“You look a little…lost,” Anisah remarked as she joined Hyacinth at the breakfast table. “Everything okay?”

Well…there was the fact that she had accidentally shown Rayyan Al-Atassi her panties a few days ago, and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of it since then, but other than that?

“Just worried about finals,” she lied. “But it’s nothing too many hours at the library won’t fix.”

Anisah flashed her a smile. “That’s true. I’m so glad you’re always thinking positively about these things.”

Hyacinth only allowed herself to relax when Anisah started talking about work while pouring honey all over her pancake until the latter was drowning in it. Sweet, meet Tooth, Hyacinth thought, and she suppressed a smile, knowing how her serious-minded sister considered her love for sweets a shameful source of weakness.

Must be a genetic thing, Hyacinth thought absently, considering how much she hated the way she had developed a sudden but perfectly normal infatuation with Rayyan Al-Atassi. The man was an international heartthrob, after all, and a girl had to be blind to be immune to the man’s looks.

For all I know, she reasoned to herself, this stupid, heart-thumping obsession over him could be nothing but a delayed response to Stockholm syndrome.

Either way, this horrible fixation of hers was going to pass sooner or later, so she had to stop making a big deal of it.

Anisah waved Hyacinth off when she was done with breakfast. “Go on, I’ll take care of the dishes. I’ll see you at school later. Is there anything you want to tell me before I meet your teachers?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but it was for the very worst reasons. “Yup, there is,” Hyacinth managed to say. “You can ask Mrs. B. who her favorite student is and if she doesn’t say it’s me, she’s lying.”

The sound of her sister’s laughter trailed after Hyacinth as she left their apartment, but her smile disappeared the moment she was out of Anisah’s sight.

Shit, shit, shit.

Hyacinth checked her watch.

Six hours, she thought with a gulp.

She had been so busy mooning over Rayyan Al-Atassi she had forgotten about Mrs. B. possibly ratting her out during today’s PTA.

But…all hope was not lost.

Six hours, she reminded herself.

She still had six hours between now and later to figure out something that could get Mrs. B. off her back and keep her from unnecessarily worrying Anisah.

It’s doable. Right, H?

Jemima Black stretched languorously over the satin covers, her naked body still humming in the aftermath of the sheikh’s torrid lovemaking. She had half a mind to plead for just one last round of sex before he left, but then self-preservation kicked in, and she wisely opted to keep her silence. The sheikh had never been the type to linger, and ever since he had finished with law school and taken on the mantle of leadership in managing the kingdom’s coffers, each and every minute of his day had become more precious than gold.

Jemima knew her worth, but she also knew her limits, and it was the latter more than anything else that allowed her to be who she was now.

Turning to her side, Jemima propped her head on one hand as she indulged herself with the sensuous sight of the sheikh dressing himself. As opulent as her suite was, none of its expensive trimmings could compare to the sheikh’s powerful, strapping figure. Sleek, hard muscles flexed with every moment, so fluid they appeared almost sinuous, and her mouth dried as she remembered how sensually skillful the sheikh was as a lover: the way he stared, the way he used his mouth, the way his fingers moved – oh, he knew exactly how to use every part of his body to make a woman forget her own name, and the way he could dwell for a tortuous eternity between her thighs, licking and sucking, never failed to reduce Jemima into a screaming mess.

Jemima had to bite back a sigh of regret as she watched the sheikh’s formidably muscular form disappear under the pristine-white cloth of his thobe, custom-designed as always by a local modiste. Those who didn’t know the sheikh would have assumed it was a choice based on sartorial preferences, but those who knew him better – and Jemima, in her vanity, liked to think she was one of them – would have known Rayyan Al-Atassi’s every decision was calculated.

Anything that was to the kingdom’s interest was met with favor – and vice versa. It was always that black and white with the sheikh, which was also why Jemima had long abandoned any silly dreams of becoming the sheikh’s wife. She might have the right lineage, the right looks, the right social skillset – but she was also a divorcée, and that would never do for a man whose every desire was intrinsically rooted in the kingdom’s progress.

When the sheikh faced her again, Jemima couldn’t help drawing her breath even as she hated herself just a little for it. Damn him for being so beautiful. He was the epitome of masculine perfection, and it did not help that the extraordinary tandem of his ash blond hair and piercing blue eyes was as rare a sight as snow in the desert kingdom.

She had been his lover for over five years now, but oh, even knowing what a cold, unfeeling bastard he was, it never made a difference. There were still many moments, just like now, that the sheer magnificence of his looks would catch her off guard, and her heart would skip a beat.

Which was quite mortifying, Jemima thought wryly, for a woman of her age and experience. At thirty-six, she was a good seven years older than her lover, and so she really should know better.

