Читать книгу Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son - Carol Marinelli - Страница 11

NEW YORK, THE CITY of Dreams.

And for Aubrey Johnson, New York was also a city of might-have-beens.

How she wished she were here under different circumstances, but instead of arriving in Manhattan to study music, as she had once hoped to, Aubrey was here to say goodbye to a man who had given her a chance.

Only she hadn’t taken it.

The day had only just begun and already Aubrey was tired. She was at the very end of an ear infection and the flight from Vegas through the night to JFK hadn’t helped matters.

Jobe’s funeral was at midday and that it was a private, very high-profile funeral to which she hadn’t been invited didn’t deter Aubrey. She knew a few tricks and would try to get in, but if not, then she’d pay her last respects from a distance.

It felt important to be here today.

Aubrey headed for the restrooms and there her denim skirt, sandals and loose top were replaced with a black slip dress that she had borrowed from a friend.

It was a little too big for Aubrey’s slender frame, but she had a shawl to wear over her shoulders. She pulled on black pantyhose and court shoes. The clothes that she had taken off were neatly folded and packed into her slim black shoulder bag. Aubrey would not be paying for storage.

She took the AirTrain and then the subway and, following the instructions her friend had given her, found herself on a very busy street on a crisp spring day in Manhattan.

Aubrey stood for a moment soaking it all in, her head tipped back as she gazed up in awe at the tall buildings, but she was soon jolted by the sea of people walking determinedly by. Aubrey headed into a large department store and headed up a level to an in-store coffee shop and bought a well-deserved drink.

She had budgeted carefully for today.

For the last few weeks, having seen on the news that Jobe was nearing the end, she had been trying to put a little away whenever she could. It had been hard. Her ear infection had meant her balance was off, and so she’d been unable to do trapeze, and the tips were less when waiting tables. Still, she’d saved enough to buy the cheapest return flights for her and her mom to attend the funeral.

But Stella had refused to come, insisting she wanted to stay home.

Aubrey’s mom was a Vegas lifer and loved it. Or she had loved it.

Now she never went further than the porch of their trailer, and that was only after dark.

Aubrey made her coffee last then, when it was done, she popped a mint and an antibiotic pill and took the escalator down to the make-up counter. There she tried lipsticks on the back of her hand until the assistant came over and asked if she could help.

‘I hope so,’ Aubrey sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for really. I don’t usually wear make-up...’ That wasn’t true, Aubrey wore several inches of it each night when she performed, but if her friend was right then the assistant should offer a make-over. Sure enough, she was soon invited to take a seat on a high stool, except Aubrey hesitated.

It felt wrong.

‘I wear stage make-up,’ she admitted.

‘So you’re looking for a more natural look?’ the assistant asked.

‘Yes, but...’ Aubrey took a breath. The young woman was around the same age as herself, and no doubt relying on commission and hoping that Aubrey would make some purchases after the make-over. There was no chance of that and Aubrey admitted the truth. ‘I actually can’t afford to buy anything,’

Their eyes met for a moment, but then the assistant gave her a small smile. ‘At least you’re honest.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me give you a make-over anyway. Hopefully we’ll pull in a crowd and both come out winning.’

Soon she was sitting on the high stool. ‘So where are you off to?’ the make-up artist asked, glancing at Aubrey’s black attire. ‘A funeral?’

‘Yes, for a family friend.’ Aubrey nodded. ‘Though it’s going to be very well-heeled. I don’t want to stand out.’

‘It must be the day for funerals. Today’s Jobe Devereux’s—’ Her voice halted when she felt the heat sear in Aubrey’s cheeks. ‘That’s where you’re headed?’

Jobe was New York City royalty and so, when Aubrey nodded, the make-up assistant knew exactly what her customer was up against. ‘Let’s get to work, then,’ she said. ‘I’m Vanda, by the way.’

‘Aubrey.’

Vanda plugged in some flat irons and smoothed out Aubrey’s wavy blonde hair before taking a very close look at her face. ‘You have the most incredible bone structure.’

‘You should have seen my mother’s,’ Aubrey said. ‘She had the most amazing cheekbones.’

‘Had?’

Aubrey didn’t answer. Her mom insisted that her injuries were kept quiet, and even far from Vegas still she didn’t reveal how her mother’s looks had been ravaged in a fire.

‘So...’ Vanda asked another question as she worked. ‘If you wear stage make-up, what do you do?’

‘All sorts,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘I dance in some shows and do a bit of trapeze...’

‘Get out!’

‘Nothing too glamorous,’ Aubrey was honest. ‘Anything and everything really...’

Anything and everything to avoid going into the oldest profession in the world.

It beckoned to Aubrey, of course it did. When the rent was overdue, when the shifts at work dried up...when her mother, disfigured in a fire, needed her meds. But Aubrey had found other ways to make ends meet.

Jobe Devereux’s money hit her account each and every month.

And each and every month the very generous sum had been spent.

Aubrey had let him think that she was studying music and Jobe, estranged from her mother and a busy man, had never checked.

He’d trusted her, Aubrey guessed, yet instead of education the money had gone on surgery, doctors’ bills, medication, rehabilitation, more surgery...

More medication.

Even her mom thought that she was on the game. It was never said outright, of course, but it was Aubrey who took care of the bills and Stella never asked where the money came from.

Aubrey had had serious offers—and some rather glamorous ones too—but she’d declined them all. In truth, she mistrusted men. Her mother had been an escort, that was how Aubrey had come about. Her mom had, for a brief time, been a showgirl, but when parts in the big Vegas shows had got fewer her mom had done what she’d had to to make ends meet.

