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Hannah’s smile faded as she thought of Lady Andrea. Poor Andrea. Hannah wasn’t sure that Andrea deserved to be fired. Monsieur Pierre was intimidating. No one knew how to handle him … well, no one but Zale. Hannah decided she’d talk to Zale and ask him to hire Andrea back.
Hannah was still lounging on the bed when her phone in the nightstand drawer buzzed with an incoming message.
Hannah knew it was from Emmeline. She could feel it in her bones. And this time she didn’t want to know what Emmeline had to say.
A minute passed. And then another. Finally, reluctantly, Hannah retrieved the phone and opened it.
It was from Emmeline. The text was brief.
I’m not coming to Raguva. The wedding is off. Once you leave I’ll break the news to Zale. Text me when you’re gone. Sorry.
Hannah blinked, read it again and when the words were the same, she felt everything tilt and slide, crashing into disaster. It had all been for naught.
Emmeline wasn’t going to marry Zale. Zale would be embarrassed and angry beyond measure.
She read the message again. And then again. But each time it was the same.
Emmeline wasn’t coming. She wouldn’t be marrying Zale after all. And Hannah had to go.
Little spots danced before Hannah’s eyes. She had to go. Had to leave.
A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Your Highness?” It was Celine. “Can I come in?”
Hannah couldn’t speak. Breathe, breathe, she told herself, air bottled in her lungs.
“Your Highness?”
Tears filled Hannah’s eyes. It had happened. She had to leave. But she couldn’t go tonight, not hours before the ball. She couldn’t humiliate Zale like that. No, she’d go in the morning, first thing tomorrow.
“Yes,” she called out at last, her voice faint, strangled. “Please, come in, Celine.”
Celine opened the door and saw Hannah sitting on the bed wiping away tears. “Is everything all right, Your Highness?”
“Everything’s great.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE ball was less than three hours away, and Hannah was getting a Swedish massage on a special table in her dressing room. The lights were dimmed, candles burned and soft instrumental music played. It was supposed to be a treat, something Zale had arranged for her, but Hannah was too keyed-up to enjoy it.
“Take a nice slow, deep breath,” the masseuse said soothingly, rubbing fragrant lavender oil into Hannah’s tense shoulders. “Now exhale. Slowly, slowly, Your Royal Highness. Good. Now again.”
Hannah tried to do as she was told, she did, but it was hard to relax when everything inside her was tied up in knots.
She hated Emmeline right now. Hated Emmeline for what she’d done. Hannah should have never come here. She shouldn’t have ever agreed to play acting for an afternoon much less a week.
If only she hadn’t gotten on the plane. If only she’d refused to continue the charade at that point.
But she hadn’t. She’d been too worried, afraid that the princess was facing a crisis all alone.
“Your Highness,” the masseuse said gently, but firmly, kneading Hannah’s shoulders. “Let go of everything. Just focus on your breathing. Focus on feeling good for the next half hour.”
And somehow, beneath the magic hands of the masseuse, Hannah did relax, shutting everything from her mind for the next thirty minutes, but once she was in her bathroom, showering off the oil and shampooing her hair, the anxiety returned.
So how did she fix this with Zale? There had to be something she could do … some magical fix, but standing in the shower, hot water pounding down, Hannah could think of nothing.
Hannah had always prided herself on being able to handle whatever her difficult, demanding boss, Sheikh Koury, sent her way. The Sheikh had been through a dozen secretaries before he found Hannah who could speak four languages fluently and handle the endless and challenging work he tossed her way.
No matter what he dropped in her lap, she handled it with aplomb. Arrange an environmental awareness meeting with the world’s leading oil executives? No problem.
Plan activities for the oil executives’ wives, many of whom had to be segregated from men? Hannah didn’t even blink.
Organize an international polo tournament in Dubai? Then move it to Buenos Aires? And provide transportation for all players and horses? Consider it done.
Hannah loved puzzles and thrived on good challenges, but the one thing she couldn’t do, and the one thing she was desperate to do, was protect Zale from what was to come.
The truth.
Eva, the Raguvian designer, had reworked the ball gown for Hannah, changing the design from a simple off-white column dress, to a shimmering chiffon gown with jeweled embroidered flowers unfurling across the bodice and to bloom down one hip in a profusion of purple and amethyst jewel petals that reached her feet.
