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“I was thinking of giving Heather Granny Holly’s ring,” I say, thinking about the large solitaire diamond in a gold setting.
“That would be perfect,” Majid says.
With that settled, the rest of the ride to the shore is uneventful. We make it home just in time for the seamstress and wedding dress designer to arrive. She is bringing samples that can be altered to Heather in a matter of hours.
It’s amazing what can be accomplished in a short amount of time when you are Sheik.
Chapter Six
Heather
After a very quick tour of the palace and our suite, I am ushered into my very empty closet where a seamstress is standing by to take my measurements. I am surprised to meet the super famous wedding dress designer Amani Khouri. All manner of celebrities wear her dresses to get married. She’s been in magazine spreads and movies. She even has a plus size line for actresses to wear to award shows.
“Hello, Ms. Faulkner. I am Amani. Let’s get you in a wedding dress, shall we?” she asks, her crisp British accent makes me smile.
“Yes, of course. It’s so nice to meet you,” I reply shaking her hand. “Please, call me Heather.”
“Of course. It’s lovely to meet you as well. I am honored to provide you with a wedding dress. Malik tells me you like my designs,” she says. As I’ve never spoken to Malik I am confused. When I frown, she continues. “He scoured your social media.” She laughs.
“Ah, I see,” I say, laughing.
“Anna is going to take your measurements, but I think I have something perfect for you,” she says digging through the portable clothes rack behind her. Anna quickly and efficiently takes my measurements.
“Hi, Anna,” I say, holding my arms out.
“Hello, ma’am.”
“Oh, it’s Heather, please.”
“Heather,” she replies. I notice that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of Amani’s butt as it’s all you can see of her at the moment. “Amani cleared her schedule for this.”
“Did she?” I ask as she wraps the tape measure around my bust.
“Oh, yeah. We were on the way to Fiji when we got the call.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to thank her for making the time for me.”
“It’s not every day she gets to outfit an American queen,” Anna says, then blushes.
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her. “I get it. This is weird and so sudden. I am sure people will wonder if I am pregnant or something,” I babble.
“Oh no. It’s all over the news,” she says pulling her phone out of her pocket. Right there plain as day is the headline “It’s love at first sight for Sheik Omar Iben Shan of Erurstan! Meet Heather Faulkner, the daughter of the US Ambassador to Egypt.” There are pictures of my social media and pictures of me as a kid from my mom’s. While this is weird and totally invasive, it’s worth it if I get to be with Omar. When you fall in love with a head of state, I’m quite certain this is always going to be in the cards and it’s not always going to be good. I vow to never let it come between us.
“Oh my God,” I exclaim in shock.
“It’s a really good article. Very informative about you. Nothing awful,” she says putting the phone back in her pocket and finishes up measuring me. She’s all done before Amani resurfaces from the rack.
“Awesome. I know it could have been worse,” I reply. Before she has a chance to say anything else, a muffled “yes” comes from the rack of clothes.
“Got it!” Amani shouts holding up a pure white dress that has an empire waist and is sleeveless. It’s very much my style.
“Oh my gosh, it’s gorgeous,” I say reaching out to touch the lace overlay.
“Let’s see if it fits,” she says, smiling at me. Quickly, I step out of my clothes and stand there in my bra and panties. I used to be self-conscious of my body, but Omar made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world and the one thing I’m not lacking today is confidence. Amani hands me the dress and I step into it, pulling it up my body. Anna and Amani lace the ribbon in the back up and tie it in a bow. It’s a perfect fit, like Cinderella’s slipper. When I step back and look at myself in the mirror I gasp. I don’t look like myself at all. My hair hasn’t been its normal color for years now and I’ve never worn anything so expensive before.
“Amani, this is beautiful,” I tell her, tears filling my eyes.
“You’re beautiful. I don’t think any alterations need to be made. I know now that I made this dress for you. Everything came to me in a dream.”
“That’s amazing,” I reply at a loss for words.
“It really is. Now, dry those tears. The makeup artist won’t like it if your eyes are all puffy,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “Let’s get you out of this and I’ll steam it. Hair and makeup are waiting in the bathroom,” Amani says as she unties the ribbons on the back of the dress.
