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Rou realized she was smiling. “Yes, please. I’m curious to see what’s outside these palace walls, too.”
“I can meet you here at seven.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready.”
Rou was dressed and ready by six-thirty. Manar had helped her choose the long pink-and-orange Michael Kors gown, the delicate silk fabric painted with dashes of gold and crusted with bright jewels at the plunging neckline, and then found long, gold, chandelier-style earrings for her to wear. Manar insisted Rou leave her blond hair loose but went over the ends with a flat iron to make her hair shiny, polished and smooth.
Zayed’s smile was worth the effort, Rou thought, catching sight of his face as he arrived in the living room at seven sharp in a black suit, white shirt and elegant dark tie.
“You’re simply stunning,” he said.
She blushed and plucked at the pink-and-orange skirt. “I guess I do like some pink things.”
“Well, it suits you.” He smiled at her and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
“Yes, please.”
Out front, their driver waited next to a black Mercedes sedan with tinted windows. Rou had a feeling as she got in the back and scooted across the seat that this was one of those armored cars with bulletproof glass. The Fehr family only traveled in the safest of vehicles.
The soft, supple leather seat gave slightly as Zayed climbed in and sat next to her. Rou’s pulse quickened at Zayed’s nearness. He was so close that their thighs were almost touching, and Rou pressed her knees tightly together to keep from bumping him. Was it really only a few days since their last car journey together? How much had changed between them since then!
As the driver started the car and pulled away from the palace, Zayed shot her a swift knowing glance which sent heat surging to her cheeks. “Uncomfortable?” he drawled.
She took a quick glance out the window at the palm trees lining the palace drive and shook her head. “No, just excited. I’ve been here a few days now, and I still know so little about your country. You’ll have to give me a brief overview so people don’t think you’ve married a terribly ignorant woman.”
His lips curved. “You’re far from ignorant, and I suppose I thought Sharif had told you about our country.”
“No.” Her shoulders shifted. “He never talked about himself. In fact, I didn’t even know who he was for years. It wasn’t until I read a story in Hello! magazine about his coronation that I realized he was a prince.”
“And yet you called him a mentor.”
“He was so good to me. He was like a big brother, or a fairy godfather. The only thing he ever asked of me was to give back to others however I could.”
“So you have, by marrying me.”
She felt a tightness in her chest. “I haven’t been altruistic, though, have I? I exacted a price.”
“Every royal bride has a price. And compared to some Fehr brides, you were quite reasonable.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sharif’s first wife, Zulima, was a twenty-million-dollar bride. My father wasn’t thrilled, but my mother insisted Zulima was the right woman for Sharif.”
She studied Zayed’s profile in the increasingly dim light, as dusk was just now falling and the streetlamps hadn’t yet come on. “Was she?”
“No. Sharif was already in love with Jesslyn, but my mother wouldn’t have it. She went to Jesslyn behind Sharif’s back and sent her packing. Six months later, Sharif was engaged to Zulima, and despite their three daughters, it wasn’t a happy marriage. Sharif loved Jesslyn. He’d always loved her, and even though he treated Zulima well, and loved her to the best of his ability, it wasn’t enough for Zulima and she never forgave Sharif for loving Jesslyn first.”
“But they, Jesslyn and Sharif, found each other again.”
His gaze was fixed on the city street with its modern office buildings, throng of taxis and crowded sidewalks. “It wasn’t long enough,” he said after a moment. “Not after nine years apart. They should have had more time.”
The lump was back in her throat. “It’s probably small comfort for you, but at least their love will carry on. They made Prince Tahir and he’s an incredible little boy. Smart, beautiful, mischievous. He’ll be a great comfort to Jesslyn as he grows older.”
“To all of us,” Zayed added, turning to look at her, his expression grim. “In my ceremony last night I vowed to protect my nephew and my country until Tahir is old enough to take the throne. I was honored to have so many of our friends and neighbors there pledging their support, and vowing to guard my nephew as their own—King Malik Nuri of Baraka, his brother Kalen Nuri, Sultan of Ouaha, Sheikh Tair, the great desert chieftain.” Zayed’s voice roughened. “They have all promised to protect Sarq and young Tahir until he is of age to rule. Their loyalty is a testament to their feelings for my late brother.”
