Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Harper normally hated this type of setup, but tonight she welcomed it, the distance between them allowing her to mull over the sheikh’s words feverishly.
Don’t do it for me, he had said.
Then that meant – she should do it for herself?
It made sense, she supposed. She should take pride in her own work as his queen, and she could see why he would want that. But something still didn’t feel right, and the thought continued to nag at her even as dancing commenced and Harper and the sheikh were called to perform the first dance.
They met on the dance floor, and her heart swayed at the dashing sight her husband made. He had changed into a tux for the dance, and dear God, he looked so damn sexy she found herself gulping, knowing just how a whole lot sexier the naked body underneath it was.
“You look beautiful.”
“It should,” she muttered, “considering I’m wearing something worth millions.” The gown Harper wore was another creation by a Ramilian fashion designer: a shimmery long-sleeved gown with a full skirt sewn entirely with gold thread and a belt made of diamonds.
The sheikh only smiled. “You know I don’t mean it that way.” And this time, his hot dark gaze caressed her figure, making his meaning very clear.
Harper turned red. “All I know is that you look like you’re about to tear my gown off.”
“Because you were looking at me like that was what you wanted me to do,” the sheikh purred.
She started to retort, but then the sheikh had already twined his fingers with hers while his other hand clasped her by the waist.
And then they were dancing, and it was magical.
For just a few moments, she forgot about the world and everything else. For just a few moments, it did seem like there were only the two of them, and she could lose herself in the sweet tempting darkness of the sheikh’s gaze.
But then the music started to fade, and as the other couples started to join them, the sheikh slowed to a stop, and Harper knew it was time to part.
“I love dancing with you, wife.”
“I, umm, feel the same.” But Harper’s voice was gruff, and she could only make herself stare at his bowtie when uttering the words.
Only when they had already parted and the sheikh and Harper resumed their duties as hosts that the sheikh’s earlier words returned to her—-
Don’t do it for me.
Damn. She had forgotten to ask him about that, and after matching a local artist with a diplomat for a waltz, she moved to the sides, ostensibly to watch the guests dance but really she just wanted a moment or two to think about the sheikh’s words some more.
Her omnipresent AFK immediately closed ranks around her, and her lips twitched, thinking that they’ve certainly come far, considering how they used to disapprove of her unfeminine ways. Now, her guards were resigned to it, and their disapproval had evolved into protectiveness.
It is not the queen’s fault she was naturally unfeminine, was the AFK’s official stance.
Not exactly complimentary, she thought humorously, but it would do.
She was about to tell the AFK to take a break when the sound of laughter interrupted her, and Harper frowned. That was one snide laugh. She started to turn to see who it was when the woman who laughed went on to say, “Oh God, it’s the height of summer, and you’re really wearing that?”
Even with her back turned, Harper – thanks to the rigorous who’s who lessons she had received from her court tutor – immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Jennifer Patrick, a self-proclaimed feminist who made a living off TV guesting.
“I guess you don’t mind the heat since you live in the desert, but don’t you find it restricting for a dance? That – umm, what do you call it again? Abacus?” Jennifer immediately laughed at her joke, and so did several people.
Harper’s eyebrows shot up, and she stared at her guards incredulously. Seriously? Did these people seriously find that funny?
“Do not interfere,” Amir warned under his breath.
“Pick your battles,” Farid advised.
“Remember what you came here to do,” Kamil reminded her.
Harper took deep breaths. They were completely right, but—-
“I don’t feel restricted at all,” she heard a soft voice answer, and Harper scowled. She had no trouble recognizing this voice as well. It was none other than Kyria, the young, shy ward of Altair and Malik’s mother, and Harper’s dislike towards the so-called feminist increased. Was Jennifer Patrick actually trying to bully a teenage girl over an abaya?
“I knew you’d say that,” Jennifer was saying, the words followed with another snide laugh. “And it’s okay, really. I mean, compared to other Arab nations, Ramil’s pretty modern. But be honest – do you honestly believe wearing that will prevent things like rape? And I’m just asking here, I’m not being judgmental or anything, but don’t you think it’s stupid that a woman’s modesty is determined by her choice of clothing?”