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She cocked her head to the side and smiled up at him. “I don’t want our children raised by nannies.”
“Agreed.”
So, a very part-time interest. She could work with that.
“Are you ready for bed?” he asked.
“I’m tired, but not sleepy.”
“I think I can fix that.”
And he did.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE next day, she got up early and when he left for his meetings, she accompanied him. The car dropped her and her security detail off at the main pavilion. She spent her morning focused on the German designers and boutiques, taking dozens of pictures in between miniinterviews with designers, boutique owners and other attendees of the show. It was unsurprising, but nevertheless pleasing how eager people were to be quoted in an article written by the soon-to-be wife of the Crown Sheikh of Zohra.
Her pregnancy caught up with her around lunchtime and she returned to the hotel for a nap after eating a light snack from the food stalls.
She woke up hungry and decided on a late lunch in the hotel restaurant before returning to the Fashion Week festivities. The hauptkellner looked surprised to see her, but then nodded to himself as if working something out. He said something in rapid German to another waiter that she was sure Zahir would understand, but Angele’s German was not up to such rapid speech. Then he turned and led her toward the back of the restaurant, where the tables afforded a lovely view of the garden out the wall of windows.
She was so intent on the view she didn’t immediately see the other occupants at the table the head waiter had stopped beside. He snapped his fingers and the other waiter appeared with a third chair, since the two already at the table were occupied.
By Zahir.
And Elsa Bosch.
Zahir’s face had gone completely blank, but Elsa looked both amused and slightly sick to her stomach.
It was an interesting reaction that Angele cataloged almost subconsciously as she took the chair the waiter held out for her. The hauptkellner placed her napkin in her lap while the waiter laid another place setting at the table.
He went to hand her a menu, but she waved it away. “I’ll just have a chicken Caesar salad.”
She didn’t know if they had it on the menu, but was confident the chef could come up with something. It was taking all her concentration to maintain an air of calm and casual demeanor while seated at the table with her soon-to-be husband and his former mistress.
The waiters left and Angele released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well, this is awkward.”
Neither of her companions had an answer for that, so she turned to Zahir. “Not to be rude, but I believe you told me this particular problem had been taken care of.”
Elsa made a sound of annoyance, but didn’t say anything.
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“I believed it had, but then further developments arose.”
“She’s trying to blackmail you now?” Angele asked in Arabic, fairly confident none of their fellow diners could overhear to quote her for the gossip rags.
She made no attempt to hide either her disgust or her shock. Only an idiot risked making an absolute enemy of a man like Zahir.
“No.”
“I am not sure if that makes me more relieved or worried.” Perhaps a week ago, her reaction to this situation would have been much different. Okay, there was no maybe about it, but she’d decided to trust him. Totally and completely.
And she was going to keep doing so, unless she was given a whole lot more than a public lunch as evidence she shouldn’t.
“Elsa was not the blackmailer.”
Angele’s gaze flicked to the other woman, who seemed to be listening with interest. “No? You confirmed she was.”
