“I think that’s a great idea,” Aziz murmured. He traced his fingers through her loose strands of hair. “You know, I know a few celebrities here. Some of them have really destroyed their public image. They would need you to help build them up again. I’ve talked about you with a few of them, and you’ve already captured their interest.”

  “I have?” Amity asked. She felt her heart drumming quickly. Would it really be possible for her to transport the elements of the life she’d loved in Los Angeles all the way to Al-Mabbar?

  “I knew it would be only a matter of time before you wanted to go back to work,” Aziz told her. “And I want you to be happy here.”

  Amity sat up from her passive position, her brain already buzzing. Al-Mabbar was deep in slumber, but she yearned to begin her working life once more. “Great. Great. In fact, I already have a few ideas for you. I think we can really improve your image, if you’re still game.”

  Aziz laughed. “If you’re up for it, I’ll follow your lead. I trust you. I love you.”

  Amity paused, really feeling the weight of the words. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the mouth, feeling such prowess within her. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  She leaped from the bed and rushed to her office, the same one he’d prepared for her so long ago, during her first visit. She began to scribble ideas in a notebook, already pushing herself, attempting to make up for lost time.

  ***

  Just one week later, Amity had negotiated a spot for Aziz to be interviewed on Al-Mabbar’s most popular TV talk show—one nearly everyone in the country tuned into every evening at eight. They prepared to leave several hours before, Amity racing around with mania in her eyes. She fit Una, Gwen, and Kamil into matching outfits: all in dark purple, with their little legs and arms wiggling, their dark eyes shining. Amity kissed each of them softly on their foreheads and lifted them each into the three-baby stroller, which they would take to the television studio.

  Aziz watched himself in the mirror, tying his tie, visibly irritated. Amity tapped toward him and placed her hands over his shoulders. “What is it, honey?” she asked him. “Are you nervous about the interview?” This wasn’t like him, she knew—but he also hadn’t made a public appearance since the babies were born.

  Aziz sighed. He arms went limp to his sides. “I’m not sure about this, Amity.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Amity said, her voice chipper.

  “It’s just,” Aziz continued. “You’re saying—you want me to discuss the babies, right?”

  “The babies. Just how happy you are to be a father. What your own father would say about your dad tactics.” She smiled, knowing she was saying all the right things. She was hitting all the right beats. “And also, you should mention me. Mention how happy we are; how much I love my new country.” She beamed at him, waiting for his face to change.

  Aziz didn’t speak. He sighed, faltering to the bed and heaving his head into his hands. “I don’t know about this, Amity,” he said again. “I just really feel like I don’t want to use the babies for something like this.”

  “But I thought this is what you wanted,” Amity said, her voice hesitant. She took a step back, considering. Silence hung between them, and she sensed that his mind was rolling. “It’s not like the babies and I mind. We know how important it is that your people respect you—”

  But Aziz clapped his hands together, then. He shook his head. “Amity, I’m tired of caring what my people say about me. I’m tired of trying to make people like me. I know that you like me, and that’s all I need.”

  “I love you,” she corrected him, her voice quiet. “You know that.”

  “Exactly. I don’t have to work to show you who I am. You saw who I was straight away. I didn’t have to say all the right things or make the right donations—or conduct any interviews.” He shook his head. “I just had to be myself, like you said.”

  Amity felt a smile trace across her face. She couldn’t help but love this man. She swept her hands to her hips, confident. Happy.

  “So, what do you want to do, then?”

  “I’m canceling,” Aziz said. He stood and began dialing the number, shrugging. “I want to spend the afternoon in the sun, in the garden. With you and the babies.”

  Amity flung toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed his ear, his mouth. And then, she turned and wrapped her hands around the babies’ stroller, wheeling it toward the elevator which would sweep them to the garden. She heard Aziz begin the conversation with the television studio, explaining his absence, but then the elevator doors closed, and she was left with her children, six eyes, peering up at her.

  “Your father is a marvelous man,” she whispered to them. “I can’t wait till you find out more about him. I can’t wait till you discover more about your country. And I can’t wait to learn about you.”

  She wound the stroller through the garden to the traditional picnic spot where she was surprised to find several of the maids, already setting up blankets, outdoor pillows, and a few lower, easy bassinets for the babies. They waved to her joyfully, taking the stroller from her and telling her to get comfortable. “We’ll take it from here, Miss Winters.”

  “Call me Amity!” she blushed.

  “One day, Miss Winters, one day,” came the jovial reply.

  Amity grinned inwardly, her thoughts turning to her work responsibilities. Although Aziz’s interview had fallen through, she had three meetings later that week with potential clients, all of whom truly needed her expertise. Above her, the sun dipped beneath a cloud, leaving her to lean on her elbow, comfortable in the shade. Her babies cooed happily in their bassinets. The maids placed a few plates of snacks before her, and Amity nibbled happily, waiting for her boyfriend to join them.

