Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi is coldly perfect and perfectly cold…which is why no one would’ve guessed that an outrageously outspoken brat like me has succeeded where all others have failed.
Our fake relationship isn’t meant to last.
But when lies give birth to more lies, our kisses multiply as well, and one forbidden touch leads to another.
Everyone says my blue-eyed sheikh is heartless…
But that’s where they’re all wrong. And I know this because just when I’ve fallen in love him, that’s also when the sheikh tells me he’s already lost his heart to someone else.
Note: Previously published as Rayyan: A Sheikh Romance
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
One
“Do you see this?” Hyacinth pointed to one corner of her lip. “It moves up here, and the same goes for the other side.” She let both corners turn up. “And that, my dear Mrs. B., is how smiles are born.”
Unfortunately, it had absolutely no effect on her humor-resistant homeroom teacher.
“Oh, come on. It’s funny, admit it.”
“Are you done, Ms. Kahveci?”
She made a face, wondering how someone so exceptionally good at the art of homemaking could have ridiculously poor people skills. Who exactly did this woman practice her homemaking skills for anyway – orcs?
“Because if you are, then may we please start talking about the reason you’re here, which is—-”
“To save you from getting publicly crucified in next week’s PTA?”
“To discuss what you’ve written on your career counseling form,” Mrs. B. said in a steely voice.
Shit.
So that’s what this was about.
“What’s this about you wanting to be an accountant?”
“I’m exceptionally good with numbers,” Hyacinth defended.
“I’m good at making people cry, too,” Mrs. B retorted coolly, “but you don’t see me working for Revenue Collections, do you?”
The words had her choking, but the mask of cold refinedness on the older woman’s flawlessly beautiful face didn’t even crack the slightest bit.
“It’s about doing what you love—-”
“So you’re saying teaching is the job you love?”
“It is,” Mrs. B. answered without hesitation.
“Then how about playing nice with the other teachers just once, to keep this job you say you love?” Hyacinth leaned forward, intent on getting her point across. “Because I know what I heard, Mrs. B. Those women are out for your blood, and they’re planning to make a move during the PTA—-”
The teacher’s upper lip curled. “Let them do their worst—-”
Hyacinth threw her hands up in despair. “Oh my God, Mrs. B! Will it kill you to pretend just this once that you care about what others say?” She pointed accusingly to the woman’s porcelain-perfect face, saying warningly, “If you don’t make an effort to get along, those jealous bitches—-”
“Language,” Mrs. Bauer censured.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. They’re witches. Can I call them that instead?” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer, knowing that her homeroom teacher was certain to insist on something more formal (and a lot less fun). “Those jealous witches are desperate to bring you down!”
“And you think I should be worried about them?” the older woman questioned with a sniff.
“Umm. Yeah?” She could only shake her head at the question, wondering why her homeroom teacher seemed hell bent on making enemies when there was no need to.
Mrs. B suddenly let out a sigh, and the way the sound made her teacher sound passably human had Hyacinth’s gaze narrowing.
“Do not get me wrong,” the older woman said gruffly. “I truly appreciate your concern.” And it did seem like it, with the teacher’s preternaturally exquisite features softening ever so slightly. “But—-”
I knew it. Hyacinth grimaced. “Of course there had to be a but.”
“I would rather you worry more about your own situation.”
She leaned back against her seat, caught by surprise. “But I don’t have any problem—-”
“And that,” Mrs. Bauer pointed out, “is exactly what the problem is.”
“Um. Okay. But—-” Hyacinth slowly shook her head, saying honestly, “I still don’t get it.”
“You have been my student for almost four years now. I’ve seen you grown up with my own eyes, and I’ve had more than ample time to observe how you conduct yourself in class, with your peers—-”
“Are you saying you’re my stalker?” she quipped.
But as always, Mrs. Bauer’s face refused to yield even the smallest of smiles. “You’re the ideal student. Friendly without being precocious, smart without being nerdy, kind without being a pushover, confident without being conceited—-”
“Can we get to the ‘but’ part now?” she interrupted. “Because there’s another one, isn’t it?”
“But I’m convinced you’re faking everything—-”
Hyacinth jerked in her seat.
“It’s not normal to smile as much as you do.” Seeing her student’s lips – in the act of stretching into another fake smile – compress in a tight line instead, Mrs. Bauer paused, knowing she had to choose her next words with more care. “I don’t think even God is that happy all the time, Hyacinth.”
The silence in her office persisted, but it was just as the older woman expected. The girl never did like risking saying anything when she was feeling too much.
“I worry about you, too, you know.”
“Because I smile too much.”
The girl seemed to have recovered, and the smile was back on Hyacinth’s lovely face. Tough girl, Mrs. Bauer thought, ugly smile. It was not an ideal combination.
“Is that what you’re saying, Mrs. B?” And before she could reply, her student went on, “Even with suicide rates on the rise – celebrities, teenagers, take your pick – everyone seems to be at risk, and yet you’re seriously telling me you’re worried that I’m smiling too much?”