Page 39 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

Nahla stood beside Mikail in one of the smaller salons, nervously twisting her engagement ring. The lab-created diamond sparkled under the overhead light, but it didn’t calm her nerves.

Mikail frowned at her fidgeting. “Why are you nervous?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly as he took her chilly hands in his, rubbing warmth into her fingers.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, leaning in with a sigh of relief when he wrapped his arms around her. His embrace was steadying, grounding. She pressed her cheek against his chest, breathing in his clean, spicy scent.

“You love your family,” he reminded her gently. “You’ve said it a dozen times. So what do you think is going to happen when they show up?”

“I have no idea how they’re going to—”

A bellow interrupted her.

“I send my cousin off to be protected and this is what happens?”

Nahla jumped as Saif stormed through the door, his hands on his hips and outrage burning in his eyes. Behind him came her entire family—her brother, her parents, even Azlyn holding her baby, Griff, who immediately flailed his chubby arms when he spotted Nahla.

Good grief! Not just Zayn. The whole crew?!

Nahla instinctively stepped in front of Mikail. “Saif, it’s not what you think!”

Saif’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not seriously engaged to that brute?”

She glanced down at the ring still sparkling on her finger. “Well, yes. But—”

“Then it’s exactly what I think,” he huffed, arms crossing in righteous indignation.

Nahla stepped forward, but Mikail’s arms slipped around her waist, holding her in place.

“Saif, what’s your problem?” she snapped, growing angry.

But before Saif could reply, Zayn stepped in and knocked a fist against his cousin’s shoulder, chuckling. The tension cracked, and Saif’s glower melted into a mischievous grin.

“Not a damn thing,” he said, suddenly all charm. “It’s about time!”

Nahla blinked. “Wait a second—” she twisted in Mikail’s hold, still trying to gauge what the hell was going on. “Are you seriously telling me this was all a setup?”

“Not the assassin part,” Saif clarified quickly, then gave her a sheepish shrug. “But yeah. Zayn and I saw how you looked at Mikail at that party last year. The Clyde situation just gave us the perfect excuse to nudge things along.”

She went rigid, staring at them both in disbelief. Then she turned to Mikail, her mouth a tight line. “Are you going to beat them up?” she asked in a low, furious whisper.

Mikail followed her gaze, taking in the smug expressions plastered on Zayn and Saif’s too-handsome faces. Even little Griff was trying to look stern from Azlyn’s arms—though with his dimpled cheeks and wide eyes, he was failing adorably.

“No,” Mikail said after a long pause. “I think I’d rather shake their hands.”

And with that, he stepped forward, keeping one arm firmly around Nahla’s waist as he extended the other to the two royal schemers.

A warm laugh sounded from the hallway behind them, and Mikail looked up to see Sheik Khal and Queen Tasha watching with amusement.

Realizing his breach in protocol, Mikail quickly straightened and guided Nahla toward her parents as they stepped into the room. She tried to shoot one last glare at her cousin and brother, but the moment she saw her mother and father, all the tension in her melted away.

She launched herself into their arms. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she beamed, hugging her mother tightly, then turning to her father with equal enthusiasm.

“I can’t wait for you to meet the real Mikail,” she added brightly, glancing over her shoulder at him. Then, with a teasing grin, she leaned closer to her father and whispered, “He acts grumpy, just like you. But deep down, he’s really just a big teddy bear.”

A low growl rumbled behind her, and Nahla laughed, turning to face her man.

With a smile, she handled the formal introductions, listing titles and names like a pro.

When she got to the smallest guest, she bent down to look into Griffin’s eyes, who looked up at Mikail and grinned, dimples flashing like tiny weapons of mass cuteness.

Mikail stared, momentarily undone by the child’s charm.

“Those damn dimples,” he muttered, then offered the toddler a solemn fist bump—planting it gently against Griffin’s sock-covered foot.

The gesture earned another grin, this one even more devastating.

Mikail sighed and turned to greet Zayn’s lovely wife, Azlyn, with a polite nod and a rare, genuine smile.

The evening flowed surprisingly smoothly.

No arguments. No royal disasters. By the time dessert had been cleared, the wedding plans were agreed upon and finalized.

Every major decision—location, date, guest list—was easily made, and a few subtle glances between Nahla and Mikail that promised the best part of the evening was still to come.

Several hours later, Nahla slipped out of her suite, walking barefoot down the quiet hallway.

Her shift from one bedroom to another wasn’t exactly covert—her ever-watchful bodyguards trailed behind her like polite shadows.

The sentries posted outside Mikail’s private suite nodded respectfully and opened the door without a word.

Nahla gave them a cheeky wave as she closed the door behind her.

She began undressing as she moved through the darkened space, shedding layers of formality with each step. She didn’t need light; she knew this room like she knew her own heartbeat.

The bedroom was pitch black, but the moment she slipped beneath the cool sheets, a familiar voice greeted her.

“About time,” Mikail grumbled, his arms already reaching for her.

She nestled into his warmth with a contented sigh, her body relaxing instantly.

“This is where I’m supposed to be,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him—pouring into it all the desire she’d kept buried in front of her family.