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“Thank you, Miss Amari,” Sayed said, his tone imperious by necessity to hide his reaction to her. He indicated the woman assigned to tend his domestic needs. “This is Abdullah-Hasiba. She will let you know of any requirements we may have. Should you have any questions, they can be taken directly to her, as well.”
Miss Amari’s beautiful green gaze chilled and her full lips firmed slightly, but nothing else in her demeanor indicated a reaction to his clear dismissal.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Dipping her head again in the tradition of his people, she then turned to his servant. “I look forward to working with you Miz Abdullah-Hasiba.”
With another barely-there dip of her head, the much-too-attractive hotel employee did that thing well-trained servants were so good at and seemed to just melt away.
Sayed had a baffling and near-unstoppable urge to call her back.
CHAPTER TWO
STILL GRAPPLING WITH the fact she’d forgotten her father in the presence of the emir, Liyah knocked on Miz Abdullah-Hasiba’s door.
She hadn’t even taken the chance to meet Gene Chatsfield’s eyes for the first time. How could she have missed such a prime opportunity?
She was here to observe her father and ultimately make herself known to him. Liyah had not come to the Chatsfield London to ogle a Zeena Sahran prince.
Aaliyah Amari did not ogle anyone.
The door in front of her swung open. The unexpectedness of it, even though she’d been the one to knock, further emphasized how disconnected from her normal self Liyah was.
Wearing a dark apricot kameez embroidered around the neck and wrists with pale yellow thread, the emir’s personal housekeeper clasped her hands in front of her and bent her head forward. “Miss Amari, how may I be of service?”
“I wanted to make sure you and the emir’s other female traveling companions have found your accommodations acceptable.”
“Very much so.” The older woman stepped back and indicated Liyah should enter her room.
“Please, come in.”
“I do not want to take you from your duties.”
“Not at all. You must share a cup of tea with me.”
With no polite way to decline, and frankly not inclined to do so, Liyah followed the other woman to the small sofa on the other side of the deluxe room. As much as it might bother her, Liyah could not deny her fascination with the emir.
At least, not to herself.
The Middle Eastern tea service Liyah had purchased on behalf of the hotel—along with the ones for the sheikh and his fiancée’s suites—sat in the center of the oval coffee table.
Miz Abdullah-Hasiba poured the fragrant hot drink from the copper-and-glass pot into the short, narrow matching cups with no handles. “This is a treat.”
“Yes?”
The housekeeper nodded with a smile. “Oh, yes. We do not travel with glassware as it is too easily broken.”
“Naturally.” Liyah waited for the housekeeper to take a sip before following suit, enjoying the sweetened warm beverage and the bittersweet memories it evoked.
Her mom had insisted on beginning and ending each day with a cup of mint tea augmented by a touch of honey.
“Nevertheless, the Chatsfield is the first hotel on the emir’s current European travel itinerary to have thought to provide the traditional tea service.”
“They will only be found in your room, the emir’s suite and that of his fiancée, I’m afraid.”
The older woman smiled. “Your grasp of our culture is commendable. Most hotel staff would have put the tea set in the room for the emir’s secretary.”
Liyah did not shrug off the praise, but neither did she acknowledge it. She was more aware of the Zeena Sahran culture than the average Brit or American, but anyone observant would have taken note that the housekeeper had been booked in the most deluxe room beside the emir’s fiancée’s suite.
“His secretary is actually junior office staff, I believe,” Liyah observed.
