Alpha's Beloved Mate
- Genre: Romance
- Age: 18+
- Status: Completed
- Language: English
- Author: Mary
Riyadh Nazir was lost in thought, dithering between choices and uncertainties.
Sure, the glittering stilettos looked great, but she knew she would look like a bombshell in those strappy heels, and of course, there was more than one color. All of them fit her light skin tone perfectly. The issue now was that, as always, she liked them all. ‘I see it, I like it, I want it, I get it,’ she chanted inwardly to herself. That was how she lived her life now. God bless Ariana Grande tremendously for fine-tuning what had long been her personal shopping anthem. Riyadh checked the time on her golden-laced watch dangling on her beautiful slim wrist. She still had more shopping to do across town, so she couldn’t waste more time here due to her indecisiveness.
“I’ll buy them all,” she said, giving the shop attendant a captivating smile. The plain-faced and brown-haired attendant smiled back with indifference, doing little to shield her impatience. She had known Riyadh would say that. The pretty Arab girl was spoiled and rich but empty-headed and largely impulsive. Imagine being in a dilemma over shoe choices. The nouveau riche was something else, their lives enmeshed in luxurious complexities she would never be able to relate to.
Well, these exact types were great for business, and she saw them so often they all felt like cotton candy – the type that evaporated from her memory just like the mist at dawn.
“5,000 dollars,” the attendant said expressionlessly.
Riyadh opened a shiny leather purse, fumbling slightly with it due to her long, manicured nails. She counted out the notes; then she watched closely as the attendant counted them stealthily to ensure the money was complete. When the attendant met her eyes in affirmation, Riyadh handed her a two hundred dollar bill.
“For ice cream,” she said casually as a way of shrugging off thanks.
The shop attendant’s face transformed from polite disinterest to solicitous and smiling. All the usual niceties and cheeriness that accompanied American customer service but had been conspicuously absent in her demeanor suddenly popped out of nowhere.
At that moment, she would have let Riyadh mop the floor with the floppy brown mess that was her hair. Riyadh smiled in triumphant pleasure. Something in her liked to see the poor grovel. They were poor, she was rich, and it was the way things were supposed to be.
“Thank you! Thank you, ma’am!”
“You’ll let me know when your store has new arrivals, yes?” It sounded like a question, but it was, in reality, an order.
“Your manager has my contact information,” Riyadh said dismissively and walked out the door, pretending she didn’t hear the energetic and effusive, “Thank you! Hope to see you again soon!”
Outside the store, Riyadh glowed in the late afternoon sun. The designer earrings, the hand bracelet, the neck chain, and the nose ring she wore all took on shiny incandescence of their own. Through her sunglasses, she watched as her chauffeur maneuvered the car, made his way down to her, and stopped right before her. He came around and collected the bags.
“Where to, Miss?” he asked.
“Bendel’s,” she said commandingly.
In the coolness of the car, Riyadh wound down the windows and looked out. New York took on a stunning radiance of its own in the opulence of summer, and she loved it. Moving here from Beverly Hills last year had not been such a bad idea, especially since she was now enrolled at Cornell University – one of the top Ivy League schools in the nation. A school for all kinds of young elite students.
The staff at Bendel’s welcomed her warmly. Riyadh knew them all by name, and she liked them too. With her, they groveled, curtsied, and almost worshiped. They brought her the latest postmodern designs and stayed in the waiting room as she threw out the clothes she didn’t like to their faces. They watched as she preened in front of the mirror and exulted in her vanity with her. They happily gave her a bill of ten thousand dollars which was cashed from her credit card, and they heartily accepted the hundred dollar notes she slipped into their hands.
In the car, Riyadh was about to direct her driver to her next shopping spot when her phone rang. Her dad was calling.
“Hold on one second, Sylvester.” She answered the call, “Hi, daddy!”
Casildo smiled at the girlish high-pitched voice of his only child. No matter how frustrated or busy, or pressured he felt, Riyadh’s voice always made his day.
“Where are you, kiddo?”
“I’m on the boulevard close to home. Sylvester and I were doing some shopping.”
“Are you done?”
“No, daddy, I still want to get some perfumes and makeup and…”
“Can you come home? There’s something important I need to discuss with you. Your shopping can wait until tomorrow, right?”
