With Rayyan turning thirty the next day and Hyacinth wanting to make it the best birthday ever, she had thought long and hard before deciding on the best gift she could give to the man who had everything.

“Ta-da!”

She turned the laptop around so Mrs. B. could see what she had secretly burned the midnight oil on for the entire week.

Her homeroom teacher’s brows shot up to her hairline. “What in the world…”

“Fuck Being Politically Correct.” Hyacinth read the name of her blog with pride.

“And that is your gift for the sheikh?” the older woman asked blankly.

“It’s the best way I can serve him,” she explained simply. “The sheikh’s the only one who doesn’t have his own public relations team---”

“By choice,” Mrs. Bauer reminded her.

“Which is stupid, don’t you think?” she retorted. “It’s almost like he deliberately wants the public to see him as flawed.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Well, I don’t care what his reason is. It’s time for someone to make all his critics shut up---”

“And that someone would be you?”

“No other person could be more suitable for the job,” Hyacinth bragged. “I’m the one closest to him, being his secret girlfriend and future bride---”

“Until you have his ring on your finger, you can’t be certain of anything.”

“Mrs. B.!”

“I’m just being truthful.”

“You’re being pessimistic, that’s what you’re doing. As always.” Hyacinth stared at her homeroom teacher in exasperation. “Honestly, Mrs. B. Why do you have to be so…so…so like Deadpool?”

The older woman choked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just so snide all the time even though we both know you’re a marshmallow on the inside.”

A shudder of disgust wracked the other woman’s slender frame. “I am no such thing.” And because such talk was beginning to grate on her nerves, she quickly changed the setting of her alarm, and a moment later, her phone started beeping loudly.

Hyacinth let out a gasp. “I saw that!”

Mrs. B. blinked innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You changed---”

“Oh, look at the time.” The homeroom teacher began pushing her to the door. “I’m so sorry, but I have an appointment with another student in the next few minutes.”

“Liar. I’m the only one who can tolerate---”

“Please say happy birthday to the sheikh for me.” And then Mrs. B. slammed the door on her face.

Hyacinth grinned. There really was no one like Mrs. B., and she wondered if it was possible to convince the other woman to teach in college, too, once she graduated.

As soon as she got home, she scrawled a note for Anisah and pinned it to the fridge before quickly making her way to the finance department.

Everyone in the finance department started grinning the moment they saw Hyacinth. “Someone’s super happy,” one of the encoders teased her. “What did you get the sheikh for his birthday?”

Before she could answer, a senior accountant piped up, saying wickedly, “Herself, what else?”

Hyacinth let out a gasp of feigned dismay. “What a malicious thing to say!”

But not one of the sheikh’s staff bought it, with everyone snickering as Hyacinth went on her way.

While the rest of the world still remained thankfully blind to the growing closeness between Rayyan Al-Atassi and his young intern, the members making up the finance department were not as dense.

Or rather, such a thing was impossible not to notice, seeing how the sheikh and Hyacinth were at work. The sheikh never smiled as often as he did when the girl was around, and the palace ward only seemed to turn into a little tigress when defending her beloved master. Both individuals were deeply private: the sheikh with his aloof reserve and Hyacinth able to fly under the radar with her sunny smiles and feminine gestures; they were not the kind to call other people in public with terms of endearment, and yet…with each other, they were different.

Within the walls of the finance department, the sheikh had taken to calling his intern majamira while Hyacinth was the only one brave enough to teasingly call the sheikh ‘alsyd’. The word translated to ‘master’, and just how it was in English, the term meant one thing in its traditional context and then another thing altogether when used by a certain type of female…for a certain type of male.

Hyacinth couldn’t help whistling to herself as she used the secret passageways to sneak into the sheikh’s bedroom. It would be her first time to do so, and it was yet another thing she had secretly worked on in the past week.

Naughty or not, ever since Rayyan had mentioned about the tunnels also having a direct connection to his bedroom, the thought of enjoying forbidden trysts in his very bedroom had never left her mind.

