Duty, Desire and the Desert King

CHAPTER SEVEN

ROU faced four pink evening gowns—a pale pink tulle; a mauve taffeta sparkly affair; a frothy, fuchsia ball gown; and a slinky, salmon silk—her choices for tonight’s black-tie party, trying to decide on the lesser of the evils.

What a choice, and yet she had to make a choice. In just an hour she was to appear in the formal palace dining room for a prewedding dinner in her honor in one of these gowns. Having been briefed by Zayed, she knew that during the dinner she’d receive her engagement ring. She would also be introduced to all the family and friends that had been invited.

The wedding itself would take place late tomorrow morning, and then later in the evening in a much smaller ceremony Zayed would be crowned king.

But first, there was tonight’s formal dinner to get through, a lavish party that could last late into the night with close to one hundred guests attending.

Queen Jesslyn and the children would be among the family members attending, and Zayed’s younger brother, Sheikh Khalid Fehr, who’d been in the desert for the past several days as part of Sharif’s rescue efforts. However, Khalid’s young wife, Olivia, couldn’t join them, although she’d sent word that she desperately wanted to be there, but being late in her pregnancy she couldn’t fly. Zayed’s mother wouldn’t be there tonight, either, as she was still in the hospital, although she hoped to attend the wedding in the morning.

So many people. So many people there to look at her. Rou’s stomach rose and fell in a sickly surge of panic. She didn’t like being the center of attention, not like this. It was different when she was working, different when she was speaking, because she had a purpose then—she had a clear message to deliver—but tonight there was no message. Tonight her duty was to be attractive, groomed and agreeable.

Just like when she was a girl and dragged to court by her mother or father’s attorney to testify against the other parent.

The attorneys always wanted her dressed up then, too. They all had an idea of how she should look, and she’d be forced to sleep in rollers to turn her straight hair into blond ringlets. They insisted on “pretty clothes”—frilly, pastel party dresses; white, lace-edged ankle socks; and shiny, black patent shoes. And dressed up like a living doll, she’d be marched into court and stared at and interrogated, photographed and pitied. Pity was the worst of all.

Eyes closing, Rou forced the hateful images away. It was long ago. She wasn’t a child anymore. She wasn’t helpless or powerless. She was a woman, and she’d agreed to help Zayed in order to help Sharif and his family.

She could do this. She just needed a dress. Just something less frilly to wear tonight.

A light knock sounded on the bedroom door and when Rou answered the door she found Zayed. “I brought you an alternative,” he said, handing her a long, cream garment bag. “I didn’t realize how much you hated pink.”

She hesitated a moment before taking the garment bag. He was so big he seemed to fill the entire doorway. “And what is this? A peace offering in baby blue?” she answered mockingly, even as her fingers tingled and burned from where they’d brushed his.

“Close.” His gaze held hers, the golden depths warm, and revealing amusement as he then gave her a shopping bag. “And these are the accessories. Shoes, jewelry, undergarments.”

Her eyebrows arched as she struggled to ignore the coil of tension in her belly and how just that light brush of fingers made her back tingle and nipples harden. She was becoming far too sensitive around him, and far too responsive to the very real heat he generated whenever he looked at her. “Undergarments?”

“I thought you might want something special to wear under this gown.”

“Did you buy them yourself or have one of your assistants do the shopping?”

“I did. The shop was near the hospital. It just made sense.” His smile turned crooked. “So if the sizes are off, you have no one but me to blame.”

No one but him.

But wasn’t that the problem? Her cool, logical, scientific mind had made the most hopeless of choices in falling for him.

Zayed wasn’t safe. She wasn’t going to leave Sarq without a broken heart, was she?

“I’m sure everything will fit fine,” she said in a rush before thanking him and sending him out the door. But as she shut the door behind him, a hot flicker of pain shot through her, and she pressed a fist to her chest. It already hurt. Loving him would hurt.

Blinking back tears, Rou unzipped the cream garment bag to expose a featherlight gown the color of the sea, and felt her eyes sting. The dress was neither aqua nor cobalt, not turquoise or sapphire. It was a color so deep and intense and yet filled with light that she felt as though it’d been made just for her. Hand shaking, she drew the gown from the bag and the skirt tumbled to her feet in a long, narrow column of ocean blue with the softest, sheerest layer of chiffon over crushed silk.

