Slave to the Sheikh: by Nadia Aidan Page B

have arrived and are interested in meeting you.”
    My expression must have revealed the shock and terror which had me practically trembling in my seat.  Amir’s mother?  She wanted to meet me ?  Why?
    Talib’s gaze upon me was serene as usual, but the look of pity in his eyes said it all.  “I do apologize.  They were not expected or else I would have warned you.”
    Warned me?
    I wanted to ask, did I need a warning?  But I already knew.  Ayesha al-Durhan, Eastern born, but Western educated and reared.  If rumors were to be believed, she was a demanding perfectionist, who expected the best in all things, because she held herself to the highest standards, and would accept nothing less from anyone else.  From a bitch to a tyrant, the epithets attached to Amir’s mother ranged from those of respect and admiration, to the more colorful, which could never be repeated in polite company.   
    Needless to say, had I known I was to meet the Sheikha, I would have been elegantly attired and perfectly coiffed.  Instead, I was fresh faced, barefoot and clad in a short sleeved maxi dress, while my hair was strewn about my shoulders in a haphazard mess giving me the appearance that I’d just rolled out of bed.  I glanced down at my feet.  Well at least my toenails were freshly painted, and with a nice pink shade too, because that was about all I had going for me right now. 
    “When you are ready, I will announce your presence and make the introductions,” Talib stated, effectively reminding me that at that moment I was keeping the Sheikha of all of Sharjah waiting.
    “I’m ready,” I replied, with what I hoped was a confident smile, but I had a feeling my show of bravado had fallen woefully short when I glimpsed the knowing look in Talib’s eyes. 
    By the time I entered the dining room where Amir received his guests I’d talked myself down off the ledge, and even chastised myself for my foolish anxiety. The Sheikha probably just wanted to meet the professor in charge of the extensive excavation project in her country.  I would make small talk until Amir arrived, and then I would politely excuse myself. That was my plan, and it seemed like a perfectly sound one, or so I thought up until the moment the perfectly elegant Sheikha al-Durhan’s discerning gaze sized me up and she opened her mouth. 
                  “So you are my son’s professor? The one he has convinced himself he is in love with?”
                  Like her son, she was direct, offering no greeting whatsoever.  Her questions startled me, and it was impossible to keep my surprise at her bluntness from showing all over my face.
                  “Good afternoon, Sheikha al-Durhan, it is an honor to meet you.” I pretended as if I did not hear her questions, although I wasn’t so certain that was wise when her sharp eyes narrowed to tiny obsidian slits.  “My name is Daniella Hamilton.  Your son has been gracious enough to allow me access to the ruins of Dilmun which I’ve spent the past several weeks excavating.”
                  “Yes, I know who you are,” she said coolly.  The Sheikha wasn’t outright rude, but neither did she overflow with enthusiasm either.  She briefly shook my hand which I’d politely extended upon introducing myself, and it was only then that I noticed the young woman who stood several feet behind her.  “And this is Sabeen al-Mujaher. Come Sabeen,” the Sheikha gestured.
                  Ayesha al-Durhan, was a vision.  I knew her to be almost sixty, and her beauty, poise and elegance would eclipse that of any woman in her presence, including me, especially me, but not what appeared to be her younger version.  I recognized immediately the same ethereal, genteel grace of a proper bred and reared Eastern aristocrat.  She was so stunning, I actually blinked. It was embarrassing actually, but I couldn’t help it.  Sabeen was all dark, sensual