The Sheikh's Assistant Read online

  Epilogue

  After Morgan had agreed to marry Sofian, she had to prepare to be the crown princess. She had to learn Arabic language, learn about the Kaslan culture, she had to do so many things she had never had to do in her life. Fortunately for her, his parents had accepted her to be their daughter-in-law. Morgan had been so worried that her not being from an upper-class background would hinder her relationship with Sofian but it had not.

  She had done some charity work and had gone to many events. The public had taken a liking into her. She spoke her mind, she was free-spirited and she was down-to-earth. They felt that Morgan was someone they could relate to.

  Brooke had been so happy to hear about Morgan and Sofian getting married. She felt the need to gloat about being correct. She had predicted that the two would fall in love. She was also excited about going to Kaslan for the wedding and being a bridesmaid.

  The coronation had been a bore. Both Sofian and Morgan had been bored at the ceremony. It was so formal. So many ministers, governors and other royal family members had attended the coronation. Sofian had flown Morgan’s family to Kaslan for the coronation.

  Then there was the wedding. It took place a month after the coronation. Morgan had wanted a simple wedding but being the crown princess did not give her that option. The wedding had been so extravagant and elaborate. So many people attended. So much money had been spent on it. Her dress alone had costed over fifty thousand dollars.

  “I’m glad I married you,” Sofian whispered to Morgan as they danced in the middle of the room.

  “I’m glad you did,” Morgan replied. All eyes were on them as they danced. The guests cheered and clapped. There were others ululating. Sofian dipped his head and kissed his wife.

  “All those times you stared at me with an expressionless gaze, what were you thinking?” Morgan asked Sofian. She had always wanted to ask him about it.

  “Different things,” he replied.

  “Like?”

  “I was either taking in your beauty or I was just wanting to take you.”

  Morgan’s eyes flew open. She pushed him playfully. “You possessed such dirty thoughts,” she said.

  “I am a man.” Sofian shrugged his shoulders.

  “All those times?” Morgan shook her head. There were too many times it had happened.

  “In fact I want to take you now.”

  “Sofian! There are people around.”

  “So what? I desire my wife. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “No.” Morgan giggled. Sofian pressed a kiss against her cheek and then her neck. She giggled even more.

  “Then let’s go start our wedding night early, Queen Morgan Bukhari.”

  “You’re so cheesy.” Morgan burst into laughter. Sofian took her hand.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I hope you can continue to enjoy the reception. My wife and I are now leaving,” Sofian announced to everyone. It was better to just announce their departure. The crowd cheered and clapped as they left. Brooke whistled really loudly. Morgan smiled and shook her head. She expected no less from Brooke.

  “Let’s go, my sheikh,” Morgan said to Sofian as they walked out of their wedding reception.

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  ANOTHER STORY YOU MAY LIKE

  Investment in Love

  By Emily Walters

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  Chapter 1

  Calvin Barnard was at work at his job as a stockbroker when he got the call. He was sitting in front of his three computer monitors, watching the numbers on a share in an up-and-coming technology firm and getting just about ready to hit sell, when a phone rang.

  He reached for the desk phone, blue eyes still on the monitor before him, but no noise came through the earpiece. Oops. That meant it was his personal cellphone. His strong hands fished around in a pocket to pull out the slim device. With the high-tech rectangle in his hand, he slid to accept the call, but his eyes never left the incoming data. Was it time to sell?

  “Barnard,” he said, pushing back one stray brown curl that insisted on falling over his ear despite his expensive haircut.

  “Mr. Calvin Barnard?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Walter Greenfeld, calling on behalf of the estate of Loretta Meyer.” The voice on the other end of the phone was that of an older man, gravelly and dignified, and Calvin didn’t recognize it at all.

  “I’m sorry, say that again?”

  “Mr. Barnard, my firm is settling the distribution of your Great-Aunt Loretta’s estate. My name is Walter Greenfeld. I think it’d be best if we could talk in person.”