And now, definitely, the time had come to make that particular fantasy a reality. Whether it was making out or making love – it didn’t matter. She just knew now was the right time to take things to the next level.

Rayyan’s bedroom was dark and empty when she finally arrived, but it was just as she expected. After placing her homemade cake and laptop on the table, Hyacinth planted herself in the armchair next to the window and settled down for what she knew could be a rather long wait. The sheikh’s Geneva-based parents had flown in to celebrate their son’s birthday, and Hyacinth expected their dinner to last until the wee hours of the night.

To while away the time, she took her phone out, and the first thing she saw was a notification about the latest articles written about the sheikh. She clicked on the tab, thinking that it could be photos of the sheikh with the rest of the royal family.

Al Afea: Serpent or Snake?

Photographs of Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi having dinner with Ms. Jemima Black, the sheikh’s long-rumored mistress, have recently been leaked to the public. Black is also the ex-wife of Sheikh Abdel Ghulam, and prior to this development, speculations have risen about the couple getting back together.

But with the royal sheikh back in the picture, who could blame Ms. Black for having her head turned by a worldly prince such as Al-Atassi?

Where the fuck was she? The moment he had seen the news about him and Jemima getting back together, his first and only concern was of Hyacinth. He had called Aisha, the undercover agent posing as a high school student and whom Hyacinth used for sleepover excuses, but all Aisha could tell him was that Hyacinth meant to celebrate his birthday with him. As for Gadi, the only thing his assistant could say was that she had used his office to access the palace’s secret tunnels.

Knowing there was only one other person he could ask about Hyacinth’s whereabouts, he reluctantly excused himself from the table to make a call to Cecile in private.

Hyacinth’s homeroom teacher answered right away, demanding shortly, “Is the news real?”

“It’s not.” His voice was just as taut. “Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t right now, but I’ll try calling her.” A pause, and then she said stiffly, “She might not show it to you anymore, but I think you should still know.”

Rayyan’s face hardened as he listened to what Cecile had to say, and as soon as the call ended, he swiftly typed the URL she had given him.

Ah.

His jaw clenched tightly as he started reading her posts, with each one presenting a passionate but concisely written and meticulously structured defense of the more controversial economic policies he had helped pass. And as for every unfair attack launched against him by the international media, she had rebutted them point by fucking point –

It was Hyacinth wearing her heart on a sleeve – with a loaded gun right next to it.

All of a sudden he knew exactly where she was, and when the sheikh returned to the party, he used the news about Jemima to excuse himself early from dinner. In half an hour, he was in his bedroom, staring down at the girl foolish enough to love a man like him.

When Hyacinth woke up, it was to see the sheikh himself stepping out of his fancy bathroom, hair still wet from the shower, bare-chested, and dressed only in a pair of loose lounge pants. She scrambled to a sitting position just as the sheikh crouched down in front of her, his gaze capturing hers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about having dinner with Jemima.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was being stupid. And stubborn.”

Oh.

“If you told me,” she said slowly, “it would mean that I really did have a chance.” Even without Rayyan saying a word, she knew this was the truth, but what she just couldn’t figure out was why.

The way he was looking at her now – like she was someone he could never have, and she just didn’t understand it.

The sheikh didn’t seem the type to let something like her age hold him back. Maybe that was an issue with someone like Sheikh Malik and Kyria, but they were different people in a different situation.

But with her and Rayyan…

“Why?” She hated the way her voice shook, hated that this man could make her feel so easily weak and fragile when she had always been strong. “Can’t you just tell me why?”

I want to be yours, so why?

Why?

Why?

Hyacinth tensed when the sheikh slowly reached for her.

His knuckles grazed her cheek, the trail mark left by her tears making it slightly wet.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I made you cry.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“The last thing I ever want is to hurt you, but it seems the only thing I’m capable of doing where you’re concerned.”

“That’s not true.”

