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“It was a different world, when you and I were young,” Sharif said, as if they were the same age.
The man snorted. “You’re right about that. Young people today do not know the meaning of duty. Their whims drift on the wind. I should know. My own children—”
The sultan stopped. Sensing weakness, Sharif said smoothly, “Exactly so. But what does not change is friendship, between rulers and between nations. Or the solid profit from good business.” He paused. “It would be a pity to let plans for our multi-billion-dollar oil venture falter, merely because of this small personal matter...”
“You really expect me to partner with you? After the mortal insult you’ve just offered me? I should be calling my generals and telling them to roll our tanks into your city.”
“You are free to do so, of course. Free to try. Your generals will warn you about our modern, highly trained army and state-of-the-art defenses. But you could try anyway. Such a mess it would be.” He sighed. “A shame to cause the deaths of our most loyal servants and friends, for something so silly as a nineteen-year-old girl deciding she was too young for marriage and motherhood.”
“I will be mocked. They’ll say the nubile young bride left me at the altar. They’ll call me old—me, in my prime! Nothing can compensate for the loss of honor.”
“No one will mock you when they hear my sister has left you not for another man, but to study science and literature in college. Your people will say you are well rid of a bride who would have been distracted by academic pursuits from the proper affairs of her high royal position.” He paused. “But mostly they will say that you cut me raw, eviscerated my insides from my body, with the deal you made in our oil venture.”
“Deal?” The sultan cleared his throat. “What deal?”
It was then that Sharif knew he had him.
“The deal where I take all the financial risk, paying billions of dollars in all the expenses of research, development and transport, and you get all the profit.”
After that, it was easy. The man’s anger faded, lost in greed and the happy thought of the story that would make the rounds, of how the great Emir of Makhtar had been crushed by his good friend in a business deal. They spoke for some time, hashing out the details of the press release. By the end, the sultan was laughing.
“Even my own children have never cost me so much,” he said gleefully. “I wish you joy of her. Please send my best wishes to your sister and thank her, from the bottom of my heart.”
Hanging up the phone, Sharif groaned a little, putting his head in his hands. The cost of this little escapade would be far more than any mere shopping spree or diamond trinket. This one would hurt, and he’d be taking it out of his own private fortune. It might take twenty years for his net worth to recover. If it ever did.
But he could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was Aziza being unhappy and trapped forever in a loveless marriage. Not his baby sister. Not when he’d vowed to protect her.
But if it wasn’t for Irene’s interference...
Sharif sucked in his breath. He had to see Irene. Now. He had to tell her that the wedding was off. She had to be the first to know.
Sharif nearly ran down the hall, but Irene’s room was empty. Then he remembered. Hammam. Turning, he rushed with almost indecorous swiftness to the other side of the palace. The female servants’ eyes went wide as he hurried past them, but no one dared to stop the emir as he strode into the dark, quiet, peaceful hammam of the women’s wing.
He stopped.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He’d never been in here before. The large, hexagon-shaped room was filled with shadows. The high dome soaring overhead was interlaced with patterns of stars, which caused star-shaped beams of sunlight to fall softly into the darkness. Brass lanterns with flickering candles edged the floor, and in the center of the room, a blue pool of water reflected illuminated waves of light on the surrounding dark alcoves.
Only one woman was receiving the pleasures of hammam, the steam baths, wraps, massage. Sharif’s gaze focused on her.
And he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Irene was lying on a warmed marble slab, facedown with her eyes closed, getting rubbed down by the bath attendant, an older woman who had been hired away from Istanbul long ago. Only a single towel covered Irene’s body. As he watched, that towel slipped and fell to the tile floor.
His mouth had already dropped. But seeing Irene naked, his knees shuddered beneath him. He forgot the reason he’d come here. Or maybe suddenly, for the first time, he truly knew it.
The Turkish bath attendant looked at him in surprise, her eyes wide. He held his finger to his lips, then motioned for her to leave.