Until Jobe had come into her mom’s life there had been a parade of men through their home, and it had left Aubrey both cynical and scared of sex. Despite the skimpy outfits and provocative moves, she had never been so much as kissed, let alone anything else.

‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

And it really was a transformation.

Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’

‘You’re going to blend right in,’ Vanda said, and then glanced down at Aubrey’s rather cheap dress, but decided there was nothing that she could do about that. ‘I’ll give you a sample size of the lipstick so you can top up before the service.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Have you seen how many customers I now have?’ Vanda said. ‘I really hope today goes as well as it can for you.’

So did Aubrey.

She might appear streetwise, but she was terrified.

* * *

Crowds were gathered and the security was tight, with the street cordoned off, but it did not deter Aubrey. She walked towards the barrier and spoke to a uniformed security guard. ‘My driver took me to the wrong drop-off,’ she attempted, but was immediately cut off with a question.

‘Name?’

‘Aubrey,’ she mumbled. ‘Aubrey Johnson.’

‘Wait there.’

There was no chance of getting in, Aubrey knew that. She certainly wouldn’t be on the guest list. Still, she was used to slipping into concerts and things and had hoped to find a chink in security’s armour, a group to tag onto, or even a less-than-vigilant security guard.

No such luck.

He was talking into his mouthpiece and, knowing that she wouldn’t be on the private guest list, Aubrey’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a vantage point that might give her at least a view of the casket. She wanted to say goodbye, she really did, not just on behalf of her mother but for herself.

‘This way, Miss Johnson.’

She turned around at the sound of her name and blinked in surprise as the black velvet rope was pulled back and she realised that she’d been allowed through.

It was a mistake.

Of that she was certain.

Johnson was a common surname after all, but Aubrey took good news when it came.

‘Follow that group,’ the security guard told her.

Aubrey did so, climbing the stone stairs and then standing in line to sign the book of condolences before heading in. She kept her head down, worried that security might realise their mistake, because she was rather certain that she shouldn’t have been allowed in.

And that was how Khalid first saw her.

Alerted that one of the mystery women was here and about to sign the book of condolences, Khalid scanned the line.

His eyes drifted past her twice, but then a gentleman stepped back and he saw her.

From the way she had been painted, from the photos he had seen, Khalid had rather expected a less demure figure.

She was tiny.

A mere wisp.

Her blonde head was bowed down and around her slender shoulders there was a lace shawl that she clutched with one hand.

Khalid made his way over to the line-up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the people who stood behind her, and promptly stepped in. They didn’t argue, and not just because it was a funeral. Despite the fact he was today clean-shaven and wearing a black suit, there was still a commanding air to Khalid that had people instinctively defer to him.

In his country they would, of course, have knelt.

Aubrey was far too worked up to notice the movement in the queue behind her.

It was his scent that reached her first.

Khalid always smelled divine—al-lubān, or frankincense as it was known here, had been subtly blended with oil of guaiac wood from a palo santo tree that had been gifted to the palace. To that there was added a note of bergamot, cardamom and saffron, all blended in the Al-Zahan desert by a mystic, exclusively for Khalid.

It was subtle yet captivating.

So much so that when it reached Aubrey her head rose like a meerkat’s and she turned to its source. A man towered over her, so she had to look up from the black tie she first glimpsed. Up to the thick white collar of his shirt and to his throat and strong jaw.

And when Aubrey first met his burning gaze, everything she knew she forgot.

She forgot not to make eye contact.

And she forgot that she generally did not trust men.

In the moment that their eyes met, she simply forgot.

Khalid’s features remained impassive, yet despite his calm demeanour he instantly felt her allure. From the china blue of her unblinking eyes to lush, full lips, she was captivating. She wore far less make-up than she had in the tasteless photos. Well, a touch too much blusher perhaps, but Aubrey really was exceptionally beautiful; there was no doubting that. Khalid could see how a man could be beguiled.

He refused to be.

‘I believe,’ Khalid said, ‘that it is your turn to sign.’

His voice was rich, deep and accented, and to Aubrey, for a second, his words made no sense, but then she remembered. Oh, yes, the condolence book. She turned from the assault to her senses and picked up a heavy silver pen. Her hand was shaking as she wrote her name.

Aubrey Johnson.

For her address... Well, she left out the trailer park and just put Las Vegas, then she forgot the beautiful stranger behind her and pondered over her message.

What could she say?

Thank you for making Mom feel like a queen and for the trips and the fun times...

Of course she could not put that; his long affair with her mom had been a faithfully kept secret.

Thank you for believing in me...

Aubrey would have liked to write that, but knew she could not. Or...?

Sorry I lied.

Jobe had insisted that she take this chance, and not follow a more familiar, familial career path, for her mother and Aunt Carmel had both made their living on the game. Would Jobe have forgiven her if he’d found out that she’d used her scholarship money for her mom’s medical care?

Aubrey would never know now.

And so she wrote a short line and then put down the pen, and Khalid watched as she moved on before reading her words.

Dearest Jobe, thank you for everything. You were wonderful. Xxx

The thought of her with Jobe revolted him.

Khalid picked up the pen she had just held and wrote exactly what he would have before his eyes had held Aubrey’s.

Allah yerhamo.

May God have mercy on him.

Those words felt more pertinent now.

‘Your Highness.’ One of Khalid’s security detail was at his side and discreetly told him that another guest on the watch-list had arrived. And then more news must have come into his earpiece, for he added, ‘And another.’