those dreams of Omar, he had gazed at her with his beautiful eyes and told her that he loved her more than anyone else on earth, and he called her Cara instead of Fiona. She’d awakened with a fierce longing, wishing that her dream would become a reality.
It was just before noon when Cara stood before her bathroom mirror, checking her reflection to make sure she looked all right for lunch with a sheik.
The dreams had stirred a wistfulness inside her, a longing to see the country that Omar had written about so eloquently in his letters, a longing to spend time with the man who had written such beautiful words.
The woman in the mirror who stared back at her wore a small frown. She had searched through her closet, trying to find something to wear that might be something Fiona would choose. But Fiona and Cara had completely different taste in clothing.
Fiona was like a brilliant flower, partial to vivid colors and cutting-edge styles. Cara was far more conservative, bland and boring. Her frown deepened, and she consciously smoothed it away and smiled at her reflection.
She’d found the jade-colored dress in the back of her closet with the tags still attached. She’d bought it on a whim, although it wasn’t her usual conventional style. The scoop neckline was a little risqué for her and the flirty skirt was definitely shorter than what she normally wore. The dress was more the type that Fiona would wear, which was why she had chosen to wear it today.
A wave of guilt swept through her and she turned away from the mirror. She was consciously planning on impersonating her sister for the first time in years.
As children they had occasionally fooled people by pretending to be each other. Those were childish games with no real consequences. But she and Fiona weren’t children anymore, and her impersonation of Fiona had prompted an important man to travel thousands of miles to propose.
Just for a couple of days, she told herself. Surely there was no harm in continuing the pretense for a couple of days. What memories these days would provide her in the future!
Her heart leaped up to her throat as a knock fell on her door. A quick glance at her watch told her it was time for Omar to pick her up.
She just hoped she could pull this off. She grabbed her purse from the sofa and she was surprised to open the door and see not Omar, but rather a short, thin man.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Carson. My name is Rashad Aziz. I am the personal assistant for Sheik Al Abdar. He is awaiting your company for lunch.”
Cara smoothed a hand down the skirt of her dress and nodded. “I’m ready to go,” she replied.
The little man smiled in delight. “Ah, a rare woman—one who is ready on time.” He escorted her to the waiting limo. When she was safely ensconced in the back, he shut the door, then took a position in the passenger seat next to the driver.
She wished Rashad had joined her in the back of the limo. Perhaps he might have chatted with her and she wouldn’t be thinking about what a huge mistake all this was.
As the limo pulled out of the Carson property and headed toward town, Cara told herself again that everything would be all right. She was certain the sheik wouldn’t remain in town long, that he would need to return to his country fairly quickly.
In the meantime she could enjoy a couple of dates with him, then turn down his marriage proposal. He would entertain fond memories of Fiona, and Cara would have wonderful memories of being dated by a handsome sheik who had shown in his letters his gentle, kind nature.
Dating had always been difficult for her. Although Mission Creek had more than its share of handsome, eligible bachelors, most of them at one time or another had dated Fiona. And Cara had made it a personal decision never to date a man who had dated her twin sister.
Cara never wanted to worry about being a second choice, a pale imitation of what the man wanted but couldn’t have. She never wanted to wonder if the man was dating her because she was a replica of her sister.
However, Fiona’s fickle dating style made it difficult for Cara to find men her sister hadn’t dated.
Omar hadn’t dated Fiona. He knew Fiona only through her letters. Letters Cara had written. Granted, he’d spent several hours with Fiona at a cotillion six years before, but it hadn’t been a date.
That night Fiona had played the role of belle of the ball, flitting from man to man in true Scarlet O’Hara fashion. Cara had, as usual, blended into the woodwork, watching the festivities rather than participating in them.
She had been introduced to Omar that night, but knew he probably didn’t remember her at all. Her gown had been a pale pink and she hadn’t tried to compete with her sister for male attention.
She’d watched him that night—watched him watching Fiona—and she’d thought him one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.
Her heart beat faster as the limo entered the small town of Mission Creek. Ahead she could see the Brighton Hotel, and knew the eight-story luxury building was where they were going. Not only was it exorbitantly expensive with a five-star rating, but also it was the only hotel in the small town of Mission Creek aside from the accommodations at the Lone Star Country Club.
As the limo pulled to a halt before the gold-trimmed glass front doors, a uniformed valet stepped forward. Rashad jumped out of the car and waved the valet away.
He opened the door for her, his smile exposing perfect white teeth. “I will escort you to where Sheik Al Abdar awaits.”
He led her through the front doors and into the posh lobby. The furnishings were in burgundy and gold, with lush green plants providing the accenting green.
Cara had spent little time in the hotel before, and looked around with interest. When her family planned dinners or gatherings, they always took place at the Lone Star Country Club.
When they reached the back end of the lobby, Rashad led her through a doorway that entered into the Gold Room Restaurant.
There were several people seated at the tables, but Omar wasn’t one of the diners in the dimly lit room.
It wasn’t until they reached another door at the back of the restaurant that Cara realized Omar must have reserved a private dining room.
Two men stood on either side of the door. Judging by the thickness of their necks and their stern demeanor, Cara guessed they were bodyguards to the sheik.
Rashad gestured toward the door and smiled once again. “Sheik Al Abdar awaits you,” he said.
She’d thought dining with the sheik would be relatively safe. After all, it would be difficult to have too private a conversation with other diners talking, with the clink of silver and glassware all around them.
As she eyed the door before her, trepidation swept through her. A private dining room meant…well, privacy. She would have to be on her toes to make him believe she was the same woman he’d seen the night of the cotillion.
Drawing a deep breath, she knocked.
Omar opened the door, his handsome face lit with a smile that instantly warmed her. “Elizabeth,” he said as he took her hand in his and pulled her across the threshold. “You look positively stunning.” He closed the door behind them.
“Thank