  After several moments more, Aziz appeared, wearing a looser suit—one more appropriate for family time, for casual picnicking in the gardens. He kissed her hello before giving a kiss to each of the babies. He looked like he was glowing in the wake of the interview cancellation.

  “You look happy,” she murmured.

  “I just couldn’t do it,” he said, shaking his head. “I finally realized what was more important to me. You know?”

  “Sure,” Amity said.

  “I hope it doesn’t disappoint you. I know you worked hard to secure that interview spot.”

  Amity chuckled. “You’re lucky I didn’t drive you all the way there and demand you go on. I’ve done that for a few clients in the past.”

  “And they pay you to do that?”

  Amity nodded. “Seems crazy, doesn’t it? But in the end, they thank me.”

  “Well. Since I don’t think I want to be a world-famous pop singer anytime soon, I don’t think I’ll be needing that kind of assistance,” Aziz teased. He tipped a date into his mouth and chewed it languidly, eyeing her with warmth. “But your clients this week—they’re looking forward to meeting you.”

  “I know. I got off the phone with Rama just a few hours ago,” Amity said, remembering, briefly, that Rama had dated Flora—had broken her heart for only a moment. “It seems like his image is in a pretty bad way right now.”

  Aziz sighed. “I don’t envy him. He could have had happiness, you know? He was engaged a few years ago to this wonderful girl. We all loved her. But he decided, instead, that he wanted the party to keep going.”

  “What happened to her?” Amity asked.

  “She moved away, to England, I think,” Aziz answered. “Heartbroken by that idiot. He didn’t realize what he had. I never, ever want to forget what it is I have.”

  Amity turned toward her babies. A slight breeze lifted through her hair. She wrapped her hands over her shrinking belly.

  “Anyway. That’s why I didn’t want to go in for the interview today,” Aziz told her. “I know what I know about our family. I know it’s beautiful, that it’s wholesome. And I don’t feel the need to prove that to anyone else. I mean, look at us.”

  Amity assessed the scene, then: the young, gorgeous family beneath the clouds and the sun, eating slowly in the garden. She shivered with what could only be deep, unquestionable joy. “It’s a kind of paradise, isn’t it?” she breathed.

  “It is. But it’s nothing I can put into words,” Aziz told her. “I can’t describe pure joy to a television interviewer. I doubt it’s ever been done, and I don’t think I’m talented enough to capture it.”

  Amity bowed her head. “When you have happiness, it’s so hard to point your finger at it. It’s so hard to frame it. It passes through you, and you become it,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Aziz said. “And I don’t want to ask for anyone else to give their approval. My life is more than enough for me. It completes me.” He took her hand, then. He traced her fingers with his own. “You’re more than I could have ever asked for, Amity. And our babies—well, I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  Amity crept closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder, nuzzling him. Beside them, their babies drifted into slumber. “Your people will know how good you are in time,” she told him. “Your image doesn’t need to be cultivated. There are so many better things to do with your time.”

  “Like making love to you,” he whispered. He kissed her deeply, then, bringing his hand behind her head to catch her. They held each other on the blanket, beneath the sun, feeling the path form before them: the path that would lead them to a beautiful future, to aging alongside one another, to finding peace and hope for each passing day.

  “The world is a better place because you’re in it,” Amity murmured between kisses. “I need you to know that.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden, at times joking together, passing the babies between them. The triplets cooed on the blanket, each in their matching purple onesie, kicking their honey-colored feet into the air.

  “Kamil looks just like you,” Amity laughed, tracing her finger over the baby’s cheek.

  “Then he’ll be a heartbreaker,” Aziz said, cradling Una’s head. “But we’ll never let the girls out of the house. Right?”

  Amity shook her head, her eyes dancing. “You aren’t going to be one of those fathers, are you?”

  “You know I can only be one of those fathers,” he said. “I’ll destroy any man who tries to break these girls’ hearts.”

  “They’ll love you more than anything, but they’ll be mortified by everything you do,” Amity teased.

  “I suppose that’s my lot in life.”

  “I’m looking forward to that,” Amity laughed.

  They continued like this, imagining the world they’d create for their family. Imagining the careers they’d have, the places they’d visit, the way they’d play tricks on their mother and father in the grand mansion.

  “Do you ever think about what you want to do next?” Amity asked Aziz several hours later. They were both splayed out on the blanket, their eyes to the late afternoon sky. It was nearly nightfall, and the blue was shrouded with orange and pink.

  “I think about starting my own charity, sometimes,” Aziz said, his voice thoughtful. “So often, I don’t approve of the tactics of the existing ones in Al-Mabbar.”

