Page 24 of Her Irresistible Sheik
Ealayk allaena.He was losing his damn mind.
Desperate to redirect his thoughts from soup-delivering, smiling waiters, and the graceful woman across from him, he grasped at the one conversational topic that had softened her expression earlier.“What’s your favorite genre to read?”
Nahla turned that same bright smile toward him.It wasn’t quite the same wattage as the soup smile, but it was enough to keep him from breathing for a second.“I love to read all sorts of things.”She sipped her soup, then tilted her head.“But I’m not a fan of biographies.And I detest autobiographies.”
“Why?”he asked, even though her lips were glistening from the soup and his brain had temporarily short-circuited.
“Because biographies are always someone else’s interpretation,” she explained.“It’s just like journalists today, right?”When he stared at her blankly, she continued.“I mean, you go to a party, make polite small talk, and the next day, some journalist claims you were declaring war with your eyebrows.”
Mikail snorted.“To be fair, your eyebrowsarefairly expressive.”
“They’re innocent,” she countered, pointing her spoon at him, her tone mock-wounded.“They’ve never started a single conflict.”
He smiled.“But they’ve definitely raised suspicions.”
That earned him a soft laugh.“Regardless, biographies twist things.Even when they use letters or old documents, you never know if the person was telling the truth.People embellish all the time.”
“You’ve never exaggerated in a text?”he asked, watching her over the rim of his wine glass, one eyebrow arching in challenge.
Nahla smirked.“Only once.I told my cousin I was dying of boredom during a state dinner with the Sultan of Norrak.”
Mikail gave her a dry smile.“I’ve been to one of those.It’s like trying to stay awake through a twelve-course punishment.”
“Oh, it got worse,” she said, her eyes lighting with mischief.“Saif started making faces at me across the table.Completely deadpan—crossed eyes, puffed cheeks, the whole thing—while the Minister of Fisheries was giving some tragic speech about algae.”
Mikail chuckled, imagining the scene.“Let me guess.You held it together like a true professional?”
“I nearly snorted wine out of my nose,” she said primly.“Half the diplomats thought I was mocking their trade policies.Three nearly walked out.”
He laughed, low and surprised.“You’re dangerous at formal events.”
“I warned them not to seat me next to Saif,” she said with a shrug.“But no one listens until the international incident is already in motion.”
Mikail choked on a spoonful of soup, coughing as he wiped his mouth with the napkin.
“Anyway,” she continued, swirling her spoon, “autobiographies are even worse.”
“How so?”
“They’re just a parade of ego.”She took another delicate sip of the soup.“I mean, imagine waking up one day and thinking, ‘You know what the world needs?Every detail of my life.Let me include my deep thoughts about a cheese sandwich I had in 2006.’”
Mikail barked out a laugh.“A cheese sandwich?”
“I’ve read it!Some guy spent three pages describing how the cheese was a metaphor for his existential dread.”She wrinkled her nose.“I prefer stories with dragons or detectives.People solving murders.Or kissing in libraries.That sort of thing.”
“That’s… oddly specific.”
“Maybe,” she said, taking a sip of wine.“Maybe not.”
He couldn’t stop smiling.“So if you ever wrote an autobiography, would you call itI Am Not a Cheese Sandwich?”
Her eyes sparkled.“Only if the subtitle isBut I Am Full of Existential Dread and Slightly Toasted.”
Mikail leaned back, genuinely amused—and a little captivated.She was funny.Sharp.Her mind was as dangerous as her smile, and he was in serious trouble.
Before he could respond, the waiter returned with the main course.Nahla beamed again.
Mikail glared again.