  Great-Aunt Loretta? Calvin finally looked away from the screens before him, reflexively pinching the bridge of his straight, Roman nose and sighing. He thought he remembered meeting a Great-Aunt Loretta once, way back before his mom had died. Curly white hair, thick glasses, but that was about all that came to mind. And now she was dead, apparently, if a lawyer wanted to talk about her estate.

  The computer dinged with an update, and Calvin suddenly realized he’d been quiet for an awkwardly long time. “Look, Mr.—Mr. Greenfeld, you said? I’m just going to be honest with you: I only met my Great-Aunt Loretta once that I can recall. I’m sure she was a perfectly nice woman, and I wish I’d had a chance to get to know her, but as things stand, I don’t know what her will and estate have to do with me.”

  “Mr. Barnard, I really think it would be best if we could talk in person. In matters like this I really prefer to meet face-to-face. I can fly to New York if necessary—I believe that’s where you’re located?”

  “Uh, yeah, yeah I am.” He shifted in his chair, rolling a pen between his fingers. “Can I ask where you’re located if you’d need to fly to New York?” It hadn’t even occurred to him that his great-aunt might have lived far away. But come to think of it, when he’d visited her with his mom, she had lived in Oregon somewhere.

  “Greenfeld, Campton, and Associates is located in Portland, Oregon, but we have offices as far south as Carterville, which is where your great-aunt was living.”

  Calvin leaned back in his chair, propping his scuffed dress shoes on the desk before him. “Mr. Greenfeld, I appreciate your intentions with wanting to meet face-to-face, but I’m busy and it sounds like it would be a lot of trouble for you. I can’t imagine that whatever Great-Aunt Loretta might have left me is worth all that time and effort to discuss. Could you make an exception and let me know on the phone?” No way I’m flying to Oregon, and I doubt you actually want to come out here, he thought to himself.

  “Mr. Barnard, I’m actually certain it’s worth the time.”

  “Well, what are we talking?”

  Silence ticked by on the other end of the line before the lawyer finally spoke.

  “Something in the realm of $10 million, Mr. Barnard, but there are some delicate conditions involved.”

  Calvin’s feet fell off the desk and he dropped the pen.

  “Ten million dollars?!”

  ***

  Two days later, Calvin found himself leaving his tiny apartment for a meeting at a nearby café.

  The place was incredibly nice, with towering ceilings and gently twinkling chandeliers. When he told the maître d’ he was meeting Mr. Greenfeld, the man led him straight to a curtained-off alcove in the corner.

  The elderly lawyer was tall and quite friendly looking—nothing like Calvin had been picturing on the phone. He shook hands with a firm but not too firm grip and settled in behind a sheaf of papers.

  “I took the liberty of ordering us a pot of tea,” the man said cheerfully, “but you won’t hurt my feelings if you want to order something else.”

  “Tea is fine, thank you.” Calvin actually wasn’t that big on tea, but he’d rather get to the point quickly than wait around for a cup of strong coffee.
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br />   Mr. Greenfeld poured a steaming cup and slid it before the younger man.

  Calvin stirred at it anxiously with a spoon. It didn’t need stirring, but he didn’t know how to open the conversation with this lawyer. He barely even remembered Great-Aunt Loretta. There had to be some mistake.

  After the lawyer had precisely measured out two spoonfuls of sugar and stirred it into his tea, he took a slow sip. “I imagine you have a lot of questions.”

  Calvin laughed. “You could say that.”

  “You say you only met your great-aunt once?”

  His dark blue eyes went solemn and he nodded. “I wish I’d gotten to know her, but the fact is I’d forgotten she existed until you called me.”

  The lawyer nodded slowly, creased face softening. “I never met her. One of our associates took her will. But it was well known that she was reclusive. She rarely left her house in Carterville, as far as I’m aware.”

  Calvin didn’t even know what to say now, other than to yell “Tell me about the money!” but that was hardly polite. Unknowingly, he twisted up the cloth napkin between his fingers, catching the eye of the man across the table. Around them, the low murmur of diners and tinkling silverware drifted.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnard. I’m sure you’re very anxious to hear the details of your great-aunt’s estate. As I mentioned over the phone, we are talking a very large amount of money.”

