Page 24 of Sheikh's Virgin Love-Slave

“You know I saw?”

“I always catch mice scurrying out of my way,” she said, her tone blithe. “You understand now, don’t you?”

She spun around to face Sabella and crossed her arms over her chest. “I understand what?”

“That he was never yours to have. Ravi was never going to be yours, American. He needs to stick with his own kind.”

“A Muslim?”

“No, with someone beautiful and well-versed in the traditions of the wealthy, not some thief’s daughter from nowhere. You’re trash, Bridget, and you know it. How do you think the rest of the sheikhs gathered here would feel or act if they knew how he really met you? That your father is nothing more than a common criminal? That you were his ‘get out of jail free’ card?”

Her throat tensed and ran dry. It took a few seconds for Bridget to be able to speak. “My father isn’t me. I don’t have a thing to do with him.”

“You carry his name, Bridget Callahan, and you pay for his mistakes. What’s the expression you American’s have? ‘Gutter trash,’ is it?” Bridget’s hand slapped against Sabella’s face before she knew what was happening. For a moment, the other girl looked stunned but then just rubbed her face and laughed. “Oh, the little mouse has claws! American, I’ll make you a deal. I have a car waiting and airplane ticket just for you, an open-ended flight home to Maryland I’ve had since you got here.”

“What?”

“I knew he’d come back to me, and you did too. Now just get outside, take the car, and leave Dubai. Otherwise, how many people—how many reporters here to cover the gala—will get a front row seat to your delicious humiliation?” To emphasize her point, Sabella yanked the ticket from her own clutch. “Get out of here, Bridget. You’ve been beaten.”

Tears streaming down her face, Bridget did as she was told and rushed out into the night, her heart far too broken to do anything else.

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