Who doesn´t like a challenge?

Chapter 4

Who doesn't like a challenge?

Hazel

Those black gloves in his hands are undoubtedly a habit of his, not because he is freezing or something like that. He also wears Armani; I noticed his style – I do love clothes! The brand-new shoes shows that he doesn't like wearing anything old or he just  give things away after a short time of use. A habit I can't afford to have, as I'm a poor belly dancer. But he's handsome, that's for sure. The man smells like money and vanity. That kind of typically masculine vanity, the vanity of how much he can buy people with what he owns. In my case, it must have been easy for him to pick me out from the showcase.

Aziz must be more than just someone who provides him services; he must be a partner or some close friend to whom he confided that he's dominant, and Aziz, being an excellent negotiator he could easily indicate that I was on the cheapest shelf in the market.

Three hundred thousand dollars must mean nothing to this man, obviously. Maybe he eats donuts with golden threads for breakfast. I remembered the coffee with gold dust served at a fancy restaurant in the Burj Al Arab Hotel. That architectural wonder where even the hotel lobby is made with gold leaves. If the cappuccino has 24-carat gold powder, then also his favorite donuts has. I can't stand these people! More than half of the world's wealth is concentrated in the hands of people like them! Well, but there was nothing more to complain about; I had already approached him in the parking lot and accepted the price. Standing here, reflecting on something I just did, won't lead me anywhere.

I head towards my car. The presentation is over, and I'm as hungry as ten camels! I can't accept this; I'd be selling myself! Oh, I'm so confused. I get into the car and change my clothes right there. I put on my jeans and a white t-shirt, unlike when I came in a hurry. Then I tie my hair up in a messy bun, with loose strands. Well, not necessarily selling myself, but my mother needs me urgently! I fight against my thoughts. I think I'm about to make a huge mistake, but I need the money!

I leave hastily, as always, and hit the streets of Dubai. My brand-new apartment is in District 14 of Jumeirah Village Circle. It's close to the main road, Sheikh Bin Zayed Road, but not so close as to be bothered by the traffic noise. It's a peaceful location.

I access the condominium with my resident card and enter the garage. The place I live in is not really as luxurious by Sheik standards, but for me, it's an absurd luxury. We have a gym, two pools, and a magnificent garden just for residents. I love these details that only exist in this city of contradictions. We can do anything, but we shouldn't do everything. There's a religion that prohibits numerous things, but a kingdom that turns a blind eye to many others. And it's convenient to have people from all over the world here, and that includes us women who dance and need some security while moving around the city, as we're not courtesans but rather women who live off their art. It's complicated to make a living from art anywhere in the world, but in Dubai, when you dance, you can easily be mistaken for something else. However, when I came here for work, I was already aware of this reality. I came prepared to face the adversities of an extremely religious country. Being a prepared woman is a great advantage here. The presence of people from all over the world and from all cultures provides a sense of security because there is respect for differences. Of course, there are many norms and restrictions, but at least, despite our clothes used in events, we are not vulgarly harassed by men. At least, if some of them have thoughts of great disapproval or pure lust, in this city, they hide it very well.

Dubai is not just a city focused on tourism with a bustling commercial scene. Foreigners really live here, work here, and build their families here. It's constantly growing, with construction everywhere you go. It's no wonder that many engineers like Jonathan come here to make a name for themselves and seek fortune. Well, at least I believe that's his profession; it's not stated on the card he gave me, but the contract for tonight's event mentioned some engineering venture being celebrated, and he's the owner.

The bastard has a personal and a professional card. His card is back in my hands as I stand in front of my door, rummaging through my bag for the access card to my apartment. I wonder if his card is also gold-plated? I chuckle to myself with these silly thoughts.

"Massa’ an-nur," I respond to a passing neighbor who greets me with a "good evening" - "massa’ alkhair," he said.

It took me some time to get used to the everyday greetings in Arabic, but I tried to learn everything I could; in a unknow country it is really relevant. The familiar neighbor is friendly and surely forgives any of my pronunciation mistakes.

As soon as I enter my apartment and close the door, I strip off all my clothes. I'm hungry, so I take a quick shower, enough to get rid of the sweat and relax.

The night was eventful. I'm tired. Not physically, but mentally exhausted.

"I must be crazy..." I speak aloud to myself as I dry off, berating myself, dwelling on the impulsive decision I made in the parking lot. And I had to hear that I'm "just a little intelligent" - I mimic Jonathan's gesture to me, as if he was diminishing the size of my mental capacity. "Just a little intelligent," I continue muttering to myself as I imitate him, making a funny voice and a disapproving face at his audacity.

I burst into laughter. I must be going nuts indeed, talking to myself alone, imitating others.

That cheers me up. Thinking about it, his provocative side challenges me. Wrapped in a robe, I step out of the bathroom and gaze at that beautiful apartment.

A luxury for me. Different from my simple little home in England. Simple but cozy, with the scent of "home sweet home." With a small fireplace, but filled with great memories. Some trinkets on the furniture, hardwood floors suitable for our cold climate... my mind brings back memories of plans I made with my mother and sister. Plans to know part of the world, travel, and experience Arab culture up close, which we always appreciated. Our conversations imagining beautiful apartments with cool floors, perfect for Dubai's hot climate, large kitchen sinks where my mother imagined herself  cooking for us, large windows showing all the beauty of the city.

My mind returns to reality. My eyes scan the apartment, which is almost exactly as we had imagined. I couldn't afford to let it slip away after so much sadness about my mother's situation. It was during one of those conversations by the fireplace that she felt the first symptom of something wrong.

I try not to cry. Some tears flow stubbornly.

There I stand, looking around me. I think about all our plans. Those conversations and dreams simply starting to  materialize around me, and I couldn't let them slip away!

Compared to the coziness of my former home, the clean and somewhat cold atmosphere of that apartment wasn't pleasant. But I was determined to make it a home.

All that was missing was time and a little more financial stability to give it our "lovetouch." But everything I had done, since I arrived in Dubai, was work.

Despite all my doubts about accepting this crazy opportunity, it was clear now that I had made the right decision. Such an opportunity doesn't come knocking twice at your door. For the vast majority of people, it never happens. I wouldn't throw it away.

I reheat the rest of the lunch while thoughts come and go. It's delicious; I'm hungry.

I eat greedily the food while looking out the window; Dubai is still cheerful and full of life. I just start to feel better now, more confident. Nothing like a bit of silence and a sated hunger to help me better reflect on a situation like that.

No matter what that man might be thinking about me or my intelligence - I make the same odd face I had made before, remembering his teasing.

"Let's see who has a tiny intelligence, Mr. Jonathan!" If I could talk to my sister right now, we would probably laugh a lot and come up with some prank, some joke to revenge on him.

I miss her. And along with some memories, it comes to my mind that I'll have to come up with something to tell my mother about a sudden "marriage" with an unknown man for her, Jonathan. It won't be easy. My mother knows me very well. She also knows that our long-term plans don't involve romance. A wedding? Unthinkable!

Telling the truth is out of the question. I absolutely cannot bring any kind of worry or distress to her at this delicate moment.

A good night's sleep and some time are all I need to come up with a solution. The city is sparkling outside, but my eyes are already closing. The glass of wine helps me relax. I don't drink much, and alcohol is expensive and hard to purchase in this city. This bottle was a gift. A tasteful gift.

I'm much calmer now. Either way, after a good night's rest, I can still wake up not so sure and be able to back out.

One thought makes me smile slyly. That man's provocative nature seems to be like a driving spring that pushes me to accept the proposal. After all, who doesn't like a challenge?