  He moistened his dry throat before responding. “Ten million dollars.” Surprisingly, Calvin’s voice didn’t shake, although he’d expected it to.

  Mr. Greenfeld dabbed at his lips precisely. “Yes, $10 million. However, Loretta Meyer attached some very unusual, very specific provisions to the inheritance.”

  Calvin was pretty sure he didn’t care what they were. He’d visit the woman’s grave once a day or build a monument in her honor as big as the Statue of Liberty if that meant getting $10 million. “Go on,” he said.

  “Well, along with the liquidated wealth, which comes in the form of bonds, stock shares, and of course a lump sum in the bank, Loretta also willed you her home in Carterville, Oregon. It’s an aging mansion—very beautiful, but in need of repair. The property is yours no matter what—”

  After a long pause, Calvin nervously spoke. “But what?”

  “But there are certain conditions on the monetary wealth. It’s a very unusual requirement, Mr. Barnard, but allow me to reassure you in advance that it is legal.”

  The young stockbroker tilted his head, wondering just what Mr. Greenfeld was being so cryptic about.

  Finally, the lawyer continued, looking uncomfortable. “According to your great-aunt’s will, you are willed the entire remnant of her wealth. This inheritance is to be held provisional for a time of three months—beginning today, when I inform you of the condition—and if, at the end of that period, you have married a resident of Carterville, will be paid into your possession. If you fail to marry a Carterville woman by that date, the inheritance will be forfeit and shall instead be paid to a charity organization. Furthermore, your potential bride may not be paid for her part in the marriage, nor can she be informed of the conditions until after your wedding.”

  Calvin sat there stupidly for a long moment. So many questions raced through his mind that he didn’t know where to start. Marriage? But he was only 25. He had been working so much there hadn’t even been time to date. Sure, he wanted a wife and a family someday, but he also wanted to be a successful career man first. And Carterville? Where was that, even? He’d never heard of the town—and if it was in Oregon, that meant it was on the other side of the continent.

  “Why me?” was the question that finally came out.

  “I’m sorry?” Mr. Greenfeld looked puzzled, if decidedly more relaxed now that the news had been broken.

  “Why did Aunt Loretta—Great-Aunt Loretta, I guess—leave everything to me? Why am I the one who has to—to—to marry? What about my cousins? Surely they have just as much or more connection to the woman as I did.”

  The lawyer shrugged, wrinkling up the shoulders of his crisp gray suit. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnard, but I have no idea. All I know is that Ms. Meyer was of sound mind at the time she wrote this will, and that the conditions laid out within are legally binding.”

  “But marriage?”

  Mr. Greenfeld shrugged again helplessly. “I know this must be overwhelming, but I’m telling you all I know. If you are willing to accept the conditions, you’ll need to sign here, here, and here.” He made a few X’s on different sheets of paper. “Otherwise, let me know, and I will sign the funds over to the designated charity organization, and you will merely receive the deed to the house.”

  For one very long moment, Calvin sat frozen, staring at the papers. Ten million dollars. He couldn’t even fathom the amount. Surely anything was worth $10 million, even a rushed marriage. He could just find some girl who appreciated money, marry her and divorce her quick as that, and then pay her generously for her troubles.

  “Okay,” he said, and reached for the pen.

  Dozens of signed pages of legal papers, five hours of flight, four phone calls to his managers, three suitcases, and a 90-minute rental car drive later, Calvin found himself staring at a green sign nestled in among some evergreens.

  “Welcome to Carterville, Oregon! Pop. 2,478.”

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  About Emily Walters

  Emily Walters lives in California with her beloved husband, three daughters, and two dogs. She began writing after high school, but it took her ten long years of writing for newspapers and magazines until she realized that fiction is her real passion. Emily likes to create a mental movie in her reader's mind about charismatic characters, their passionate relationships and interesting adventures. When she isn't writing romantic stories, she can be found reading a fiction book, jogging, or traveling with her family. She loves Starbucks, Matt Damon and Argentinian tango.

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