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Prue and Khadem wereback in the States the very next day, and she felt like pinching herself because everything seemed like a dream. Saif had apparently taken the time to speak to her parents while she was away, and not only were they all having dinner together, but Celine and Herbert couldn't be more pleased with the knowledge that their daughter would soon be a princess.
"You okay there?"
A rueful smile touched Prue's lips at Seven's question. "I'm just a little overwhelmed."
The older girl patted her hand comfortingly. "I know what you mean. But don't worry, it will pass."
"I really hope so."
"Trust me. It will. And if it makes you feel any better—-" Seven wrinkled her nose. "I was exactly in your shoes just a few days ago."
Prue's eyes widened as she listened to Seven recount how she had been blackmailed and made to lose her heart to the Crown Prince...all in one day as well.
"It's like a thing for them, isn't it? Or maybe it's in their blood."
Prue could only laugh at Seven's grumpy tone.
"But anyway..." Seven glanced at the two remaining bachelors of the royal family. "Which of them do you think would be next?"
"Rashad," Prue said after a moment. He was very mysterious, and most women liked that. Ilyas, on the other hand, albeit as gorgeous as his brothers, always seemed too busy. She couldn't imagine seeing him have any spare time for marriage.
Seven's gaze flicked between Rashad and Ilyas. "Do you know that the royal family has their ownofficialfortune teller?"
Prue was amazed. "A fortune teller? Really?"
"She doesn't do gimmicky stuff like crystal balls, and she doesn't even use tarot cards. She just reads your palm, and I think I saw her read Ilyas' fortune a while ago. How about we ask her what she saw?"
****
ABUSINESS CALL HADIlyas excusing himself from dessert and taking the steel-and-glass bridge that connected the hotel to the commercial complex across the street. He was just past the halfway point when Ilyas heard a faint mewl coming from an overturned box.
What the hell?
He nudged the box aside, and he cursed under his breath when he saw the kitten underneath.
Walk away, Ilyas.
Just walk the fuck away.
But when the kitten let out another miserable little cry, Ilyas found himself bending down...only to get himself scratched.
Fuck!
The kitten was obviously traumatized, but Ilyas was patient, and his soft, coaxing voice eventually won the little thing over, and Ilyas was able to gently scoop its body off the cold, hard tiles.
Beware a kitten that cries, for life as you know it will never be the same once its claws find their way to your heart.
Johanna, the fortune teller, had said those very words to him earlier, but Ilyas refused to believe the older woman's reading had anything to do with this scraggly little thing.
Once inside his office, Ilyas was surprised to see that all the lights were on—-
"Oh, it's you."
It was his secretary Ember, and he remembered belatedly that she had asked for his permission to sleep in the office for a fortnight.
"Oh my God, is that a kitten?"
Ember came running to him, and Ilyas found himself blinking. The secretary he was used to seeing always had her hair pinned up, a pair of dorky glasses perched over her nose, and her body hidden under some oversized blazer and a baggy pair of pants.