Rising reluctantly from the bed, Jemima wrapped the sheets around her body as the sheikh retrieved his watch from the bedside table.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve need of you again,” the sheikh murmured.

“You can just say ‘thank you’ and ‘good night’ for once, you know.” It was meant to be a joke, but she should’ve known better than to hope the sheikh would ever unbend with her. She had seen him with his guard lowered when among his family and the most trusted members of his staff, but with anyone else – and that included women who were welcomed only to his bed…

The moment the sheikh’s smoky blue eyes turned glacial, Jenna cursed herself silently, knowing she had been stupid for daring to cross the line.

“If that is what you want, anisdi---” Ice coated the sheikh’s voice. “Then clearly I need to look for another mistress.”

Jemima wasn’t even given a chance to apologize. The sheikh had already turned to walk away, leaving his coldly uttered ‘anisdi’ still ringing in her ears. It meant ‘milady,’ and it was the only one way he referred to her. It was also fitting, considering how after all these years Jemima had not once been permitted to refer to the sheikh without his title – not even when they were alone, not even when she was riding his cock and giving him her all, body and soul.

A limousine was already waiting by the curb when Rayyan left his mistress’ apartment, and he nodded his thanks to the chauffeur as he slipped inside the vehicle. Leaning back against the luxurious cream leather, he pulled his phone out and was instantly bombarded by a frantic stream of text messages from his PA.

Gadi: Your Esteemed Highness, Beloved Prince of the Desert, The Great Serpent of Ramil, your royal presence is urgently needed, for a damsel in distress is in dire need of your aid. The lady is quite beside herself and I fear her tears will flow for as long as she is unable to gaze upon our strong and brave Al Afea!

An image formed in his mind as he read Gadi’s message for the second time. Normally, his PA’s rather quixotic tendency to turn into a medieval poet wannabe whenever he was overwrought exasperated the sheikh, but in this instance, Gadi’s flowery but befuddling speech proved to be a welcome sight.

Only one girl could cause such havoc if she so willed, and Rayyan’s lingering irritation at Jemima’s presumptuousness was all but forgotten by the time he started typing his reply.

Rayyan: Are you talking about Hyacinth Kahveci?

Gadi: o_O

Gadi: But however did you know, Your Highness?

Gadi: Sheikh?

Gadi: Alshaykh? Are you still there?

When he arrived at his office, the scene before him was exactly as he expected: a tearful Hyacinth seated on one of the luxurious high-backed chairs before his desk and Gadi pacing and wringing his hands anxiously while waiting for his employer.

“Allah is good,” the younger man exclaimed gratefully as soon as the sheikh strode inside.

“Thank you for keeping milady company, Gadi,” Rayyan murmured.

“Nothing is too much for the sheikh’s future bride,” Gadi declared passionately.

“Of…course.” The sheikh’s gaze bored through Hyacinth at the other man’s words, but the cheeky brat kept her head bent low, gaze fixed demurely on the floor, and hands piously clasped together on her lap.

“I’m sure you already know this, but I will appreciate your discretion about this matter, which I still wish to keep private in light of Hyacinth’s age.”

“I will breathe not a single word, not even with a sword to my throat, a gun to my head---”

“Thank you, Gadi.” Hyacinth had to swallow back a laugh at the speed in which the sheikh pulled the brakes at his assistant’s fervent declaration of loyalty. But then she heard Rayyan Al-Atassi request for a moment of privacy with his “future bride” and her smile instantly disappeared.

Anytime now, she thought with a gulp.

As soon as the door closed behind Gadi, she heard the sheikh say dryly, “You may drop the act, anisdi. It is only the two of us.”

Hyacinth slowly raised her gaze to the sheikh. “I can, umm, explain.”

“Please do so.”

The sheikh’s handsome face gave away nothing as he listened to her request, and Hyacinth had to bite her lip hard to keep herself from demanding a reaction from him.

“So, let me see if I got this straight, anisdi,” Rayyan murmured as soon as the girl finished speaking. “You wish for my help in convincing your homeroom teacher that I am the one behind your, err, fake smiles?”

“Mrs. Bauer thinks I’m hiding something---”

“Mrs. Bauer?”

“My homeroom teacher,” Hyacinth clarified impatiently.

“And rather than telling her the truth…”

“Which is the fact that I’m an evil bitch…”

“You would rather have your teacher think you were having an affair with me instead?”

“Uh huh.” Hyacinth took a deep breath, knowing that what would come next was the hardest part. The sheikh would naturally ask her why she believed he would be a party to such a deception, and she had already prepared several reasons to feed him with.

First, she would try to pamper his ego, say that he was the only one she could depend on, and then she would also appeal to his kindness, which whether he liked it or not, was something he was known for, and if all else failed, she would have to blackmail him.

