“Yes, is this Vanessa Hammerman?”
Vanessa swallowed, the distantly French vowels registering as familiar somehow. “Yes, may I ask who is calling?”
“This is Marie Frechard.” There was an intentional pause. “You sent me the lookbook for your upcoming maternity line last week, and I wanted to speak with you about what I thought.”
Vanessa’s heart started racing. She glanced around at all the men in the room, searching for Amad. This was the call she’d been waiting for, sitting on pins and needles since firing off that email with the prototypes Calla had dreamt up. She just needed a few minutes to take this call before he showed up. To get the good—or bad—news and figure out how to break it to him.
“Yes,” she blurted, trying to contain her excitement. If she was calling, it was because she liked what she’d seen. It had to be. “I’m so happy to hear from you! Let’s discuss!”
The din of the chatter around her receded to a dull roar as Marie began speaking. “Well, a few pieces in particular stuck out to me. They really demonstrated an elegance of design, a flowing artistry that I’m eager to delve into.”
As Marie waxed poetic about her likes and dislikes of the line, Vanessa’s excitement grew to a fervor. This was happening. It was really happening. Marie wanted to see the actual clothing and would have her assistant call over to set up a meeting. By the time they hung up, Vanessa was so blissed out that she could barely see straight.
Amad ambled up toward the meeting, shaking hands with tribal leaders. She could see the question marks in his eyes as he made his way toward her.
“Is everything okay, Vanessa?” He squeezed her shoulder, and she popped to her feet, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.
“Wonderful. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out this morning. I knew I could find you here.”
“Yes. It ran a bit long, but only because the children were enamored with my storytelling skills.” He smiled, but it faded quickly. The men were gathering around the table, and Vanessa could tell it was time for her to leave.
Someone nearby made a sharp comment in Amatbahn that caused Amad to twist around. He glared and issued a curt response. His gaze was clouded when he faced her again.
“You should go. The meeting is going to start.” He sounded exasperated and squeezed her arm. “I’ll find you after.”
The excitement thrumming through her dulled only slightly with the strange interaction there that she couldn’t understand. She’d need to add “learn Amatbahn” to her lists of tasks while staying at the palace. She offered an apologetic smile to the tribal leaders and hurried out of their space, feeling like she’d overstayed her welcome.
But it didn’t matter. If she’d overstepped her boundaries by trying to visit Amad in his male space, the news she had would surely make up for it. She’d managed to snag a connection that she was positive he’d be thrilled about.
Now she just had to figure out when to break the news.
14
A few days went by as Vanessa and Calla worked diligently on the maternity line, preparing for Marie Frechard to formally receive the items. Calla buzzed around the work space like a bumblebee on steroids. But Vanessa couldn’t blame her. This was big news for her business and big news for the tribe.
Which meant that it was officially time for Vanessa to tell Amad.
He’d been distant in the days since she’d found him in his tribal meeting. She figured it was because they were both busy—Vanessa spent more and more time in Calla’s workshop, and Amad spent more and more time with the leaders, squaring things away for the business side of the fashion line. It seemed everyone in the palace had their minds on the fashion line, one way or another.
But now that Vanessa’s random connection was turning out to be a bit more stable than just a passing business card at a Paris fashion show, it was time to hand the reins over to Amad. This was his side of things. She couldn’t wait to brighten his day with the news.
Tracking him down was harder than expected, though. These days, they only consistently saw each other upon waking and when going to bed. Occasionally, a shared dinner might happen, but even then, Amad seemed distracted or rushed.
But maybe this was just the life of a working couple. The type of pair who ran businesses and made international deals. A tremor of excitement coursed through her as her footsteps clicked down the granite stairs that led to the workout room on the east end of the palace. Amad’s daily workout session would be ending in a matter of minutes. She’d catch him on his way out, snag him for a few minutes, and share the awesome news.
She poked her head into the big, brightly lit room. It was a modern workout room stuck in a medieval-looking salon. The walls were laid with unevenly sized stones, rounded out to form the eastern turret of the palace. The grunts and punches of Amad and Fatim, sparring in a boxing ring on the far end, were the only sounds that echoed through the big chamber.
Vanessa hung by the wall, watching with fascination as her husband threw jabs and dodged the punches of his brother. It seemed unlikely that she would ever tire of seeing him half-naked or sweating. An alarm sounded from somewhere—maybe one of their phones—and the brothers got in their final punches before dropping their stances.
When Amad tugged off his boxing gloves, his gaze swung her way. She waved at the brothers, happy at least that a smile overtook Amad’s face. Fatim called out his greeting as he gathered his things at the far wall.
“Were you spying on my display of masculinity?” Amad joked as he came over, his black workout shorts swishing softly against his thighs. She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his sweaty neck.
“Always.”
“I need a shower,” he said, pinching at her waist. “Do you want to come?”
That seemed like a fine midday suggestion. But she needed to get her news out first. “Sure. But I want to talk to you first.”