Riyadh was silent, and Casildo knew that she didn’t want to come back to the penthouse just yet.
“I ordered Chinese food from The Ritz,” he said with a teasing note.
Riyadh smiled. It was a bribe.
“I’m on my way.”
“Back to the house, Sylvester!”
The concierge at the tallest tower on the Upper East Side rushed to Riyadh’s car and helped her out as soon as Sylvester parked the car by the building. They stood in the elevator with her as it went up fifty stories to the highest residence in the tower. The 5,500 square feet, five-bedroom duplex penthouse always blew Riyadh’s mind away whenever she made her entrance. It had brass-framed windows, a stunning sculptural staircase, dramatic archways, spectacular panoramic views from floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and a private elevator that reached all three floors. The penthouse was topped by a 2,100-square-foot roof terrace with a gas fireplace. It had cost her father a whooping thirty-five million dollars in cash to buy. One of the best and hottest luxury real estate pieces that had been on the market.
The chef was setting up the Chinese food on the dining table when Casildo Nazir watched Riyadh walk in. She liked to strut around like a professional model. It would have suited her, the modeling life, just as it had suited her late mother. With each passing day, Riyadh looked more and more like her. The tall sylphlike figure, the pointed nose with a nose ring, the long wavy black-black hair, the glamorously fair skin, the piercing hazel eyes, and the full lips. At twenty-one, Riyadh was a full-blown beauty. The promise had always been there since her childhood, and now it was beyond fulfilled.
Casildo stood up to hug her. “I missed you.”
She smiled back in response. “Missed you too, daddy.”
Riyadh shrugged off her long white jacket and thigh-length black boots. The chef and butler mumbled greetings to her, but she barely acknowledged them. She never recognized domestic servants as actual human beings, and whenever she addressed them, it was with scorn. Her father noticed her snobbery, but he was tired of correcting her about it, so he kept mute.
Riyadh dug into the food. “Mmm, you wanted to talk, daddy?”
Riyadh rolled her eyes. “I’m not a kid, dad.”
“You’ll always be a kid to me,” Casildo replied matter-of-factly. “Anyways, we’re taking a trip.”
Riyadh smiled. Trips to exotic locations in the private airplane with her father always thrilled her. But being the ever-busy business tycoon that he was, it was always filled up with men in black suits fluidly discussing business, making billion-dollar deals, and forging new empires and enterprises. She entertained herself with the latest fashion magazines. This was the wrong timing, though. Paris Fashion Week was just around the corner, and she had been looking forward to attending.
“So, where is it this time?” She leaned back in her chair and watched the butler pour cognac into her father’s glass with a thick flourish. She tousled her hair as she tried to take a wild guess.
“The Maldives, Bahamas, Bora Bora… Oh, I know! One of those fancy private islands within the Philippines? We’ve never actually gone to one of those…”
“It’s Penrith,” her father said coolly, sipping his cognac.
“Is it an island?”
“It’s my hometown.”
Riyadh stared. “Your hometown? What do I have to do in your hometown? It’s not going to be any fun.”
Casildo smiled mysteriously, “You’ll be surprised.”
He could discern that she had instantly become bored and uninterested.
“You’ll have fun.”
“What kind of fun?” Riyadh asked with apathy.
“What’s so adventurous about your hometown, dad?”
“It’s large, plus it’s got a lot of places for sightseeing.”
“But I don’t want to…”
“I’m not asking for your permission,” Casildo stated firmly and authoritatively. “It’s not a suggestion. You’re going.”
Riyadh hated it whenever her dad wasn’t malleable and when he wouldn’t cave into her needs or desires. Yet on the surface of the Earth, he was the only one she truly feared.
“But what are you even going to do there anyway?”
“I have a function to attend, and I would also like to use the opportunity to arrange some business deals.”
Riyadh waited for more, but he said nothing else. Her dad was always all about work, but that was all well and good as long as he sustained the lifestyle she had become accustomed to.
He was watching her. “Well?”
It wasn’t as if she had much of choice. “I could do with some sightseeing,” she said with the undertone of a grumble.
Casildo skillfully pretended not to hear it. He leaned back and sipped his cognac. “I thought so, too, kiddo.”
A minute later, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin, rose from the table, and disappeared into his study.