Page 37 of The Demon
“This is his home?”
She nods. “One of them.”
“Do you have a family, Fatima?” I am trying desperately to form a connection with this woman because she might be able to give me the information I need. I want to discover more about my enigmatic captor, but she remains silent, causing me to say in exasperation, “I’m only making conversation.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. Ortega, I am not permitted to speak.”
Remembering the silent servants in Massimo’s mansion, I’m grateful she still has her tongue at least and as she steps forward to brush my hair, I let her. I’m done fighting, and my acceptance of this situation frightens me. Anything could happen today, but my biggest fear is ending up back at my father’s house, dreading an arranged marriage to Mario.
As Fatima goes about her task, I wonder if she tugs on my hair for a reason. She appears polite, but there’s an animosity that flashes from her eyes and I can tell she disapproves of me. I’m a stranger; a woman who doesn’t play by their rules and it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable with her role regarding me.
When my hair is tied securely behind me in a ponytail, she proceeds to make up my face. When I turn, I stare at an Arabian princess in the mirror because, despite her flaws, Fatima is a genius.
“Wow, you’re good.” I stare at the smoky eyes and deep kohl outlining them and the red painted lips and natural blush make me appear beautiful for once. She has transformed me and yet my praise doesn’t even draw a smile from her lips as she pulls me rather harshly to my feet. Then she dresses me in the finest silk lingerie before pulling a soft cashmere dress over it, that caresses my skin almost better than Malik did last night. She hands me the burqa and as it falls to my feet, she fusses around me, making sure that every part of me is hidden except for my eyes.
“You are ready.”
She steps back and my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten yet and I say through my veil, “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat. I’m starving.”
“No, Miss. Ortega. There is nothing.”
I’m taken aback by the venom in her words and confused because surely Malik wouldn’t starve me; it doesn’t seem like him and as Fatima turns away, I note the bitterness in her eyes and wonder if she is following orders.
I keep quiet and follow her from the room, wondering if I will ever see it again and as we step into the hallway, I stare at the wealth all around me and it’s obvious apartments like this don’t come cheap.
Plush soft cream carpeting lines my route and the simple marble walls and tall arches give a sense of space like no other. The air is clean and pure and the huge pillars that we pass through appear to be made from cool white marble. There are various urns on pedestals that appear to be made from gold and small, elegant, gold-edged pieces of furniture are set at intervals against the walls.
She leads me to the entrance and points to one of the couches. “Sit. Mr. Karim will be here soon.”
I do as she says because I’m not up for an argument. My nerves are fully in control now and it’s only when a man dressed in the usual white traditional attire heads our way that I look up with interest. He says something in Arabic to Fatima, who answers him back and from the heated nature of the exchange, I wonder if they’re having an argument.
Then he turns to me and says in perfect English.
“Please follow me, Miss. Ortega.”
I glance at Fatima, whose eyes are flashing maliciously, and I’m strangely nervous about what happens next, and as I follow the man, I wonder where he’s taking me.
Fatima brings up the rear and I wish I was alone right now, but as the man heads through another large, gothic arch, I note we are in a dining room with panoramic views of the city.
On the huge table set before the window is a feast that would be gratefully received at any King’s banquet and the man points to one of the seats and says apologetically, “Please forgive my housekeeper. Mr. Karim has instructed that you must eat a full meal.”
I glance nervously at Fatima, who steps forward and helps me off with the veil and then turns away and blends into the shadows.
It’s surreal as I eat a lonely meal, being watched by two servants who appear at odds with one another, however, I can’t fault the food because Malik obviously employs the best chef in Dubai. As I eat, I peer out of the window to distract my attention from the animosity in the room and note a place that is both beautiful and breath-taking in equal measure. The sun is beaming through the window, despite the hour, and I admire the tall buildings that point to the heavens, all vying to reach the highest point.
It certainly is an interesting country and appears shrouded in secrecy and shadows. The wealth surrounding me is truly spectacular and I feel like a pauper as I witness a life that far exceeds my own. I always believed we were wealthy, but this grandeur makes us appear like paupers and it strikes me that if Malik does follow through with his promise and we do marry, how will I fit into this world?
“Eliza.” A deep voice makes me jump and I look around and watch Malik sweep into the room, resembling an Arab prince. My mouth drops as I take in his long white robe and headgear, the dark stubble on his face the perfect accompaniment to his dark, flashing eyes.
He takes the seat at the opposite end of the table and his stare alone causes me to blush as he reaches for a glass of water and tosses it back in one.
“We leave in five minutes.”
A simple statement that makes my heart drop because this could be the moment this journey ends for me. He notes my apprehension and glances at the two silent servants standing against the wall.
“Leave us.”
His command allows no room to argue, and they do as he says without another word.