She reached out, covered his hand with hers. “He was very loved, and he would be very grateful that you have come home to serve in his place.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the back. “Thank you, laeela. But this is supposed to be a celebration of our marriage, and yet all I do is talk about my family.”
“But I want to know about your family. I want to know as much as I can.”
He forced a smile, but it failed to reach his eyes. “Then let me tell you about Sarq and Isi, the capital city.”
For the next few minutes he told her that Sarq, a small country that bordered part of the Arabian Sea, was ninety percent Muslim, and yet it was a very tolerant country, very open and receptive to all people and all cultures. Because of its proximity to the Arabian Sea, Sarq was enjoying its new reputation as a year-round resort destination.
“After a fifteen-year building boom, we now have more luxury beach resorts than any other Middle Eastern country outside of Dubai and the U.A.E.” Zayed’s eyes narrowed as they paused at the corner for a red light and a trio of girls in veils dashed across the street giggling. “I was part of that building boom. I’m probably the largest investor in the five biggest luxury resorts, but I’m beginning to think it was a mistake. My father was the one who first opened the door to development, and Sharif inherited my father’s liberal policies, but I think he should have limited the growth more than he did.”
“It must have been hard for Sharif to say no to you.”
“I certainly didn’t make it easy, and Khalid and I had quite a few rows about what I was doing to the environment. I thought Khalid was ridiculous—protecting sand dunes when we could turn Sarq into a thriving and competitive world economy—but now I think he’s right. The vanishing sand dunes represent vanishing wildlife and I hate to think of my children growing up in a country without nature, or the animals and plants I knew as a boy.”
They were passing through a quieter neighborhood now, away from the bustle of hotels and the business district. The buildings were older here and typical of historic Islamic architecture with whitewashed facades marked by arches, turrets and columns.
Moments later, the limousine drew to a stop outside a residential-looking building. Rou peered out the window at the semidark street. Expensive homes lined the street. She saw no sign of a restaurant or public facility. “I thought we were going out for dinner.”
“We are. You’ll see.”
Outside, on the pavement, they climbed three steps to an elegant front door. The door looked like any door in a residential area, but when the sheikh rang the doorbell, it opened silently and they entered into a square hall painted the darkest chocolate, the only light that of an enormous chandelier.
A dark-suited man appeared, bowed. “King Fehr, welcome. I have a table waiting.”
“Where are we?” she whispered as Zayed took her elbow.
“It’s a private club, very exclusive.”
“Very exclusive if no one knows it’s here.”
“Membership is steep,” he conceded, “but people are happy to pay it if they can be assured of privacy. Security. Peace of mind.” The edge of
his mouth lifted. “For many in my circle, peace of mind is a precious commodity and worth every penny.”
She shot him a knowing glance. “You own the club, don’t you? And twenty more like it around the world.”
He wasn’t quite able to hide his surprise. “How do you know?”
“I went online this morning and read your company’s profile and researched your investment portfolio.” She saw the look he gave her, and she added, “I thought I should know as much as I could about my husband.”
“Smart woman,” he said with a soft laugh.
They passed through a room with low couches covered in leopard print. Candles flickered on equally low square tables, and the room smelled fresh, crisp, like green apples crossed with freshly mown grass, and it was a tantalizing scent.
Six to eight white lacquered tables were scattered around the dining room, while the walls were upholstered in rich brown suede. Silver chargers and candles gleamed on all the tables, even the empty ones.
“We practically have the place to ourselves,” Rou noted as she sat down at their corner table.
“A luxury I’m very grateful for tonight,” he answered, and for the first time Rou saw traces of fatigue in his face. Lines at his eyes, shadows beneath his eyes.
“This is a huge change for you, isn’t it?”
“It’s a job I certainly never wanted, not even as a boy. Father made it clear that the job was an all-consuming one, as well as weighted with enormous responsibilities, and yet Sharif never complained, nor made us younger brothers feel guilty that he was the one with so much pressure on his shoulders.”
