Page 2 of The Sheikh's Fake Bride Scheme

“I’ve heard enough. You could have saved yourself some time, frankly, if you had told me what you were going to propose. You can’t solve everything with race cars, Kareem.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Just let me show you?—”

“No.” King Hassan rose to his feet. “That’s enough. You know, when you called me here, when you said it was a business matter, I thought you might actually be ready to take the tech job Amir has been offering you since the day you left university.”

“I told you I have no interest in tech, Father. I’ve told you many times.”

“Yes, you want to be a race car driver. I know.”

“I don’t want to drive. But I do have a passion for racing, and I don’t understand what’s so wrong with that.”

“I know you don’t.” His father started for the door. “You come and see me when you’re ready to take your future seriously, Kareem — but I won’t hold my breath for that day to come any time soon, I can tell you that.”

He saw himself out.

Kareem was left behind, staring at the door in shock. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that his father hadn’t been willing to hear him out — when had his father ever done anything of the kind? Yet he had to admit that he had hoped. He had believed in this idea — he still believed in it. He wanted to think it could work.

It stung that his father hadn’t listened to a word of it. He had assumed from the very start that Kareem was being foolhardy and childish. He hadn’t even given Kareem’s pitch a chance, and now all the planning and pondering would be for nothing.

And then Kareem paused.

Would it be for nothing?

All right, so his father hadn’t agreed to his idea. Why did that matter? He wasn’t asking his father to fund the motorsports event he’d wanted to throw. Yes, he hadhopedthe national treasury might sponsor it, but in the end, it was supposed to be a boon to the economy. And that meant he ought to be able to pull it offwithoutcosting the country money.

He could do that. It wouldn’t be as grand as what he had originally envisioned but he could finance this event. At least for its first year he could manage. And after this year, his father would see what a good idea it had been and would want to get involved in next year’s race. Yes, that was it. That was how he was going to make this work.

The Spritzer Cup was set to take place next week in the United States — already, Kareem’s mind was racing, his thoughts rich with plans. He had wanted to go anyway, but he hadn’t been able to think of a good enough reason — one that would justifyleaving Qalmar against what he knew his father’s wishes would be. Now, though, he had his reason.

The top talent in the world would be at the Spritzer Cup. Kareem would go to scout, to see who was currently the best of the best. He would recruit top racers — and not just racers, but players behind the scenes — to help him put on his event. That way, he could make sure that his event was one everyone in the world would be talking about.

The Qalmar Cup, he thought, envisioning the name in lights.No, maybe the Nusaybah Cup?His father would hate that, but if Kareem was honest, that thought only made it appeal to him more.

He had met with his father in the executive wing of the palace, which was just as troubling as anything else — why he had to meet with his own father here, instead of in the residential quarters, was difficult to contemplate. But Kareem was used to this sort of thing from his father, and at least it didn’t catch him by surprise anymore. He made his way through the halls and back out to the front of the building, where a valet had already brought his car around for him.

“We can arrange for a driver to take you wherever you’d like to go, Sheikh Kareem,” the valet said.

It was the same offer his father’s valets always made to him. Kareem had to remember not to be angry at them. They were only following orders. Even though he had answered this question a hundred times, they were beholden to follow his father’s orders. They couldn’t simply decide to stop asking.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll drive myself.”

The valet handed him the keys and Kareem got into the car. As soon as he was behind the wheel, he began to feel better. He knew his father saw his choice to drive himself places as an extension of his childish obsession with cars, but that wasn’t it. Driving was one of the few things Kareem had the freedom to do in his life that made him feel as if he was in control. He knew he would never give it up.

The streets of Qalmar were quiet at this part of the afternoon. Everyone was at work — or at least, those who had jobs were. Kareem couldn’t help noticing the people on the street, mere blocks away from the palace. The number of unhoused people here in Qalmar was on the rise, no doubt thanks to the flagging economy. Something really did need to be done.

His resolve intensified. Yes, this motorsports event would be a good time for him, an indulgence of a hobby he had always loved. He could admit to that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea.

He pressed a button on the dashboard of his car and was treated to the rhythmic tones of a dialing phone. A moment later, a pleasant female voice answered. “How may I assist you, Sheikh Kareem?”

“I need a flight, Fatima,” Kareem told his assistant.

“A flight?” Fatima repeated.

“I need you to get me a plane. Not my father’s. He’s not going to approve of this. One of the other royal planes — a small one will do. Something I can take without raising too many questions.”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Fatima agreed. “But where are you going?”

“I’m going to Las Vegas, Nevada. And I need to leave tomorrow.”

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