7 Zain

7

Zain

“Khalid, open the door before I break it!” 

My guards had been waiting for me outside Jasmine’s suite when I left, asking me if I was okay. Which I was. I had finished the physical training session and answered the questions about my diet to the interviewer even though I wished I was with her, feeding sliced mangoes to her.

Rahim had found me after the interview with the magazine, asking me if I had made the person whom I had slept with sign an NDA. After taking one look at my pale face, he asked me for a name which I swore I didn’t know. His only question that bothered me the most was if I had used protection or not. 

That was why I was panicking and forcing my brother to open the door to his room so I could ask for his help. I was sure he had forgotten all about our little chat back in the club the night before.

“Finally!” I said when the door opened, and my face dropped at the sight of the twin princesses. I blinked at them when they offered me a small wave and kissed my brother’s cheek before walking out of his room. 

“You look like you need something to drink,” Khalid said, taking one look at me and tying his robe, allowing me to follow him inside.

“It’s eleven in the morning,” I deadpanned at the sunlight streaming inside his room. Fresh air breezed through the balcony that opened up to the gardens. My eyes ached at the sight of his messily organized room, the empty canvas by his bed is blank despite the colors he had poured out to paint.

He shrugged, filling a glass of water for me and whiskey for himself. “That has never stopped me.”

Swallowing the water, I told him what had happened. How I had seen her in the club, kissed her, and spent the night with her. I ignored the gleeful look on his face when he found out I had sex and told him about me not thinking about the NDA, her real name, or that I had forgotten whether we had used protection. I didn’t tell him about the email. That I had written my own email on a piece of paper that can allow anyone into the secure database used by the royals.

As a royal, it was necessary to get an NDA signed by the partner who will have a physical relationship with you. It was for the safety and privacy of ourselves and the country. If the person doesn’t sign the NDA, we won’t have any form of relationship from there on. Even the twin princesses must have signed them to spend the night in Khalid’s bed, and vice versa. 

“So, what do you think I…” I fumbled over my words, unable to bear to face him.

“I have the paintings of all the sex anatomy we used to educate Zara when she was eleven. Do you want me to explain what—”

“I know what happened, Khalid.” I exclaimed, holding my head. “I know what sex is, for fuck’s sake.”

“I needed to make sure because you are blushing and talking about it like a shy virgin,” he announced. “Oh, wait, you were a virgin until last night.”

I didn’t reply. My head was exploding. My heart was exploding. My stomach, thankfully, didn’t feel like it was going to explode. All I could think about was protection. Not getting that woman, my fake-wife, Jasmine, pregnant. I didn’t want to get anyone pregnant. 

Ugh, why did I have sex? Because I was thinking with my other head. 

“You seriously don’t remember using a condom?” Khalid asked, concern lacing his voice. 

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I remember stopping this guy who wanted to touch her. She told him no, and he didn’t seem to listen. When I stepped in, she introduced me as her husband—”

“Interesting.”

“And she looked so sweet and beautiful that I called her my wife and… said something and we kissed. I remember that vividly.” I didn’t add that it was the best kiss I have ever had. If I touched my lips, I could still feel her there. Soft and pliant and enthralling. 

That one kiss had ruined me. 

“By the hickeys on your neck, I can assume things went past kissing?” 

“Yes.” I rubbed them, the warm tingle on my neck. It went way past kissing. “I am afraid that I didn’t use any protection.”

“Fuck…”

“Fuck indeed,” I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. 

“Do you know her name?”  

“I don’t know her name. We kept up with our husband-and-wife roles. She told me her name was Jasmine but I am sure it’s not her true name.” I sheepishly added, “But I said my name was Zain.”

My brother laughed, my shoulders slumping as I shook my head. Just one night of forgetting that I was a sultan and I am in a mess.

“And you didn’t even remember about the NDA?”

I sighed, meeting his gaze.

Khalid gave me a look after swallowing the whiskey. “You are so bad at this, brother. If you don’t remember using protection, then we have only one option.”

“What?” 

“We ask her.” 

***

It had been two days since my sister’s nineteenth birthday. Zara had seemed a little distant, but Khalid and I thought it would be best to give her space until she came and talked to us about what bothered her. 

We had gone back to the hotel room after lunch with guards flanking us. But we were too late. The woman in gold had vanished. There was no trace of her except the hint of jasmine in the air. The irony.

I had scoffed when I checked her name on the hotel guest list. She had checked in as Jasmine. I knew it was a false name, even though it suited her well. But she wasn’t Jasmine. 

I had found only one thing from that hotel room that assured me that that night wasn’t any dream. That I had tasted heaven when I had kissed her. 

A golden intricate piece of jewelry with an emerald placed as a dewdrop. It was a maang tikka. A traditional piece of head jewelry that would sell for more than the hotel building I had been standing in. 

I had kept it to myself, making sure I didn’t ruin it, and wondered about the name of its owner. The woman in gold. My pretend-wife for the night.

I could do a small interview in the media and ask the woman herself to step forward to claim it and privately talk to her about that night. But I couldn’t do it, I didn’t want to make that matter public. That I, Sultan of Azmia, didn’t remember if I had used protection during sex or not. I didn’t want any scandals attached to my name or hers.

The worst part about all of it was that I hadn’t received any sort of anonymous email.