Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Leaving?
I shovel out a relieved gasp.
“Don’t appear so pleased.”
I can’t help feeling relieved. I’ll be spared for another moment, an hour, a day. Al Rafi sits me up in bed and turns on the television.
“Business calls, but before I go, look at what you’ve left behind.”
An image of Victor’s duchy pans across the screen as a news segment highlights two vomit-worthy words:
Pending nuptials . . .
The blood in my veins crystallizes, causing my heart to slam to a halt.
“See how he discards you, Luxury?” Eerie sincerity drops from Al Rafi’s tone. “I had no desire for you to assume the role as one of my many wives. Although I will say, even a bed maid would have still been an honorable title for a young, Black girl like you. But I look in your eyes, and I see pain. You miss Victor Tudor.”
I blink in response, which doesn't sit well with the sheikh. His hand rises swiftly and moves so agile toward my face that air alone hits me. “That was a question!”
“Yes!” In a fit of sobs, I scream with his hand fashioned inches away from my cheekbone. “Yes. I miss him. I love him.”
“Ahhh, and there is the reason why you will not be a bed maid of mine. I will overlook tonight as a bout of homesickness on your part. Allow me to show you the finer things in life as one of my wives.”
Alarm echoes in my ears as I ask, “Why?”
“Your confidence tempts me to break you. Bed maids hate to fuck. Wives do it—with pride.” He pauses as a faraway image materializes before his eyes. “Luxury, once you've been broken, you will transform into one of my most prized wives.”
Jesus . . .
His thumb grazes my lips. “Yes, you will one day do my bidding with an unquenchable desire. Now,” Al Rafi’s hands clasp stout thighs, and with a grunt, he rises. “I’ll return in a week’s time.”
As he leaves, my eyes turn back to the screen. The TV is pristine, so life-like. It’s as if the enemy I underestimated, standing next to my man, is in the same room with me as she was just a day ago.
Victor kisses her cheek, and the blood in my veins vanishes. I’m no longer in fear of Al Rafi touching me.
In seven days, he will help himself everywhere Victor had except for my heart because that’s vanished.
Three days later, I exit my apartment for food. The thought of wasting away and dying has crossed my mind. Then I contemplate the baby and how Momma raised me better than to commit suicide. For the baby’s sake, my daily regimen is praying.
From five to seven in the morning, I spend my time on my relationship with the Lord. Then I exit my quarters since they will not allow me to take meals in my rooms, though I have a full kitchen. One of my ladies bragged about how it will be stocked with the newest appliances once Al Rafi deems me trustworthy. She also spoke of the kitchen staff I’d be allowed for my apartment. I believe she meant to encourage me, but this place is like one of those cheap all-inclusive hotels you see. You get there and find the friggen place doesn’t look like the brochure. So, they are like, here, here’s your limitless alcohol voucher. Take it, shuddup, be satisfied. That’s what this feels like with the promised kitchen.
Yeah . . . just . . . be . . . satisfied.
One of my other ladies said obedient wives get everything.
How ironic. They get everything.
I've encountered numerous wives. Al Rafi’s riches and power blind their dark eyes.
As my ladies guide me to the general eating quarters, I notice a woman. As beautiful as she is, I must assume that she is a wife. She embodies class until she stalks toward me with chin tilted and nose upturned.
What does she want?
My maids glance at me first, as if considering my status or if they should help. They slow their pace, leaving the two of us alone near a set of palm trees.
“The sheikh should’ve come to me last night,” she spits. Face a twisted mask, the Jezebel reaches into her pocket.
I see my death in her eyes.
Fight for yourself, Little One! Victor’s voice reverberates in my ears.
A dagger catches the sunlight in a cloaked hand raised high. Yet another darker, larger hand grips her wrist from behind me.
“I am a princess!” she shouts, fingers stiffening in pain as pressure is applied. The blade clatters to the floor.
“If you harm Ms. Whitson, you will be a dead princess, Wasim,” Ahmad assures. The marble-sculpted, beautiful monster steps around me. “Al Rafi did not visit you last night as he is not in the palace.”
To punctuate his statement, Ahmad releases her, shoving her harshly. Upper lip curled, Wasim bad mouths me in their language. Her ladies scurry to her sides as she stalks away.