Promised To A Sheikh. Carla Cassidy
not here at the moment, but please leave your name—”
Cara hung up, suddenly remembering that that morning her sister had been whining over the fact it was Saturday night and she didn’t have a date. Fiona had decided to spend the unusual free Saturday night at Body Perfect, the spa in the Lone Star Country Club.
Cara grabbed her car keys and left her cottage. She had to talk to Fiona. She had to tell her that Sheik Omar was here, in Texas, and had just proposed marriage to her—only, he thought she was Fiona. Things were suddenly a major mess.
It took only minutes for Cara to reach the Lone Star Country Club. As always as she pulled up in front of the impressive four-story pink granite building, a swell of pride filled her heart.
The resort and country club was part of her legacy, built partially on Carson land by her grandfather and a neighbor, J. P. Wainwright, in 1923. In the intervening years the country club had become world renowned for its luxury, many amenities and top-notch staff.
But Cara’s pride lasted only a moment, quickly swallowed by the imminent need to talk to her sister.
She parked her car beneath the covered portico and jumped out. “Hi, Larry,” she said to the awaiting valet.
“Ms. Carson, nice to see you again,” he said as he took her keys from her.
“I shouldn’t be too long,” she said, then flew through the doors that led to the huge lobby. She nodded and smiled to the people she knew as she hurried to the elevators.
Body Perfect, the ladies’ spa and beauty salon was located on the second floor. The receptionist greeted her in surprise. “Cara!” She frowned and looked at her computer screen. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment this evening.”
“I don’t. I just need to speak to my sister,” Cara replied. “Can you tell me where she is?”
“She has an appointment for a massage with Heidi in fifteen minutes, and I think she was going into the sauna before her massage.”
“Thanks,” Cara said, then rushed toward the changing room just outside the sauna.
As she changed her clothes and grabbed one of the white, fluffy body towels provided, she thought of that moment when she’d opened her door and seen Sheik Omar on her front porch.
She wouldn’t have been more stunned if the Easter bunny had been standing there in all his floppy-eared splendor.
Omar had asked for her hand in marriage. Cara’s stomach clenched. Suddenly the harmless little deceit she and Fiona had indulged in for the past year didn’t seem so harmless anymore.
Fiona would know what to do. Fiona was good at extricating herself from trouble. Cara opened the door and stepped into the steamy mists of the sauna.
She instantly spied her sister, prone on one of the benches, a hand towel covering her face. She was thankful there was nobody else using the facility at the moment.
“Fiona,” Cara said as she poked her sister in the side.
Fiona yelped and grabbed the towel from her face. “Cara, what are you doing here?” she asked in surprise. She sat up and faced Cara.
The two women were identical twins. The only difference was the location of their beauty marks. Cara’s was just above her lips on the left side and Fiona’s was just above her lips on the right side. Mirror images.
“We’re in trouble,” Cara said without preamble. She sat down next to her sister on the bench. “Guess who showed up on my front doorstep ten minutes ago?”
“I can’t imagine.” Fiona raked her fingers through her damp hair.
“Sheik Omar Al Abdar.” Cara watched as her twin sister’s green eyes widened in shock. “He asked me to marry him, Fiona.”
Fiona stared at her another moment, then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, this is just too amusing!”
Cara swallowed a sigh of irritation. Fiona never took anything seriously. “Fiona, the man proposed to me, but he thinks I’m you.”
Fiona eyed her sister curiously. “What on earth did you write in those letters to inspire a marriage proposal?”
Cara shrugged. “Just stuff,” she replied. Her dreams, her hopes, her innermost thoughts—that was what she had written to Sheik Omar, and at the end of each letter she had signed her sister’s name.
Fiona waved a hand dismissively. “Well, I’m certainly not going to marry any sheik,” she exclaimed. “Besides, if I remember correctly, Sheik Omar is old.”
“He isn’t old,” Cara instantly protested, thinking of the man she’d seen only minutes earlier. “He’s only thirty-eight.” And he’d looked as fit and as virile as any twenty-year-old, she mentally added. “He’s quite handsome and he wants to have lunch tomorrow to discuss our future together.”
“So, have lunch with him and keep your mouth shut.” Even through the steam, Cara could see the bright sparkle of her sister’s eyes. “Oh, Cara, have a little fun with this!”
“I couldn’t do that,” Cara said softly, although Fiona’s words held a provocative appeal. “He should know the truth.”
“Why? Why does he need to know that I got tired of writing him letters and you kept up the correspondence with him?”
She grabbed Cara’s hands in hers. “Your life is such a bore. I’m not saying you have to actually marry him, but you’re twenty-seven years old and have never had anything exciting happen in your life—other than that dreadful incident last year in school. Wouldn’t you love to have a great story to tell your grandchildren someday?”
The “dreadful incident” was what had prompted Cara to decide not to renew her contract as an English teacher at the high school for this year.
“The way my love life is going, I’ll probably never have grandchildren,” she replied softly.
“Of course you will,” Fiona exclaimed. “You’re the type who will eventually fall madly in love and settle for a life of simple domesticity, complete with kids and a dog.”
Cara grinned. “You make it sound like a fate worse than death.”
“It’s fine for other women.” Fiona grinned impudently. “I just have loftier ideas for myself.” Her grin faded and once again she reached for Cara’s hands. “Go for it, Cara. How many times in your life are you going to be able to be engaged to a sheik?”
Cara said nothing, for a moment remembering the warmth of Omar’s hand around hers, the sweet appeal in the depths of his eyes. Would it be so terrible to pretend for just a couple of days to be Elizabeth Fiona Carson instead of Elizabeth Cara Carson?
Certainly she would love to get an opportunity to talk in person to the man whose letters had so touched her heart. She would love to spend just a little bit of time being somebody special in his life.
“Go for it. I’ll even make it easier on you,” Fiona said, pulling Cara from her inward thoughts.
“What do you mean?”
Fiona took the hand towel and dabbed at her forehead. “I’ve been so utterly bored the past couple of weeks that I’ve been toying with the idea of taking a little vacation. First thing in the morning I’ll hop a jet to Paris for a week or two. That way I’ll be out of town and there will be no chance that Omar will realize you aren’t me.”
Cara was silent for a moment, thinking of all the reasons she shouldn’t indulge in such a subterfuge, yet unable to still the sweet anticipation that rushed through her as she realized she was going to do it.
“And, Cara, if you are going to be me, please do me justice,” Fiona said dryly. Then she placed the towel over her face and once again stretched out on the bench.
Just for a couple