throat. “Perhaps we are a bit more formal that the average family. But I join with Farrah in urging you to relax and be yourself. May I say my sister did an admirable job in hiring you. I think you’ll make a splendid nanny for Nuri. And perhaps Hana if she comes out from beneath the table,” he said disapprovingly.

The little girl put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle as she looked up at Crystal. She wished she’d already assumed her full duties so she could rescue these restless children and get them ready for bed. But she wasn’t to take over until tomorrow. At least the two five-year-olds were still in good spirits. If that changed, she would have to say something. After winking at the little girl, she patted the chair beside her and the child scrambled into it.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate your endorsement.” She smiled at him and let out a breath.

Her adrenaline was beginning to settle after spiking off the scale from the “fraud” remark. So far, so good. No one had seen past the ugly glasses and tasteless clothes. She should be grateful. She should be exhilarated. She should be doing the dance of joy. But she wasn’t. And that confused her.

“May I inquire where you went to school?” Kamal asked. He was more serious than his brothers. Rafiq was friendly and charming. Fariq was sedate, although he’d revealed the humor lurking behind his reserved exterior. But she had yet to see Kamal crack a smile.

“I went to the University of Washington.”

“What did you study?” he asked.

“I majored in elementary education with a minor in childhood behavior.”

“What other attributes qualify you to look after my niece and nephew?” he asked.

She glanced at Fariq and was sure there was the hint of amusement in his gaze. Here we go again, she thought. It felt like yet another interview. This was the third time. Dare she hope it was the charm?

“I worked my way through college taking care of children for well-to-do families during summer and winter breaks. I believe my references are included with the résumé I gave Princess Farrah.”

“I will look them over,” Kamal said.

Crystal wondered if these people ever communicated with each other or simply repeated everything because they were conscientious overachievers. She couldn’t resist a question of her own as she gazed around the table. “Is there anyone else who wants to interview me and make certain I’m qualified?” she asked sweetly.

Princess Farrah waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t let the Hassan men frighten you, my dear. You had the position when I hired you in New York. My nephews merely have a penchant for posturing.”

Fariq put down his crystal water glass. “It is not posturing to be thorough when it comes to my children.”

“I agree. And the children are very dear to me, as well,” Farrah maintained. “The New York agency has a reputation for being the best. With their help, I conducted a meticulous and painstaking search for the perfect nanny. Hana and Nuri will be in excellent hands. Crystal is an admirable young woman.”

“Time will tell,” he said.

Crystal thought Fariq’s words and especially the cynical expression on his face contained hidden challenges. Before she could decide whether or not she should worry, Nuri slid under the table after his napkin.

Johara didn’t notice. She stared at her father. “I want to go to New York.”

“It’s just a city,” her father commented, dismissing her comment. “You are far better off here. It is your home and where you belong.”

“I don’t want to be safe. I don’t want to belong. I want to have experiences. I wish to live my life without everyone telling me—”

The king waved his hand impatiently. “Nonsense, Johara. It is time you let go of your foolish dreams.”

“They’re not foolish dreams—”

“Enough,” the king said. “I do not wish to hear more of your girlish fantasies. Speak of it no more.”

The young woman shot a dark look in his direction. She obeyed his command to keep silent but hostility radiated from her in nearly tangible waves. And Crystal couldn’t blame her.

She knew the king was heralded as a monarch who listened to his people’s needs and heeded them as best he could. But if he didn’t start listening and heeding under his own roof, there would be hell to pay. El Zafir might be located on the other side of the world from the United States, but she would bet its teenagers shared the same wants, needs and characteristics. One of which was the yearning to be validated and taken seriously, not to mention pursuing happiness…and rebellion in the quest for independence.

“So tell me, Crystal, do you have a political affiliation in your country?” the king asked, completely changing the subject.

Although she wanted to shake him and tell him to ask his daughter what her beliefs were, she held back. In fact, after being grilled like an expensive steak by the male members of the royal family, she was beginning to wish they would treat her more like the teenage princess and ignore her completely.

She met the king’s gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m a Republicrat.”

There was sudden silence around the table, and she felt six pairs of eyes on her. It would have been eight, but the twins were squirming in their chairs and putting their napkins on their heads. They’d lost interest in the conversation right after the entree had been served. It was just a matter of time until they disappeared under the table together.

“Republicrat?” Fariq frowned. “I studied the politics of your country, but I have never heard of this party.”

“Neither has anyone else. It has a membership of one. Basically I take the best from the Democrats and Republicans, then vote my conscience.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “You are a hybrid.”

Mongrel, mixture, mutt. That described her to a T. “Exactly,” she said, nodding emphatically.

“Crossbreeding in politics.” The king nodded approvingly. “Shows responsibility as well as intelligence. You do not simply follow like a sheep. A woman who can think for herself.”