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“We must announce it, and if you are joining me on this trip, then I should like to do it immediately.”
Millie felt as though she’d been cornered. “But —,”
“She needs to know,” he said firmly. “And I imagine it will be better for her to hear it from you than the news networks.”
Millie gulped. “I really never thought of you as a Sheikh,” she said with a lift of her shoulders, a tremulous smile on her face. “Back then, I mean. On the one hand, you’re so commanding, but on the other, you were always just Zafar to me. It’s strange to think that your personal choices should play out in a public arena.”
“We’ll control the media,” he assured her. “It will be a brief palace statement, a single photograph, nothing more.”
She nodded, but nerves were bursting through her.
“You look terrified.”
“No,” she fiddled her fingers in front of her. “It’s just the beginning of a new phase, that’s all. I understand why it has to be done.” She tilted her chin defiantly, eyes sparking with a courage that Zafar recognised from the awful conversation when their relationship had ended and Millie had picked up her pride and carried it with her, making him feel about two inches tall in the process.
“Would you like to see the statement before it’s released?”
She considered that a moment before shaking her head. “I imagine your people will know what to say to create the best…impression.”
“It will be brief,” he reiterated. “Facts only.”
“Fine,” she murmured, and now when she looked out on the kingdom she felt awash with uncertainty. She loved Abu Qara, but would it love her back? “You mentioned a photograph?”
“We’ll have one taken this afternoon.”
Her heart trembled. “Fine.”
Zafar moved closer and she stiffened, on edge suddenly. His sigh washed over her. “Everything’s going to be fine, Millie. We’re doing what’s best for our baby. You don’t need to be afraid.”
* * *
She wasn’tafraid so much as overwhelmed, and that was a feeling that only spiralled as the afternoon progressed. An army of women had arrived at the royal apartment, each tasked with a different duty. There was someone to tame Millie’s hair into an elegant style, pinning it into a low bun at her nape while someone else applied a light coating of make up to her face, transforming her in subtle ways, maximising her round eyes and thick lashes with a well placed cosmetic. Another woman rolled in a portable wardrobe, with dozens of gowns which she proceeded to hold against Millie, appraising the colour of the fabric against Millie’s complexion until finally she settled on a dress with a deep blue hue.
Millie had presumed that would be the end of it, but a moment later, Bashir entered wheeling a large, sturdy suitcase, black with silver edges. With four guards flanking him, he crouched down and inserted a key into an ancient padlock, smiling encouragement as he beckoned Millie to join him. Hair and make up done but wearing t-shirts and jeans, she felt quite ludicrous to find herself staring at a selection of nine tiaras, each boasting enough gems to blind her eyes with brightness.
She lifted a hand to her mouth as she stared at them, each dazzling her with their beauty and perfection.
“Which would you like to wear?”
“None of them,” she responded quietly, so only Bashir and the nearest guards heard.
He laughed softly. “Impossible. Let me explain a little of their history, to inform your decision.”
He proceeded to do just that, narrating a little about each tiara, their origins, previous uses, until he arrived at the tiara Millie believed to be the most beautiful. “This belonged to the late Sheikh’s sister, Her Royal Highness Princess Anya al Habib. She wore it to her twenty first birthday party, and again to her brother’s wedding, then finally to His Highness Sheikh Zafar’s coronation.”
“It’s perfect,” Millie said, feeling strangely drawn to the piece, even over one that was far bigger and had belonged to Zafar’s mother. “Is it not more appropriate to wear that one?” She asked nervously.
“His Highness was explicit that you should choose whichever you like best of these. He will be delighted with your selection.”
Bashir’s praise reassured a part of Millie when she hadn’t even known she’d needed it. “Thank you. Do I —,” she went to reach for it but Bashir smiled kindly, forestalling her.
“I’ll remove it. There are alarmed tags.”
“Of course.” She took a step back. “Thank you.”
When she turned back to the seat she’d previously occupied, a woman was waiting to paint her nails.
Finally, when all of the attendants left, Millie had a scant fifteen minutes to herself, and she used the time to FaceTime her mother.