After all, she was no idiot. He was a royal sheikh, and yet he had chosen to take the back door – so to speak – to return to the palace, and that was in spite of the fact he had appeared to be in dire need of medical attention.

That only meant one thing: he wanted his involvement in certain activities kept a secret, and if he didn’t help her, then she would tell him he left her no choice. She would have to go to the king –

“Alright, anisdi.”

Wait.

What.

Was.

That?

Hyacinth cleared her throat. “I don’t think…”

But the sheikh was already discussing the logistics of the matter.

Leave your homeroom teacher to me.

You will start working as my intern to make the affair more convincing.

We shall let Gadi believe we are lovers, too. It will be easier that way.

And then the sheikh was drawing her up to her feet, even ruffling her hair slightly as he escorted her out of the office and instructed his PA to have one of the limousines drive her to school.

Gadi will make sure that you will not be given a late slip, the sheikh murmured to her ear. Now be a good girl and stop worrying.

Hyacinth’s head was still in a daze when she made it back to class, with no late slip to speak of, just as the sheikh had promised.

Did that really just happen?

Had she truly managed to convince –

No, wait.

She hadn’t even gotten to the convincing part yet.

He had simply said yes.

Hyacinth was tempted to pinch herself just to make sure she hadn’t imagined all of it, but with classes starting, there was no time for her to examine this morning’s events, and before she knew it, she was already taking a seat in front of her homeroom teacher.

“Well, Hyacinth?” Mrs. B. asked calmly. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Hyacinth, never the type to waste time pulling punches, simply blurted out, “I’m dating Sheikh Rayyan.”

Silence.

And then –

“Very funny, Hyacinth.”

Hyacinth frowned. “I’m not kidding.”

Mrs. B. frowned back. “There is a time and place for everything, and right now we need to be serious---”

“I am being serious.”

“Oh, Hyacinth.”

“I’m not lying.” Hyacinth was starting to feel insulted. She got that the news was shocking, but was it really that unbelievable? “What I’ve told you is the truth---”

“And if I tell you I can confirm this with the sheikh myself?”

Hyacinth didn’t dare let herself blink. “Go right ahead. Call him now.”

“As you wish.”

Her jaw dropped when the older woman actually pulled her phone out. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” Mrs. Bauer made a show of typing the sheikh’s name in her contact book.

“You r-really have the sheikh’s number stored in your phone?”

The phone started ringing.

No way, Hyacinth thought. There could be absolutely no way –

“Marhava, Cecile.”

Hyacinth almost fell out of her seat in shock. That was the sheikh’s voice.

“Is my woman with you?”

This time, it was Mrs. B. who seemed in danger of falling out of her seat, and it took the older woman several seconds before she could answer. “So it’s true then?”

“It is.”

Mrs. Bauer’s unnaturally beautiful face threatened to crack at the sheikh’s unequivocal confirmation, and the sight left Hyacinth torn between dread and fascination. It was almost like watching one of Daenerys’ dragon eggs crack, and you had to make up your mind about staying to witness a miracle – and risk getting eaten alive.

“I trust you will keep our secret?” The sheikh’s voice seemed harder than usual, and Hyacinth wondered if it was Rayyan Al-Atassi’s way of intimidating the other woman.

“As long as you promise not to hurt her.” Mrs. B, however, didn’t appear cowed at all, despite her unnaturally jerky tone.

“You have my word.”

The sheikh was barely done speaking when Mrs. B. hung up on him.

Hyacinth’s jaw nearly dropped. And I thought I was savage, she thought, stunned. But clearly, Mrs. B. was the queen of savage, just as it was amazingly clear she was teaching the wrong subject in school.

She cleared her throat. “So…um…” She tried to think of the best thing to say. One part of her was touched and wanted to go aww at Mrs. B.’s display of concern. Another part of her, however, was simply going crazy and yelling ‘what the heck?’ Why was her homeroom teacher so at ease in speaking with the sheikh?

“You appear confused.” Mrs. B.’s stiff voice brought Hyacinth’s attention back to her.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“You shouldn’t,” the older woman said shortly.

“Because…you regularly wipe the floor with sheikhs in your spare time?”

“Because I’m illegitimate. It’s a little-known fact, but it is the truth.”

“I…see.” How did one even reply to that? Sorry? It’s okay? I don’t get what that has to do with the sheikh?

And almost as if she had heard Hyacinth’s unspoken question, Mrs. Bauer shared reluctantly, “My father’s Lord Aldridge of Adora.”

And that was when everything became absolutely clear.

Since Lord Aldridge of Adora was brother to Lord Anthony, Rayyan Al-Atassi’s father, then that would make her homeroom teacher…the sheikh’s cousin.

What the fuck?

The words nearly burst out of her, but the sudden frown of her homeroom teacher had Hyacinth hastily swallowing them back.

But seriously –

What the fuck?