The front door towered like something out of a castle, arch included. Khalid let go of her hand to open the door for her and she was a little surprised to see a blend of lavish and modern.
Marble floors, towering ceilings, columns—but also comfortable furniture, clean lines and carpets that had to be worth a fortune. Khalid led the way up a set of stairs to the right to the second floor, down another hall, and she noticed the entire place seemed scented, as if incense or the flowers from the garden spilled inside. It was cooler inside—either great and quiet air conditioning or really thick walls.
Halfway down the hallway, Khalid stopped and opened another door, She peaked in and saw it looked like any New York upscale apartment—emphasis on upscale. You didn’t get garden views like this in New York.
She stepped in, taking in what seemed to be a sitting room. She’d never seen so much white—couch, pillows, tables, doors. The door on the left stood ajar, showing a bedroom also done up with a lot of white, but right now she was just hoping now for a bathroom that matched the rest of the luxury. Thick carpets with intricate designs covered marble floors and French doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked the gardens. In the distance, she could see more of the palace and then the skyline of Sharjah’s capital.
Khalid waved to the phone by the couch and said, “If you need anything, call the staff. Everyone speaks excellent English.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “You have room service?”
Khalid shrugged. “You cannot yell loud enough for anyone to hear you in another part of the palace, so we have phones. I will be back in an hour. There are a choice of dresses for you in the closet. I picked out what would be suitable for you to wear when you meet my father.”
She frowned. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” His stare traveled over her, and her cheeks heated. “Okay, so I didn’t bring anything formal. Or even half formal. What about my luggage?”
“Already awaits you. Now I see you in an hour, Casey.”
Somehow he made her name into almost an endearment, seeming to caress the vowels, making them longer. Her face heated even more. With one of his slight bows, he closed the door, leaving her alone in what was essentially a private apartment.
“If only Ma could see me now,” Casey muttered, and started poking around.
She had an hour. So twenty minutes for a shower, ten to dress and do makeup—she never put on much. She found a small kitchen, a fridge stocked with coconut water, yogurt and fresh fruit.
Wandering into the bedroom, she glanced around, found the closet and opened it. She had three choices, none of which she’d ever buy for herself. They all looked expensive and she was betting on designer labels. She plucked out a blue gown, long sleeved and almost floor length. Gold embroidery decorated the hem, sleeves and neckline.
“How did I end up in this fantasy world?” she muttered and ran her hand over the silk.
Laying the dress out on the bed, she noticed her lumpy, canvas backpack sitting on the dresser. Her life was inside that bag. Heading over to it, she zipped it open and checked for her passport—missing, meaning Khalid was making sure she couldn’t run out on him, not that she would—and looked for her phone.
It showed missed calls from Luke, but she didn’t bother listening to them. It’d be faster to talk to him.
He answered on the second ring. “Casey?” He sounded like always—out of breath, harried, and impatient. She’d always told him
he was going to have a heart attack one of these days, but Luke would probably be around another sixty years, running his magazine—Real News—just as he did now. He was one of the rare publisher/editors around. He could also be a pain in the ass and demanding as hell, but she knew how to deal with him.
“Luke, I only have a few minutes.”
“Where have you been? Don’t tell me jail. Are you in trouble again?”
“It’s a story—not that long, but definitely great.”
“Define great. And what did you do this time?”
“Let’s just say it’s gotten me into the sultan’s palace—and I’m looking at getting an exclusive insider interview.”
“What? With Mohammed Al-Qasimi?”
“The one and only—and with his son, Sheikh Khalid. I’m going to blow open Sharjah’s tradition of arranged marriages, and I’m going to nab an interview with Khalid’s former fiancée.”
Luke laughed. “Former? That’s news right there. Only you, Casey. When you get in, you get in.”
“Go big or go home, right?”
“Well, big has a deadline. Are you going to get me my story in time for the next edition?” Luke asked.
“That’s—” Her phone beeped a warning. “Hey, my phone is about to die and I don’t want to use the palace phones—no telling who’s listening. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can with deadlines.”
“Case, you—”