It took a moment to realise the other woman’s smile had faded.
‘I’d be honoured.’ Jacqui was surprised at the unlooked for offer. ‘Thank you, Samira. And I’m Jacqui.’
‘Not Jacqueline, as my brother calls you?’
Jacqui froze, the cup halfway to her lips. ‘He talks about me?’ Intimate as they were, she hadn’t expected him to discuss her with his sister.
A mischievous smile tugged Samira’s mouth. ‘More than I suspect he realises. But my grandmother and I don’t tell him.’ She lifted her cup to her lips. ‘Now I’ve begun to know you a little, I understand why.’
Jacqui wondered what sort of back-handed compliment that was. Except the princess struck her as genuine and friendly. And they had something in common: Asim.
Why did everything come back to him?
It was because he’d taken over her world, turning it from dark grey to glowing brightness.
He’d made her happier than she’d dared hope.
And he made her feel special. So special it scared her, made her worry this couldn’t be real. She’d never felt such closeness, even with her family. Was she imagining he cared for her because she wanted it to be true? Was she extra needy because of the stress she’d gone through?
‘Tell me more about your project, Jacqui. I was too...unwell to attend the sessions with my grandmother and her friends. But I’d like to hear more.’
An hour later they were on their second coffees and the conversation had veered through traditional Jazeeri dresses to the silvery grey designer original Jacqui had worn at the formal dinner.
‘You mean you designed it?’ She leaned forward, admiring the portfolio Samira had produced. There were sketches, fabric swatches and photos of finished dresses. All were stunning, ultra-feminine in an unfussy, eye-catching style that instantly appealed.
‘Grandmother wanted to give you a gift.’ Samira smiled. ‘She is so excited about your book and the sensitive way you’re approaching it. She wasn’t sure you had something suitable for Asim’s formal dinner.’
‘I don’t. Didn’t.’ Jacqui shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe you designed that amazing dress. And these. They’re gorgeous.’
Samira shrugged. ‘It’s a very trivial talent, nothing compared with the work you do—’
‘Nonsense!’ The word shot out and belatedly Jacqui wondered if she’d been too forthright when Samira stiffened.
Jacqui had enjoyed their conversation so much she’d almost forgotten her companion’s royal status, and that they’d just met. It felt as if they’d known each other for ages. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’ Even now Samira didn’t smile and the shadows were back in her eyes. Jacqui wondered if it was just her break-up with her actor boyfriend that had wounded her, or something deeper.
‘What I meant was that we each have talents and should be grateful for them. I could never design anything as beautiful as this.’ She gestured to a photo of a blonde model whose evening gown of midnight blue swirled around her like a dream.
‘You’re gifted in a way that brings beauty into the world. Much of my job dealt with an uglier reality. It was necessary, because people have to know the truth about the world around them, but they need beauty too.’
Perhaps that was why her book was giving her a new sense of optimism. Despite the negatives to harem life, there was great beauty and grace too, personified by the remarkable old women she’d been privileged to meet.
‘You should be proud of your talent, Samira. These are amazing. But you’ve only designed for friends? Why aren’t you doing this professionally?’
‘A good question, but not one for today.’ Asim’s deep voice came from behind her and instantly her flesh prickled in awareness. She drew in a breath, willing her pulse not to racket so fast, afraid her response to him would be too obvious. Since they’d become lovers it grew harder to pretend in public.
‘Asim!’ Samira smiled. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again today. I thought you were working.’
Jacqui turned. Asim filled the doorway, resplendent in a turban and embroidered tunic of dark blue. His stern features gave nothing away but suddenly she recalled his furious accusation when she’d first arrived, that she’d come to ferret out a story about his sister.
Is that what he thought? His hooded eyes were impenetrable but the line of his shoulders was stiff.
‘I was stood up for my meeting.’
‘Stood up?’ Samira frowned. ‘Someone cancelled a meeting with you?’