Starting to wander again with her coffee in hand, she turned down one of the garden paths and caught sight of Arif frowning at a bush with dark green leaves and white flowers.
He stood in khaki pants and a white shirt next to an older woman who wore loose, pink silk trousers and a matching tunic. Her long, black hair hung down her back in a thick braid. Slim and tall, she looked quite young at a glance, but the gray at her temples and the lines around her eyes and neck gave away her age. The gold flashing from rows of thin bracelets on her wrist also gave away her status as a royal.
Arif waved an impatient hand at the plant in front of him. "Gardenias are too pale. My wedding should have vibrant colors."
Rolling her eyes, Christine started to turn away, but Arif caught sight of her and called out. She strolled over, hoping she could say hi and bye.
Arif gestured to the older woman at his side. "Christine, this is my Aunt Bian. Aunt, this is Dr. Christine Harper, who has been researching for her father in the palace archives."
A dark, assessing stare fixed on Christine. The air almost crackled with the older woman's disapproval. Lifting her chin, Christine met the older woman's challenging stare with one of her own. She was used to this kind of thing from other professors—she was, after all, the loony Dr. Kris Harper's daughter.
At last the woman said, "Amrekiah." She spat out the word.
Christine stiffened. "American, yes." She smiled and added in Arabic, “It’s nice to meet you.” Even if it wasn't, she would mind her manners. The disapproval radiating off the older woman had Christine slipping her hand into Arif's in defiance. She lifted her eyebrows, daring the woman to say something. She was not going to let this aunt cow her with Arabic and a few sour glances.
One black eyebrow arched, and Bian turned to Arif. "You should have her astrological chart done before you think more on a wedding."
Christine bit down on a laugh. Chart? Seriously?
Eyes narrowing, Bian looked at Christine again. "Have you given thought to how your children will be raised?"
Opening her mouth, Christine started to tell Bian she could mind her own business, but Arif stepped in, saying, "I would hope any child of mine would be brought up with love."
It was a good answer, and Christine smiled up at him. But her stomach tightened at the thought of a little boy with Arif's eyes and a little girl just as strong and daring as him.
Bian stiffened. That was obviously not the answer she wanted. She kept her stare on Christine. "You are wise to be slow to enter into a marriage. It is difficult for an outsider to become part of the royal family."
"Aunt!" The word came out sharp.
Christine didn't like this woman's bullying. She stepped closer to Arif. She didn't want to cause trouble, but she also didn't want to see this woman trying to push him around by going after her. She smiled up at Arif and batted her eyelashes—something she'd never done in her life.
"I think perhaps we should discuss flowers for the wedding another day, Arif." Take that, you old cow.
Bian's head lifted. The golden bangles on one wrist rattled as she lifted her hand and lowered it again. She sent a stink-eyed glance to Christine, gave Arif a sweet nod, and swept off, her shoes slapping against the garden path.
"Well, that was unpleasant." Christine moved away from Arif, but he didn't let go of her hand. "Does she think you're planning to marry an infidel who will corrupt your moral fiber?"
Arif gave a low laugh. "Bian married my mother's younger brother. My aunt comes from a traditional family outside the royal bloodline, and she has always been touchy about her status. She is actually…well, protective of me."
A lump rose in Christine's throat. She thought of Arif as a boy who had lost his parents too young. No wonder his aunt was a little touchy when it came to him. She should have shown a little more patience with the woman.
"I should…" She let the words fade and waved with the coffee cup in her other hand toward the archives. But she was reluctant to head back to more disappointment.
Arif lifted her hand, kissed the back of it and tipped his head to one side. "Please don't run off just yet. Ah, I know, how would you like to see the oldest parts of the palace and the treasury?"
She bit her lower lip. Most things she could ignore, but when that pleading look came into his eyes and his lips took on that small curve that hid the crescent scar near the corner of his mouth, she melted. "I guess the archives will wait an hour or two for me."
The grin he offered her flipped her heart. Oh, she was in such trouble.
Pulling her hand out of his with the excuse of needing to find someplace to leave her coffee cup, she walked over to a garden bench. She took a long breath to steady herself. She could do this—keep her calm and be rational.
Arif led her on a tour of the palace—up stone stairs, down carpeted halls, pointing to portraits of past rulers and sheikhs, walking past guards in military uniforms who saluted him and scowled at her, and finally they walked through a door unlocked by one of those guards and into a windowless room with cream-colored walls and glass cases lined up as if it really was a museum.
"These are the family jewels," Arif said, his
voice casual, as if everyone must have a stash like this. "Those belonging to the crown reside in the government house in Al Resab in a vault."
"Oh, so is this the everyday wear?" Christine swallowed hard. She was staring at a fortune.