Rou turned to the mirror, held the delicate gown against her chest and even in the soft light of her bedroom the fabric shimmered like water, like waves, and Rou, who’d never liked color before, loved this.

Rou, who’d never been beautiful, thought maybe, just maybe, tonight she would be beautiful. The very thought thrilled her, and she was ashamed at herself for being so shallow, but why couldn’t she play the beautiful fairy princess just once? Why couldn’t she pretend that she was one of those girls in the fairy tales who fell in love with a handsome prince and lived happily ever after?

Quickly she bathed so she could dress, and, still damp in her towel, she opened the shopping bag and took out the shoes and jewelry and undergarments which were just a small, silky pair of black panties. That was it.

Rou blushed and shook her head as she slid them on. The black panties were the softest silk, just wisps of fabric that covered next to nothing. But they were delicate and elegant and very sexy and the first sexy thing she’d ever owned.

Biting her lip, she looked at herself in the mirror in nothing but black panties against pale skin.

Definitely naughty. And pretty. And not pink.

The gown fit even better. It fit as though it was made for her, and she struggled with the zipper hidden in the side, but finally got it up so that she could turn to the mirror again. She loved what she saw. This was who she was. This is what she was. No frills, no bows, no puffy shoulders, nothing overtly girlie. The gown had one shoulder and it was an angular swathe of vivid chiffon. The bodice was narrow, pleated, and the skirt fell straight from beneath her ribs to her feet.

A mermaid, she thought with a shy, delighted smile at her reflection. Maybe beautiful women always felt this way looking at themselves, but for Rou, it was all so new. As she drew out the shoes, a strappy heel the color of bone, and then the accessories, thick, silver-and-diamond bangles for both wrists, and ornate, dangly, silver-and-diamond earrings for her ears, she felt giddy with excitement.

Tonight she vowed to enjoy herself. Tonight would be her night.

Manar knocked on her door. She’d come to check on Rou’s progress and her smile of approval warmed Rou. “Beautiful,” Manar said, inspecting Rou. “The color is like your eyes. Very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Rou had never felt more beautiful but she put a hand self-consciously to her head. “What do you think I should do with my hair? Should I put it up, or leave it down? What would look best?”

Manar studied her another moment and then nodded decisively. “I will do it for you, yes?”

“Do you know how?”

Manar’s smile broadened. “I am a ladies’ maid in the palace. I have been trained to sew, do makeup, hair, nails, anything.” She patted the low, pink upholstered chair before the dressing table. “Come sit, and I will show you.”

Zayed stood in the arched corridor outside the vast dining room used for state occasions, greeting guests and making small talk as he waited for Rou to appear. She was late. Not by much, ten minutes, but it wasn’t like her to run late, and he suddenly wondered if she’d heard the rumors about his past,

about the curse hanging over his head, and she’d sneaked out of the palace and run away rather than face him.

He didn’t blame her, if she had.

If he were her, he wouldn’t marry himself. Everyone in Sarq knew that Prince Zayed Fehr was the dark prince, the doomed prince.

How ironic that he was here, then, in the palace, and Sharif was dead.

There was a rustle in the hall, and then she was rushing toward him, hands holding up the hem of her gown so she didn’t trip. The circle of men around Zayed opened, scattered, allowing him to move forward to greet Rou.

Rich color stained her cheekbones. “I got lost!” she exclaimed low and breathlessly, reaching his side. “I told Manar I could find my way, but of course I turned the wrong way and then the wrong way again. The only other time I get this lost is in Manhattan, and I don’t know why I lose my sense of direction in Manhattan.”

She was mortified, he realized, discovering yet another little chink in her cool, logical armor, and it touched him, making him feel even more protective of her. “It’s fine. You are the bride-to-be. You can keep us waiting as long as you like.”

“No. Absolutely not. Punctuality is everything.” She nodded for emphasis and her pale hair, strands both silver and gold, danced.