Page 20 of Seduced By the Sheikh

But as the day progressed, there was no time for Soraiya to think about Zak and his thoughts and feelings. Her focus was completely on the negotiations and, she had to admit, Zak was handling the talks far better than she’d imagined. No one could be in any doubt that he controlled the meeting. She took a back seat at the beginning, wanting to watch and listen and check out the dynamics which played out between the people. Also, she was nervous. There was more than the success of this meeting riding on today. There was her future with Zak. He’d given her a chance and she couldn’t mess it up.

But the chamber’s air grew thick with anticipation as the delegation delved deeper into the trade agreement clauses. Soraiya, her mind a whir of strategy and attuned to any undercurrents which might impede the negotiations, barely registered the opulence surrounding her. Her focus was razor sharp, directed at the documents before her and the men and women seated across the polished mahogany table.

From the dealings she and her father had had with the French in her own country, she understood a concern which underlaid everything else was the wide divide between their cultures—their differences. When this eventually came up and the words threatened to become heated, she leaned forward and raised her eyes to Zak. “If I may?” she ventured.

A bead of perspiration threatened to betray the nerves which otherwise Zak his so well behind a calm exterior. He nodded to her and signaled for a server to re-fill his water.

She turned to the leader of the French delegation. “Trade, however, is more than just a matter of security,” she said, folding her hands before her. “It is about mutual growth, cultural exchange, and the forging of lasting partnerships.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Madame Cardusi responded. “But cultural exchange requires understanding. How does Sirun intend to bridge the gap that tradition has carved so deeply between our lands? How can we trust that these new trade partnerships won’t be undermined through our differences—differences in language, in understanding, in an appreciation of our cultures? These things are fundamental to the success of this trade agreement. How does Sirun intend to address these issues?”

“They have already been addressed,” Soraiya said. “By the present king, and his brother before him, with an exchange of visitors at the highest level, all to widen our knowledge. And this has been successful with other, lesser partnerships. The proof is there. And, we have other initiatives such as scholarships for our students to study in France and for French students to attend our universities, and artist residencies that celebrate both our heritages,” she said. “We value the wealth of diversity.”

As the mood of the French delegation lightened, and positive murmurings and nods ensued, Zak shot Soraiya an appreciative glance, leaned forward and took control of the meeting once more. “The days of Sirun being isolated from the rest of the world are well and truly over. As my wife has so ably explained, we are committed to closer co-operation between our two countries in every way.”

Madame Cardusi sat back and nodded and exchanged glances with the others of her team. Soraiya sensed a shift—a crack in the delegation’s armor. She held her breath as Madame Cardusi frowned, deep in thought, and tapped the paper with her pen. The silence stretched between them like the vast expanse of the Sirun desert. The stakes were monumental; a misstep here could mean economic isolation for Sirun, a betrayal of the trust Zak had placed in her.

On the third tap, she looked up suddenly. “I have to say I had my doubts coming here, and they centered on the ability of our two countries to work together. But Her Royal Highness has reassured us on that point.” Her team nodded in agreement. “So, I believe we have ourselves an agreement.”

Triumph surged through Soraiya, but she contained it, allowing only a gracious smile to cross her lips. Beside her, Zak exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“Then it is settled,” he declared.

A murmur of assent rippled through the room, a sign that the tide had turned.

“I suggest,” Zak continued, “that we conclude this afternoon’s business and prepare for the evening ahead. An hour from the city, in the desert castle, we will entertain you in the traditional manner before returning here for the night, for your departure tomorrow.”

Soraiya glanced at Zak and sucked in a sharp breath of air at what she saw in his eyes. And, as she joined the members of the delegation, she listened to them talk and her mind drifted inevitably to the look he’d sent her. His expression had signaled approval, admiration and something else, something much more personal, something she couldn’t wait to uncover more about when they were alone. Because what she’d seen in the heat of that gaze had been only for her. And her alone.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Zak and Soraiya arrived at the desert castle, their car leading the convoy of five cars carrying the French delegation. The city was now behind them, replaced by the vast expanse of the desert stretching out in every direction.

The eighth-century desert castle loomed ahead, its imposing walls and towers rising up from the sand like a mirage. Built as a fortress to protect against invading forces, it had stood strong for centuries, a testament to Sirun’s resilience and strength.

Zak steered the car through the gates and into the courtyard, bringing it to a stop in front of the grand entrance. As they stepped out of the car, Soraiya took a deep breath of the dry desert air and looked around. The castle appeared to be completely isolated, with no sign of modern buildings around. It was as if she’d gone back in time, and she suddenly understood why Zak had brought them there. While he might be looking toward the future and reaching out to the world, he wanted to show the delegation the strength of Sirun’s identity and heritage. And what better place than this?

As they entered the grand entrance hall of the castle, the French delegation followed closely behind Zak and Soraiya, their expressions filled with awe as they absorbed their surroundings. Ornate frescoes, depicting scenes from ancient history and showcasing the wealth and power of Sirun’s rulers, covered the walls, disappearing into the shadowy heights of the ceiling.

Soraiya was wearing an evening dress which she’d bought on impulse once on a trip to Paris, persuaded by the designer that it suited the unusual shade of green in her eyes. The dress was dark green and simple, with one strap studded with crystals which shimmered under the torchlight.

“This is truly remarkable,” one of the French delegates exclaimed, gazing up at the intricate designs. “I had no idea such a place existed in the desert.”

“It is indeed a unique structure,” Zak replied with a smile. “Built by my ancestors in the eighth century to ward off invading forces, but now it serves as a symbol of our strength and resilience. And here,” Zak continued, leading them towards a large bathhouse next to the main building. “Is where my ancestors came to relax and unwind after a long day.”

The delegation marveled at the grandiose bathhouse, complete with luxurious marble floors and intricate mosaic designs adorning the walls. One delegate remarking that it could rival some of the most luxurious spas in Paris. As the delegation returned to the great hall where pre-dinner drinks were being served, Soraiya lingered beside Zak.

“I wonder,” Zak said quietly to her, “if I should tell them the scandalous story about how it was here that my brother met his wife? How they were stranded here, quite alone.”

“Really?” asked Soraiya, vaguely shocked. “I assumed they’d met in the city.”

He shook his head and smiled.

She frowned. “But what on earth were they doing out here?”

“That, habibti, is a tale for another time.”

It had been an enjoyable dinner, thought Soraiya, looking around the medieval hall. And a successful one. With the flaming torches and the candles flickering in the light breeze, it looked as if little had changed since the castle had been built.

But there was nothing medieval about the beauty of the crockery and wine glasses and food. Nor the man who sat beside her, who was still deep in conversation with the people to his right. He’d replaced his formal robes with a dinner jacket and tie. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Monte Carlo casino.

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