Sheikh's Fake Fiancee by Jessica Brooke, Ella Brooke Page A

it passed beneath them.
    She frowned and pointed to the hundreds of simple, hardware-store padlocks that greeted her on the sides of the bridge. “What is this?”
    “This,” Bahan said, crossing over to the side of the bridge and leaning against all the slightly rusted brass and iron, “isn’t just any bridge.”
    “I think I can tell that,” she said, arching her eyebrow wryly up at him. “But I don’t understand why there’s so much hardware on it. It can’t be good for the structural integrity.”
    “One day it may very well collapse. I’ve heard they want to take the locks off,” he admitted. “However, these are the love locks. People often carve or engrave their names on the side, sometimes even with a pen or whiteout…whatever it takes. Then they lock the device through the chain link and throw the key in the river. Once they do, the story holds that they’ll be lovers forever.”
    Her heart swelled in her chest. She stood across from him, her heart hammering in her chest and her breath coming in more ragged gasps. She was stuck there, completely uncertain about how to move forward or continue this conversation.
    “Is this an educational tour? We’ve seen all the other sites. Is this about seeing this attraction as ingrained in Paris as Notre Dame or the Seine, itself?”
    Bahan shook his head and pulled a brass lock from his jeans pocket. “You know it’s not. I think there’s no better way to bless a marriage than to start by taking advantage of all the good luck that we can.”
    “A blessing then?”
    “I suppose it’s no more real than a rabbit’s foot or horseshoe, whatever else you Americans prefer for a good-luck charm. But to me, I think it matters, that it helps set us up together in the best light and with the best of good fortune.”
    She nodded and felt her body pulled closer to him, as if he were a magnet and she were the iron filings. Jennifer tried to stay independent, tried to remain outside of him, but she couldn’t ignore that any longer.
    Drawing near, she reached out to his hand and traced her fingers over his own, feeling the warmth of his tawny skin. The pen clutched between his fingers was an afterthought.
    “So I just sign it?”
    “We both do it, put our initials on it, and the bridge takes care of the rest.”
    She nodded and wrote “JW” on one side and watched as Bahan put on his initials on the other. He then locked the padlock in place, whispered something under his breath in Arabic, and tossed the key in the river below.
    Jennifer frowned up at him, staring into those amber eyes that always managed to confuse her and throw her completely off-balance. It was like falling through quicksand, being slowly taken under no matter how much she struggled against it.
    “What did you say?”
    “It’s probably silly…too sentimental.”
    “No, tell me. I think this whole tradition is nothing if not sentimental, but isn’t that the point? We’re both hoping, taking that leap like thousands of other people on the bridge before us. I think there are definitely worse ways to be sentimental and cheesy.”
    “It’s a simple prayer, one that my father taught me. It’s for guidance from Allah and Mohammad both, to have the wisdom to see all my plans through.”
    Reaching out, she stroked his face, loving the way the scruff of his goatee felt against the palm of her hand. The soft prickles that were driving her wild. That hint of turmeric was in the air again, and she could stay like this with the man forever, basking in his kindness and his hope.
    “Am I a plan too?”
    “Do you want to be?”
    She sighed and leaned against the locks as well, moving her back around until none of the locks were digging into her spine. “My parents are divorced.”
    “I’m aware of that. I figured there was a reason I only saw Carol around, and you mentioned your dad and how he left…about the money being so tight.”
    “Yes. I guess it’s better they were married and divorced