Melanie headed for the outside, and it took three corridors and five doors to find it. The palace wasn’t just lush, it was huge and a maze of rooms. Thankfully, there seemed to be servants—maids in neat uniforms and security men in suits that did nothing to hide their muscles—almost everywhere. A few even spoke a little English.
Outside, the heat of the day hit like an oven door opening.
She leaned against the wall, thinking about the money this was going to bring in to her catering business. If she could just focus on that and not Ahmed’s smile, or the way he moved, or how it had felt with their bodies wrapped together, maybe she could get through this month.
“Melanie Martin?”
The voice—low and soft and male—jerked her out of her thoughts. She turned to see a man in the traditional long, white robes and headscarf fastened with a black band that she’d seen many men in Sharjah wearing. He had dark, reddish skin and light-amber eyes that almost looked like those of a lion’s. He wasn’t one of the sultan’s sons—she’d met all of them in New York—so maybe he was a cousin or something.
“Yes?” She fixed a smile in place.
He’d seemed to come from nowhere. She glanced around, wishing one of the security men would show up. This guy had bulk and muscle under his robes and a vaguely threatening feel to him. She’d lived in New York long enough to know trouble when it was headed her way. He stopped in front of her. He smelled of sweat and garlic, but his English was perfect when he said, “I have a business proposition for you.”
She doubted that his definition of business was the same as hers. He’d also put himself between her and the door back into the palace. She wasn’t in any position to try to fight off a man in Sharjah. As a foreigner, she knew she had to walk a very thin, straight and narrow line of behavior. As a woman, that line would be even thinner.
She lifted her eyebrows, crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Her heart was thudding hard, but she was going to try to go for cool.
“You are vital to this wedding—the caterer.” He made a face as if he had tasted something sour. “These arranged marriages, not something you Americans practice. Sadly, we do. And that is where you could be of help. All you need do is be what anyone would expect—a temperamental chef who demands the finest ingredients. Exotic fruits that must be special ordered. Unusual, hard to get fish and spices.”
“You want me to delay the event?” Melanie asked, staring at him.
“A few days only. Until after the last day of June. And for this, one hundred thousand dollars will be transferred into a Swiss bank account in your name.”
Melanie stilled. She swallowed. “That’s…a lot of money. Do you mind if I ask why?”
He lifted a hand. “Think of it as…well, an astrologer looking for an auspicious date.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really? Seriously? And why haven’t you approached the family to mention this?”
His smile remained fixed but his eyes hardened. “You ask a number of questions.”
Melanie propped a hand on her hip. “Look, buddy. I’ve had to deal with New York teamsters. I can hear a threat even when it’s not mentioned.”
His smile widened to flash white teeth. “Not at all. I merely make an offer. And…what harm could it possibly cause?”
Tempting as it was to tell the guy to go to hell, Melanie was certain he’d only find someone else to try and bribe. If she agreed, she’d be able to tell Ahmed about this. And she’d decide later if this really was a wedding that needed to be delayed or not. She gave a nod. “I’ll do what I can.” She put one hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. And she hoped she hadn’t just agreed to something that wouldn’t just put off a wedding, but which might end her career. And hurt Ahmed.
8
Ahmed sat at the dining table, drumming his fingers on the hard wood. Plates had been set out and they were to taste dishes today, but he had no appetite.
He had wanted to see Melanie, but so far that was proving difficult. She always seemed to have her staff with her, would not dismiss them, and if it that was not difficult enough, Nasiji kept after him to do something to end this farce of an engagement. She worried too much, and he kept telling her to trust in him, but she would simply give him accusing looks.
At least his plans were advancing.
Khalid and Zaid had both already remarked that it seemed as if Nasiji was the rule in this relationship. Each time, Ahmed had shrugged and spread his hands. “What can I do? Father wishes me to marry her, so I must. And what she wishes…well, I do not want a shrew of a wife and so I live now to please her.” He had walked away—but he knew they would carry stories to his father. And his father was not a man who believed that any woman should rule a house. It was step one to making Nasiji seem an undesirable daughter-in-law.
Now for step two.
But first he must try the dishes.
At least this might lead to a chance for him to tal
k to his sensual American.
However, Melanie’s staff brought out the meze or appetizers—the traditional but not too traditional foods. He raised an eyebrow at that. If Melanie thought to avoid him today, she was wrong.
He tasted the dishes—wonderful all of them, but that was not part of the plan. He made faces at everything. The za’atar—a blend of thyme, sumac, and sesame seeds—was too dry. The hummus had too much tahini. Things were too traditional or not enough. He bickered with Nasiji over every little thing.