She nodded and waved him into the room. She didn’t want the guards at the door to overhear anything. “I spoke to Fadiyah earlier today.”
Hazim’s steps faltered. He recovered and headed to the French doors. For a moment, he stared out the glass, then turned to her. He was a good looking man—not has handsome as Khalid, but rugged and broad. He wore his black hair close cropped, his dark eyes seemed hooded and guarded, and he had hands the size of good-sized hams. He tucked one hand into his suit pocket.
Casey shook her head. Hazim obviously wasn’t the talkative type. “Look, I know she’s in love with you and you’re in love with her.”
“She is to marry Sheikh Zaid tomorrow.”
Casey stared at the man. “You don’t sound all that upset.”
He lifted one hand. “What can I do?”
“You could do something—do you love the woman or not?”
“My wishes do not matter. I work for the sultan.”
With a low growl, Casey threw her arms up. “I’m about ready to let whatever happens to you happen—but I promised Fadiyah some help. Now are you going to help me?”
He gave her a wary stare. “Help out?”
“As in get me out of this room. I need to see Khalid.”
Hazim shook his head. “I will ask Sheikh Khalid if he will come to see you—more I cannot do. Fadiyah…it was never meant to be. I knew that always. And…and Sheikh Zaid is not a bad man.”
He started to the door, but Casey stepped into his path. “So you’re not going to do anything to save the woman you love from a marriage she doesn’t want.”
He stared at her, his expression as impassive as ever. “I do not expect you to understand our ways.”
“I sure don’t. A man should be willing to help the woman he loves.”
“It is not…the sultan rules Sharjah. We must trust in his wisdom.” Hazim walked out of the room.
Casey stood facing the door, shaking her head. “Like hell we must.”
Khalid’s day had been more than stressful. He had gone to Zaid to apologize and had asked to at least handle all arrangements for his brother. Zaid had agreed—he seemed indifferent to his fate, and that worried Khalid. And that left him wondering if Casey’s attitude was rubbing off on him. Hazim had come to tell Khalid that Casey wished to see him, but Khalid had much to do and little time. He had sent back word he would see Casey as soon as he could—if it was important she would have come to him directly. She would have to wait.
Then he had gone to speak the palace staff.
The wedding had to be traditional, he told them—highly traditional. Robes and veils and the palace ballroom turned into what seemed to be the inside of a tent with yard and yards of fabric. The lighting would be colored lanterns only—no electricity. When the cook asked about food, Khalid decided he had enough for his plans in place and simply said, “Whatever delicacies you think best.” He left the staff scurrying to obey his orders, and then went to find Ahmed to draft him into this scheme. He had thought Ahmed would balk, but Ahmed grinned and agreed to become Zaid’s shadow—and to do his part tomorrow.
Satisfied all was in place, Khalid started to Casey’s room, but came upon his father in the main hallway. His father stopped in front of him. The sultan had changed into a casual thobe without a headscarf. His stare raked Khalid and he said, “Just what are you planning, Khalid?” Khalid struggled for as innocent a look as he could muster—it was one he had long practiced as a boy. “Father, what do you suspect? I have simply been helping to ensure the staff is prepared for the wedding tomorrow.” And that was the utter truth. The sultan shook his head. “Khalid, I have known you all of your life—do you not think I know that look of yours? You have something in mind—some mischief. Ah, why must I be possessed of such undutiful sons?”
Khalid’s mouth tightened, but he bit back the words that sprang to mind and the hot anger. Had not Casey said he was too much like his father? Trying to keep that in mind, he forced a smile. “I promise an excellent day, father.”
“And your own wedding, Khalid? What plans do you make for that? Your honor is at stake. This American is not the woman I would have chosen for you, but it seems I have underestimated her.”
Frowning now, Khalid asked, “What do you mean?”
With a slight smile, the sultan gestured for Khalid to follow him to his office. He pulled out a computer from his desk—one he kept hidden to preserve the appearance of an old fashioned office. In truth, the sultan was more conversant with computers and the modern era than most in his country. With a few keystrokes, he called up a website. “Your Casey, I must admit she can write. And such a story as this will bring tourists to Sharjah.”
Khalid scanned the article. It had been published in an online magazine and seemed to be all about Casey’s visit to various places in Sharjah, including the reserve. Thankfully, she had not written about having sex with one of the sultan’s sons, but everything else was there. Straightening, Khalid glanced at his father. “So this pleases you? You think her useful and that makes it a good alliance.”
The sultan wagged a finger. “Good enough. And Mehmood is pleased to see his daughter as a bride. Now go—and set a date with your bride.”
“Oh, I plan to speak to her at once,” Khalid said.
He headed out of his father’s office, ran up the stairs and paused when he saw the guards outside Casey’s room. He waved a hand to dismiss them. “You may go.”
Neither man moved. “The sultan has ordered us to remain here.”