The Bride Wore Size 12 (Heather Wells 5)

“Do you think your men would kill for you?” I interrupt.

“Of course they would,” Rashid replies, without hesitation.

“Did one of them kill Jasmine Albright?” I ask. “Is that why she’s dead? Was she about to reveal your secret to the world?”

Rashid and Ameera exchange glances again, but this time those glances aren’t knowing. They’re bewildered.

“Did she see something the night of your party—maybe the two of you kissing, or something—and take a photo of it?” I press on. “Did one of your bodyguards go into her room and steal her cell phone and suffocate her to death in order to save your life, Rashid, and your bride’s?”

Ameera’s face disintegrates into tears at the same time that Rashid stands up, so swiftly that he knocks over the chair in which he’s been sitting.

“No!” he cries. No amount of Patsy Cline is going to drown out his angry voice. “How dare you? How dare you even suggest such a thing?”

A second later, there’s pounding on the door to Lisa’s office, and someone is trying to turn the knob, but thankfully the door is locked.

“Your Highness!” Hamad shouts. “Your Highness, open the door. Your Highness, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

I stare up at Rashid, breathing almost as heavily as he is.

“Someone suffocated Jasmine to death, Rashid,” I whisper. “Someone held a hand over her mouth and nose until she died from lack of oxygen. She was leaking things about you to the Express, the student news blog. She was at your party, and she saw something, and someone killed her a little while later to keep her quiet about it. What did she see? What did she see?”

Rashid swings around to look at Ameera, who has tears streaming down her face. She’s shaking her head, mouthing the word “No. No, no, no.”

“Your Highness!” Hamad shouts again, beating on the door.

“I’m all right,” Rashid calls to his bodyguard. “Stand down.” To Ameera, he whispers, “What could she have seen?”

Ameera shakes her head, pressing a hand to the two rings she wears on the chain around her neck . . . rings I now realize, belatedly, are her and Rashid’s wedding rings. She wears them over her heart.

“Nothing, Rashid,” she whispers back. “I’ve been playing that night over and over in my head, ever since I saw her body. And there’s nothing. We never even looked at each other at that party. We were so safe. I stayed on one side of the room, and you stayed on the other. It wasn’t until after—after everyone left—that we—that we—”

She breaks off, sobbing, and Rashid wraps his arms around her, then looks at me, his expression desperate.

“She’s right,” he says. “Whatever it was the girl photographed at my party—if there was a photo—it wasn’t us. We’re careful in public. The parties are so my father won’t suspect. I have to maintain my image—Rascally Rashid.” He gives a single, bitter laugh. “I can never let him know who I really am—a married man.”

A married man—married to the Fischer Hall “slut.”

Cooper was right. Things aren’t always what they seem.

“But if Jasmine wasn’t killed because of something to do with you,” I say bewilderedly to Rashid, “what was she killed for? It had to have been something that happened at your party.”

Rashid has sat down again, this time to cradle a sobbing Ameera in his arms. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in my questions. I guess I wouldn’t be either if I were a boy and the girl I loved had been ignoring me for days and was now suddenly weeping against my chest.

“How should I know?” he asks. “Why don’t you ask one of your precious RAs? They were all there. Maybe one of them saw something. I had no idea the girl was even murdered. I thought she died of asthma.”

“I thought she was murdered,” Ameera sobs. “I took one look at her face and all I could think was, ‘That’s going to be me someday. Someone’s going to sneak into my room and do that to me in my sleep one night—’ ”

“Shhh,” Rashid says, burying his face in her hair. “No, they aren’t, not if you spend every night with me. You know you’re safe with me, you silly thing. Stop sleeping in your room with those terrible roommates of yours, and sleep with me, where you belong . . .”

He continues murmuring to her, but I’ve stopped listening.

Something that Rashid has said has caused my blood to run cold. Suddenly I realize that Cooper’s wise words from last night aren’t entirely true after all. Sometimes things are exactly as they seem.

It just takes a while to figure it out.

32

Residents who are locked out may obtain a “lockout key” from the Front Desk Attendant by presenting proper ID; the lockout key must be returned to the desk within fifteen minutes or a thirty-five-dollar fee will be assessed. Residents without proper ID must be escorted to their room by the RA on duty.

New York College Housing and

Residence Life Handbook

You two,” I say, pointing vaguely in Rashid and Ameera’s direction as I rise distractedly from Lisa’s chair. “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere. We’re going to notify the State Department about your situation.”

Rashid lifts his head from Ameera’s hair. “What?”

“No,” Ameera cries in a panic-stricken voice. “You can’t!”

“Relax,” I say, lifting my purse. “They probably already know you two are an item. There are security cameras on the fifteenth-floor pointing toward your door, Rashid. I’m sure they’ve got plenty of shots of Ameera slinking in and out of there this past week.”

The young couple throw desperate glances at each other.

“Security cameras,” Rashid repeats bitterly as Ameera slips a fingernail between her teeth and begins to nibble it again. “I should have thought of that.”

“Don’t worry, no one’s going to deny you asylum in the United States,” I assure them. “You face certain death if you ever return to Qalif as man and wife. We can give you married student–housing here in Fischer Hall.” I pause as I place my hand on the doorknob. “I think so, anyway. We’ve never done it before, so far as I know, but considering how much money your dad’s given the college, I’m sure the trustees will make an exception.