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Beth flinched, remembering how stupid she’d felt when she’d finally spoken to the man on the throne, only to discover it was just a regular chair, and the man was just a vizier and that only the ten women to make the next cut would have the honor of actually meeting the king in person.
“But where is he now?” she’d asked as a creeping suspicion built inside her.
The vizier replied with a disapproving stare, “His Highness is busy with affairs of state.”
And then, like a flash, Beth had known.
Why aren’t you in the ballroom?
Because I don’t want to be.
Who else but the king could choose whether he wished to attend such a gala in his own residence? Who else could be so arrogant, wear such a well-cut suit and be able to lounge in the residence’s garden at his leisure? She remembered the handler’s shocked look, and the handsome stranger’s small shake of the head.
You must work for the sheikh? she’d asked. Amused, he’d replied, Every day.
As she stood beside the vizier in the ballroom, her horrible suspicion built to certainty. Then she’d felt someone’s gaze behind her. Turning, she’d seen the handsome stranger himself now beside the door, watching her across the ballroom with cool, inscrutable eyes. And she’d remembered her own embarrassing words. I don’t know why any of these women would want to marry the king... This whole thing is just one camera short of a reality show.
At any time, the king could have revealed himself and stopped her. Instead, he’d just let her carry on making a fool of herself. Angry and humiliated, Beth had glared at him for a moment in the ballroom. Then she’d turned away, cheeks burning. When her interview with the vizier was finally over, the king was nowhere in sight.
She told herself she was relieved she’d never see him again. Just being near him had done crazy things to her. She shivered, her cheeks even now flooding with color at the memory.
He should have had the common decency to tell her who he was, straightaway. The man had no manners whatsoever. And if she ever saw him again—
The knock pounded again on her door, even harder and louder. Gripping the straps of her backpack, Beth answered the door with a sigh. “All right, I’m coming—”
Standing in the doorway, she saw King Omar himself, dressed from head to toe in regal sheikh’s robes.
Her jaw dropped as she took an involuntary step back. His black eyes pierced her. His powerful body seemed to fill every inch of the doorway as he looked down at her grimly.
“So. You know who I am.”
It was a statement, not a question. Trembling, she nodded. All her earlier ideas of pointing out his bad manners flew straight out the window. Her knees were trembling, and all she could think was that he’d discovered she wasn’t Edith. Why else would the king himself come to see her, rather than just having his servants escort her onto the Minibus of Shame?
“Why are you here?” she whispered through dry lips.
“I have good news and bad news, Dr. Farraday.” His husky voice was faintly mocking. “The good news is—you’re coming with me.”
Where? To jail? “Then what’s the bad news?” she blurted out.
“I’m afraid word has gotten out.” He paused, and fear rushed through her body, until he continued smoothly, “Paparazzi have surrounded this hotel. I’m here to escort you and the others out the back.” He motioned to a servant hovering behind him in the hotel hallway. “Saad will get your luggage.”
She indicated the backpack on her shoulder. “This is all I have. This, and the clothes on my back.”
The king’s dark eyes flickered over her. “I will send for more clothes for you.”
Beth shook her head in confusion. “It’s not necessary—”
“Isn’t it?” His gaze lingered over her oversize gray hoodie and baggy jeans as she stood in the hotel suite. She suddenly wished she had something nicer to wear. But that didn’t make sense. If he hadn’t learned her real identity, which it seemed he hadn’t, what did she care what the king thought of her as he took her to the airport?
And yet, somehow, she did care. Remembering how his darkly intense eyes had traced down her bare throat last night to her overflowing breasts, she blushed. Last night, it had felt like she’d wandered into a romantic dream, with the two of them alone in a moonlit Parisian garden.
Dream? No. He’d made a fool of her.
The third man to do that, she thought, and her heart lifted to her throat. “I don’t understand,” she said stiltedly. “The good news is that you’re taking me to the airport personally?”
“No.” His dark eyebrows lowered. “Back to the mansion.”
Beth frowned, bewildered. “All twenty of us are going back?”