“Now who’s flattering whom?” This time, she deliberately made her voice light, making it clear without words that the last thing she desired was a post-mortem on the things he did and couldn’t do.

After checking her watch to make sure it was already past midnight, she said brightly, “Happy birthday!” She pointed to the cake behind him, already misshapen and halfway to becoming a sweet, soggy mess. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize it would melt so quickly---aaaah!”

Hyacinth was frozen, unable to believe she was suddenly sitting on the sheikh’s lap.

He had never let her get this close before.

Never.

Rayyan cupped her chin to make her look at him. “I saw the blog.”

She grimaced. “Mrs. B told you, didn’t she?”

“It’s one of the best birthday gifts I’ve ever had.”

“One of the best?” Hyacinth couldn’t help bristling. “You mean there’s something better than my already viral blog, which at last count was already shared 10,000 times?”

“Nem.” His voice was solemn.

“Fine. I’ll bite. What’s better---”

“You.” The sheikh’s blue eyes gleamed at the way color stole over her cheeks. “You, in my life – nothing compares to it.”

Oh. Shit. Someone pinch her. Quick.

Not wanting him to know just how much those words made her want to swoon, she made herself pout, saying, “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then why have you never been tempted to unwrap your gift?”

The sheikh choked.

“Well?”

“Because you’re like wine,” he finally said. “It’s best to let you age…”

She made a face. “Who knew you’d be such a prude?”

“I’m doing this for you, trust me.”

“And I’m saying it’s not necessary.” She then mimicked his tone, saying firmly, “Trust me.”

But the sheikh only smiled, and as much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right.

Now was not the right time yet.

The sheikh insisted on eating her cake despite her protests, and worse, he also had her feeding him every bite while she remained self-consciously curled on his lap, and the “thing” was underneath her ass.

He asked her if what Aisha had told him was true, and Hyacinth had a hard time keeping herself from turning red as she shrugged and admitted it was so. “I’m sleeping here, with you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” She glared at the sheikh. “Got that?”

In answer, the sheikh once again surprised her by scooping her into his arms, and she let out a gasp as he unceremoniously threw her on his massive bed. He chuckled at the way her dainty figure bounced on the bed, and as he dipped down on one knee, a buzzing in her head began, and her heart, its desire overwhelming the pleas of her mind, began to hammer.

She waited just until the sheikh was close enough, and then her arms were loping around his neck. A surprised laugh escaped him as she forced him to roll on his back, and she ended up straddling him.

“Are you thinking of having your way with me, majamira?” the sheikh teased.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

And before either of them could think things through, Hyacinth had already bent her head down to press her lips on his.

Rayyan stiffened, his big, hard body tensing under her soft, trembling form as he felt her lips press harder to his.

Both of them knew he could push her away at any moment, and it was exactly what he was thinking of doing. But as his hands settled on her tiny waist, he felt it.

Her pain wetting his cheeks, dribbling down to his lips, locking the oxygen in his throat –

And most of all, he heard her silent cries.

Why?

Why?

Why?

His hands, meant to push her away, tightened around her waist instead.

Why won’t you make me yours?

A tiny sob broke out of her as the sheikh hauled her down, leaving not a millimeter of space between their hearts, and the lips under hers, cold and hard for so long, moved away from her mouth.

She almost cried out, thinking this was the end of her – the end of them – until she felt it.

His lips moving down, and her heart hammered harder and faster against her chest at the tantalizingly slow descent of his mouth.

Down, down, down –

His lips paused just before her collarbone, and her arms instinctively went around his neck.

He began to suck, and her body jerked over his. It was more beautiful than she could ever imagine, but oh how it hurt.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Because no matter how much she wished she could pretend this was more than a kiss – it was not.

And when he finally lifted his head, the heat of his lips leaving a tiny red brand on her neck, the only hope she had left to cling to was the bleak promise in his gaze.

If it were up to me…

More than anyone else in the world…

I’d want it to be you.