  Amity considered this, her mind rolling. Naturally, launching a charity would improve Aziz’s image immensely—but she didn’t want to say it, knowing full well that he wasn’t doing this for image reasons. “I’ll help you,” she murmured.

  “You would?” he asked her. His voice was quiet, lost in thought.

  “Of course. I’m here to help you with everything. For the rest of my life.”

  A few minutes later, the pair of them collected their children and headed upstairs, toward the nursery. They knelt low in the bassinets, splaying the babies comfortably, ensuring they didn’t wake them. And they stood, hand in hand, watching them sleeping.

  “It’s amazing how much they look alike, even now,” Aziz said. “I know they’ll all be so different one day.”

  “But they’ll still be ours,” Amity murmured, rubbing at the muscles in her back.

  “They will. And we’ll belong to each other. Even through the wrinkles and the weirdly-placed hairs that’ll grow from our cheeks and our chins and our backs,” Aziz laughed, tossing his hand over her shoulders.

  “Don’t say that so quickly,” Amity teased him, walking back toward the hallway, toward their bedroom. “I don’t know what I’ll think of your graying self in a few years.”

  “You’ll probably think I’m hideous,” Aziz whispered. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, carrying her toward the steps. “You won’t be able to look at me, let alone sleep next to me, or even make love to me.”

  Amity felt such lust for him in that moment. She nodded, leaning into him, linking their lips together. “You’re right. It’ll just be too disgusting for me,” she whispered. “It’ll be too much.”

  “I’m glad you agree,” he said. He lifted her onto the bed and lowered himself over her, kissing her cheek, her neck, before removing her dress. “I’m glad you agree that we just won’t be right for each other then.”

  Amity kissed him once more, her passion for him beaming through her. “Just shut up now,” she teased him, taking him over her. “Just shut up and be mine, now.”

  They lay on the large bed, in the stunning mansion in downtown Al-Mabbar, lost in the fury of their love for each other. As a PR executive, Amity knew she couldn’t have formed a more perfect image for her life. Luck was clearly on her side.

  The End

  To read what happened to Amity and Aziz next, sign up to Holly Rayner’s Subscriber Club below to download FREE bonus chapters, as well as news and discounts!

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  And now, as promised, here are the first few chapters of my prior novel, Bought For One Night: The Sheikh’s Offer

  ONE

  It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining, and a cool breeze wafted over the hills and down into LA. Glittering in front of me, my private pool beckoned as I sipped on a frozen margarita, lounging away another afternoon under the California sun.

  It should have been a perfect moment—one of those moments every wannabe actress in this godforsaken city dreams about having. It’s a moment that tells you unconditionally that you’ve made it. But there was no trace of that feeling for me; only a growing dread kept me company, eating away at the perfection of the day.

  I tried my best to chase it away with a refreshing swim and a good meal, but it was no use. My anxiety was king and all I could do was obey its every command. All that glittered here was not gold and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

  My mansion was modest by some Hollywood standards, yet it was still one of the largest on the street, formerly owned by some Golden Age starlet whose name I could never remember. I always had to look it up before I had a dinner or wrap party so I could regale my guests with its history, and usually they ate it up. It didn’t really matter what her name was. Soon, I might be joining her in the halls of obscurity, a name for the next It-Girl to forget when she bought this place out from under me.

  It was true what they said—Hollywood was a bitch goddess who devoured everyone, and now it was my turn. After a glorious ten-year run in my dream career, it seemed the well was drying up. Twenty-seven years old and apparently I was already washed up.

  I knew deep down that it wasn’t true—I had so much more art to devote my energy and passion to. But it didn’t seem like the industry wanted it from me anymore. One minute they adored me, with casting directors knocking down my door; the next, all I was offered were B-list horror movies and cliché TV soap romances.

  All of it had changed the minute things with Jack fell apart; that fact was impossible to ignore. I was already in trouble the day I had the audacity to turn 27, because Hollywood is nothing if not predictably sexist. Things took a brutal turn when he left me for a younger girl, and the media took the story and ran with it.

  Some people were on my side, sure; plenty of women in the industry had similar experiences to share. But it wasn’t enough, and too many people were eager to congratulate Jack on his girlfriend trade-in abilities, as if they were hoping he’d let them in on his secrets. They wanted to be just like him, with a hot blonde actress ten years his junior as arm candy. It wasn’t long before Jack spread stories about me being the ‘crazy ex-girlfriend’ to solidify that he had done the right thing by cheating on me. He had a bad-boy reputation to maintain, and the more notoriety he gained for doing something shocking, the better for his career.

  So he had sacrificed us—me—to that end, and it had worked, with me left alone to clean up the carnage. Every day, it felt like there was less and less to salvage. Even back when I was young and squeezing in auditions between waitressing shifts, I hadn’t felt as hopeless as I did now.