An Unwelcome Arrangement

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Hufflepug

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The United States. The only reason Crown Prince Fahim bin Rashid Al Qasimi of the great nation of Sharjah was in America was because of oil. That's all the American people ever wanted from his country anyway. And it left him somewhat bitter.

His father, Sheikh Rashid bin Zayed Al Qasimi, had made a deal with a presidential candidate, one who was a shoe-in to win. Sharjah would give them oil, and in exchange they would get an American bride. Well, Fahim would get the bride and Sharjah would get a stronger ally. No one had asked Fahim's opinion on this at all, but of course, no one ever really did.

His father had shipped him off to America to learn the language and get acquainted with his bride. And now here he was, on the way to the home his father had made for him. At least it was closer to the private school his father had insisted he go to. Fahim was disgruntled to learn that he would be placed lower than his age group due to his rather poor English. No, Fahim was not enjoying America at all thus far.
 
"Good morning Sophia!"

The heels of her loafers clacked lightly against the marbled flooring of the classroom, the chime strapped to her case ringing a harmonic tone as she shifted the back to rest against her knees. It was exactly noon when Sophia took her place in front of her advisement class, the green chalked board positioned behind her with three names listed under the other and a title to the left her that gave the date, information, and title of the school festival that was to be held three months from now. With help from the blazing sun that illuminated the classroom, Sophia's features became more prominent as her baby blue eyes glanced over the large lecture room. The size of the room was too large for their private academy, each room rivaling in size of a University lunchroom despite being a high school for the wealthy and the common gifted. With a sigh, Sophia lowered her head, the flaxen locks that clung to her face falling forward to brush over her shoulders. As the toll rung ,Sophia bowed her head as instructed, the dark blue bow holding whatever pony tail she managed to clump together aside from the other bed of hair that rested underneath it.

Raising her head after the second ring, she gave a small smile as she stepped to the side to go over the following activities for the day. "We'll getting an foreign exchange student all the way from Sharjah. Please treat him as you would treat the others. If he seems lost or confused do not be afraid to help him, you were in the same situation. We are united , so I hope to see him fitting in well within our class for the next few year. Next, we have the school festival in three months. By the end of the following week I need ideas on what our class will be hosting along with the play and model run that will be our biggest events. I need volunteer and extra help with the social committee which will be lead by me. Lastly, our grades as a whole have been improving, but I know we can do better. The seniors only hold the title as greats because thy're older, but by no means are they smarter. The upcoming classroom exams are nearing and I would like to see our class take first place. That is all."


Sophia bowed her head once more before she turned on her heel to take her leave. With a sigh of relieve she closed the door shut and for just a moment placed her back against the wall to take in a deep breath. "Did you hear she was running for president." "Isn't her father the president?" "He say's she could easily succedde him." "How old is she? The elections are next year aren't they?" "Why is she even here?" Sophia eyes lowered as she bit the inside of her mouth, her back pushing off the door as she made her way down the hall. It wasn't like she wanted to be the candidate or the daughter of the president. The title alone was far to heavy for her to hold and now that she is being forced into something against her will, made her days far more worse. "Good morning Ms. Sophia." Sophia gave a grimace as the bodyguard approached from the stairs. Guiding her as if she was a toddle, she was lead out of the school building and into a car.

"Your father wishes you the best of luck with your new husband. Make our country proud." Sophia disregarded his comment and watched as the school went by. It made no sense to be excused for the day and it made no sense for her to be used as an escape goat to gain the heart of another country. She wasn't 20, she was 15 and yet they resorted to historical traditions such as an arranged marriage. "For our country huh..?" Sophia stared out of the window as the car pulled into the subdivision. "For the country...."
 
Fahim, feeling exhausted from his travels, finally arrived to his new home. It was situated in a smaller neighborhood. What Americans called subdivisions. To him, they all appeared to be the same cookie cutter homes with no originality or character between them. In Sharjah, even the slums looked unique.

A wave of homesickness crept over him. He missed his beautiful country with it's spectacular views of the Persian Gulf. He missed his palace. He missed his mother and his sister. He even missed his father, though it would be quite some time before he forgave the old man. He felt out of place in this unfamiliar city. He felt uncomfortable with the looks he received all the way from the airport. What Fahim wanted most was to hurry through with this whole ordeal so that he could go home.

