Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Oh, how she missed Ramil. If there was anything that the almost two years she spent in St. Valentine had taught her, then it was that there truly was no place like home. And Ramil was home. It might not be her country of blood, but it was the kingdom of her heart, and she missed it, badly. No matter how beautiful St. Valentine was, it could never compare to what Ramil meant to her, and sometimes she wondered—-
“Ms. Markides?”
Hearing her name called out by the interviewer had Kyria quickly standing up, all thoughts of her old life shelved for the meantime.
“It’s your turn.” The other woman flashed her a smile. “Good luck.”
Ninety minutes later and Kyria had become the preschool’s newest part-time teacher. It was only two hours a day, didn’t come with particularly high wages, but it was a start, and she was proud of it.
After cycling back to her fourth-floor studio apartment, Kyria quickly called home, wanting to share the good news with her family. She expected one of the staff to answer the phone, but instead—-
“Malik Al-Atassi.”
Her eyes flew wide open. Malik? A conflicting mass of emotions detonated in her heart at the familiar, silky sound of his thickly accented voice.
“Marhava?”
The impatient way in which he said ‘hello’ had Kyria plunging back to reality. She thought of saying something, but all the words that rushed to her head were impossible for her to say.
I miss you. Did you miss me? I’m lonely without you. Are you lonely without me?
“Marhava?”
The coldly impatient tone made Kyria jump, and before she could consider what she was doing...
Click.
She had already done it.
Kyria stared at her phone in complete agony.
She had hung up on Malik like a kid.
Her shoulders slumped, and she slowly and deliberately banged her forehead against her desk.
Hail Kyria the idiot.
The thought of what she had done plagued her for the rest of the day and had Kyria tossing and turning for hours. By the time she woke up, her head was pounding, and it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. She trudged to the shower and as she shampooed her hair, she gradually convinced herself that she was overthinking things.
That call was nothing, and in the event that Malik had found out via caller ID that Kyria was the one who had called, well, she was sure he’d have thought nothing of it either. Or so she convinced herself, which was something she had gotten rather good at in the past two years.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kyria repeated to herself as she rubbed herself dry with a towel.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kyria mentally chanted as she brushed her teeth.
Nothing, Kyria anxiously told herself as she stared at her too-pale face in the mirror.
Nothing, nothing, nothing!
She grabbed her bag from her bedside table and hurried towards the door.
Nothing, nothing, nothing!
She threw the door open.
A tall, handsome dark-haired man stared at her, his lithe, powerful form covered in a long flowing white thobe.
Oh, Servant of God, she had reached her limit, hadn’t she? She was seeing things now, the Fates punishing her with hallucinations for the sheer immorality of her thoughts.
Made-up Malik gave her a brief, polite smile, but Kyria only scowled. Oh, you are so not going to fool me, you imaginary sheikh—-
“Kyria?”
Her eyes widened.
It...spoke.
It...was real?
“Malik?” she whispered.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?”
Tears of heaven, it really was him!
The realization made her pale and her body stiffen. A thousand things that she wanted to do raced in her mind, but none of them was appropriate. She wanted to jump for joy, throw her arms around him, kiss him—-
Stop thinking crazy things, Kyria Markides!
Panic gripped her, her eyes flying to his in horror, but this turned out to be an even bigger mistake. Malik’s handsome face filled her vision, his sheer presence overwhelming her, and her mind...sort of...snapped.
Bang!
Kyria stared at her door in complete misery.
She had just shut the door on the sheikh’s face.
IT WAS ALREADY WELL past lunch by the time Kyria mustered the courage to use her door’s peephole, but the sight of her empty hallway only resulted in mixed feelings. The sheikh was gone.
Her shoulders slumped.
Well, of course he was. Not only had she hung up on him yesterday – which she was now gloomily certain he was aware of – but she had also added insult to injury by slamming the door in his face. Honestly, with all of these, she wouldn’t be surprised at all to receive an email from the palace anytime about her citizenship being revoked.
For the rest of the day, Kyria waited and paced in anxious silence in the event that the sheikh were to call or visit. But neither happened, and before she could stop herself, she was already on the phone and making a call to the one person she knew who would always give it to her straight, albeit tactlessly.