TWELVE
It was much more difficult to sleep on the flight home from Al-Dali than it had been on the way over. While my nerves about the Sheikh’s proposal were thankfully gone, a new kind of anxiety had replaced them: the anxiety of realizing I was developing feelings for him. After all my worry that Zane would cross a line with me, suddenly now I was the one crossing a line—even if accidentally. At least he didn’t reject my kiss; I could still feel the warmth of his lips on mine if I closed my eyes. That was one minor victory in this very convoluted problem I had gotten myself into.
Problem or not, I didn't regret any of it. My existence had been empty for so long, and I finally felt alive again. Hope had been missing from my life for some time, and now it was back. I deserved to revel in it for a while. But first, I had to take care of some important business, to make sure I didn't sink this new hope before it had a chance to take hold.
Once we were at a cruising altitude and I was allowed to access the plane’s Wi-Fi, the first thing I did was pull up my smartphone and email Katherine back in LA. I asked her to reject the payment that Zane would be sending within the next few hours, my million-dollar check for the twenty-four-hours we spent together. She would be upset, I knew. She was expecting a cut of that fee for her work. I put a note in the email explaining that I would pay the fees she lost myself, so that she wouldn’t lose out on anything. I couldn’t really afford to lose that much right now, but I didn’t have a choice. It was the right thing to do.
The way I felt about Zane made it impossible to take any money for spending time with him. It felt wrong, and I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want him to think for a second that my only interest in him was money or riches. And since it was my stupid heart and conscience that ruined both of our paychecks, I had to make it up to Katherine and make sure she got paid anyway. She had worked so hard for me throughout my career. She didn’t deserve to be shafted like that, and I refused to be just another blood-sucking parasite on the streets of Hollywood.
After sending the email I shut my phone down and tried to nap in the luxurious bed, but it didn’t work. I ended up digging into the paperback I had brought while night drifted by, quiet and dark over the vast expanse of the ocean. It was difficult to keep my thoughts off Zane and our time together. I couldn’t remember being so happy in a very long time. Zane treated with me respect and sweetness. I trusted what he told me, because he was strong enough in character that he didn’t need to put up pretense or act macho just to protect his ego. He wasn’t insecure; he was only concerned with doing the right thing for everyone. Being with a man like that was something every girl dreamed of.
I realized, then, that I had been stupid to ever think I was happy with Jack. Even spending a single day with Zane had proved that. There’s a time in every girl’s life where she finally learns the difference between a nice guy and a phony, and realizes she’s accidentally been trying to chase the latter and turn him into the former. But Zane didn’t require any adjustments. He was already everything a woman could want in a man. He didn’t try to tear me down because he felt threatened by my accomplishments; he didn’t try to demean the people or studios that valued me; he didn’t make subtle digs at my looks or my weight, or ask me if I was sure I wanted to eat the meal I ordered and not trade it for a salad instead.
Jack was a boy. Zane was a man, and now I understood the difference. I wanted someone like Zane in my life, my heart, and my home. Someone I could trust to do the right thing and protect me instead of using me as a shield.
I wondered how I would go about doing such a thing. I didn’t know any protocol for asking a royal out on a date. Was there any? What if I insulted him in the way I asked? What if his culture dictated that he had to be the one to proposition me? What if he never did?
I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be excited about a man. All these emotional questions made me feel both happy and silly at the same time, like looking back at a journal I wrote when I was a teenager. It was the worry of someone who was excited
about her future and wanted to make it perfect. I realized that it had been quite some time since I cared about my future at all.
When the jet touched down at the same exclusive airstrip outside of LA, I said fond goodbyes to Raj and Nareem, who sweetly asked me for a selfie. I was tired and didn’t look my best, but was more than happy to oblige them, and took a selfie of us for my own memories too. They were delighted, and the sunshine in their smiles would warm my heart for days.
A driver from the same limo company was waiting for me as I got off the plane. The driver was a different guy from the one before, and he either didn’t know who I was or wasn’t impressed anyway. It was a relief, and made the drive home more relaxing. He barely said a word to me after confirming that I was indeed his passenger. When we arrived at my place, he brought my luggage to the door and gave me a tight bow before he pulled away without another word.
I brought the keys to the lock and twisted the front door knob with my other hand. But the door was already unlocked, and swung open under the pressure of my grip. I gasped in surprise and panic.
“What the…?” I said quietly. I thought I had canceled the expected visit from one of my cleaning crew after I had accepted Zane’s offer, but maybe they had come anyway, and left the door open. But it was a mistake they had never made before, and something didn’t feel right in my gut.
I had never had a stalker before, but there was a first time for everything, and no shortage of crazy fans who would break into a celebrity’s house just for the sake of it.
I couldn’t take any chances—I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 on the touch screen, ready to call them with just one more tap.
Slowly, I entered the house, leaving my baggage on the porch. The alarm system had been turned off, but not triggered. Someone with the code had simply punched it in after they entered.
I made my way through the living room and den, finding them both empty. The kitchen was untouched. It didn’t seem like anything had been disturbed or stolen, which was a bit of a relief. After checking the bathrooms and bedrooms, I was almost convinced it must have been the cleaning crew after all, and made a mental note to ask them to be more careful in the future. But then I noticed that the back door leading outside was ajar, the warm Santa Ana winds blowing the curtains around the living room like ghost arms. Someone was waiting for me.