The Sharjahn prince stepped from the dark vehicle and brushed the front of his kandoorah off. He was told to wear clothes that were traditional. He was a representative of his country after all. His attire was likely a large reason for the disdain he felt from the American people.

His father had tasked Fahim with winning the American's over so that they would be more accepting and less critical towards the president's decision to allow his only daughter to marry an Arabian. Fahim could certainly be a charming young man when he was required to be. He'd make a good face for the press, appear to be working hard in school, and fake affection for the president's daughter in the public eye. That point was imperative: Make it look real. Arranged marriages were antiquated in the United States and the public would not take kindly to these matters.

Fahim turned to his driver and personal bodyguard, an older gentleman named Mahmoud. "Your father sends his regards and would like to remind you to be on your best behavior here." This not so gentle reminder made the crown prince roll his dark eyes. "He should know better. I would never sully Sharjah's honor." With that, the young man ended the conversation and entered his new, boring home.
 
The car had slowly pulled into the drive way, the jerking of the wheels forcing the car to jolt forward before settling back. You could hear the gears shift as the driver placed the car in park, the cranking of the emergency brakes and the cracked wind of the car door opening. Heels of shoes clicked against the pavement and without any delay so did the handle that opened up her side door. Placing her hand to her stomach, Sophia scooted out of the car and on to the drive way, butterflies flying viciously around in her stomach as the house was in clear shot and what laid behind it? Her man to be, or so the script said.

"Thank you Marcus." "My pleasure Ms.Sophia. I'll be her a six o clock tomorrow to pick you two up for school. Behave and don't rush into anything." Sophia raised a brow as to what that meant. If she was going to be rushing anywhere it would be to her death and by that she would have jumped off a bridge or in front of a car. Anxiously she pushed her golden locks behind her ear as she turned away, her legs moving slowly as she made her way up the steep driveway and toward the front door.

Opening up the door she poked her head in side to see if anyone was there. "Hm.."Silence was the first to greet her, then the sound of the door shutting behind her. "Hello? Is anyone here...am I the first one?" Sophia grabbed at the ends of her skirt as she slowly trudged her way into the home, her eyes shifting from one corner to the next before she found herself in the kitchen. "H..Hello?"
 
Fahim casually walked throughout the house, memorizing the layout and inspecting the furnishings. It was a standard, middle class home at best with modern furnishings. He was quite offended that the American President hadn't dedicated a room to his prayer. He decided that he would make a call to his father to have the oversight rectified. The Crown Prince had easily found which room would be his as the furnishings and decor inside were Arabian. He did think it rather strange that there was a bedroom prepared in addition to his own. He certainly had no intentions to invite overnight guests to his home.

As he was unpacking his bags and thinking about the extra bedroom, he heard the distinctive sound of a car door closing followed by the clacking of heels on concrete. Mahmoud had already left him to his own devices. Did he forget something and come back?

His question was answered as he heard the front door open, followed by a tentative female voice. Why on Earth would a woman be here? Did she get the wrong house? He thought as he left his bedroom to reprimand the intruder. The young prince peered over the landing to see a young, blonde woman wander inside. How rude!

He rushed down the stairs, intent on shooing the woman away. He came up behind the girl in the kitchen. "What are you doing?" He questioned in heavily accented English. "This is my house."
 
With dented brows she assumed she was the first, but within the minute her assumptions were wrong. "What are you doing here? This is my house?" The English was thick, heavy almost like a New-yorker mixed with a suburb southern from Georgia. It was clear cut and well pronounced with every word suffocating her anxiety that left her to turn around abruptly, her baby blue eyes inflating from the sudden tall appearance of the man that came to close for her own comfort. Taking a step back her fingers clung to her school uniform vest, her brows denting in both frustration and fear as she pressed her back against the wall.

"You're house?" Her English was just a clear and cut, the fear in her eyes turning into anger and sass as she stood away from the wall with her hands tugging at her vest. " This is my house too. My father own this home. How dare you speak to the president's daughter with such a lackadaisical tone."

At this point Sophia was ready to use any means to put her foot down and if the arranged marriage was something she could use as a leverage to tilt the tide, then she would. "I am your wife after all, this is a shared home and I will move around it as I like. "
 
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