“When normally women are falling at your feet, eager to tell you their entire life story,” Alim said, turning left, toward a bar. “Can we finally leave this to rest, then, and agree that most of your prowess with women is rooted in your title, your clothes—”
“No,” I responded, my voice firm. “Absolutely not. I think I just happen to have found the toughest cookie in all of Al-Jarra.”
“I don’t think another American girl would be any different,” Alim told me, shaking his head. “They demand more than the girls we’re used to. You’ve been with them before—”
“Sure, but I was never trying to get them to fall in love with me,” I said, my voice sounding whiny and strange, even in my own ears. “And this girl, I mean. She’s impossible… She has something to hide, maybe.”
“Or she senses that you’re up to something. That you’re trying to collect her, like a prize.”
“Trust me, I played it cool,” I said. But in the back of my mind, I was beginning to think I hadn’t. The scarf had been overkill—but my arrogance had bled through even in our initial conversation. How was I meant to reel it in? I wasn’t used to it. I was a sheikh, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t need to.
“Let’s just say that you lost, and call it over,” Alim said. “You don’t need to pay me, either. I feel too bad for you.” He scoffed, eyeing me.
“Let’s give it a few more days, okay?” I told him. “I don’t think it’s completely over. This is always that scene in the movie, you know? When the woman slaps you and tells you you’re the worst person she’s ever met, and that she never wants to see you again…”
“You mean American movies from the 1940s? Sure. You should definitely take your cues from them,” Alim smirked, sarcastic. “Face it, stranger. You’re done. Let’s go drink our blues away.”
But I wouldn’t let it go. Although I grinned and laughed through the drinks with Alim, in the back of my mind, I was developing a new plan. I wouldn’t be taken down, not like this. As I bantered with Alim, thankfully finding new topics, new conversations beyond my complete embarrassment, I began to restructure the “rules” of the game.
And as Alim smacked me on the back, mid-laugh, I felt a passion surge through me. One that told me I was going to win, no matter the cost. Even if it meant going behind Alim’s back. Even if it meant breaking the very basis of our bet.
I was too proud to lose. If I did, I’d never be able to look Alim in the eye again.
The following day, Alim had a business meeting at three in the afternoon. “Thank God your American adventure is over,” he’d told me the night before. “Otherwise, I’d have to reschedule so I could watch you fail!”
Armed with this knowledge, I dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, along with my favorite gold watch. At home in my penthouse, I gazed at myself in the mirror: the penetrating eyes, the dark wavy hair.
I knew that, dressed like this, Angie would have no reason to turn me down. This was the Rami that the world knew—the Sheikh. Finally, she would realize that the only way to move forward was to fall madly in love with me.
I walked toward my car, a Lamborghini I’d recently purchased, and hopped into the front seat, revving the engine. I felt the arrogance that Angie had called out pulsing in my veins. But I didn’t care, knowing that it suited me now that I was dressed the part. Maybe none of us could help where we came from, who we were.
But describing that to Alim wouldn’t make me “win” the bet. I had to find another way.
I drove toward Angie’s school, the route now a familiar one. After parking at the entrance, I remained in my seat, watching as the kids swarmed the yard and began to dive into their parents’ vehicles. Sure enough, Angie was amongst them, dressed in a light purple dress. Her dark hair whipped around her as she said goodbye to the kids, waving her hands. My stomach felt squeezed, remembering that just yesterday, I’d made her laugh like that. I’d made her smile. Until I hadn’t.
When the last of the children had filtered out from the building, I stepped out of the car. I knew my presence was imposing, especially when contrasted to the tired parents and the older woman who worked alongside Angie, perched on the top step. After a pause, I began to move down the sidewalk, toward the entrance. Immediately, I knew that I’d caught Angie’s attention. She stood, frozen, staring at me.