“But enough about that.” She turned abruptly to Aziza. “I heard you like to shop. I should take you shopping.”
“Thank you,” Aziza murmured, tossing Irene a panicked look out of the corner of her eye.
“Do not worry,” Kalila said kindly. “I can show you where to go and what to buy. Once you are in my hands, in the right clothes, we’ll be able to disguise how you’re so hideously fat and plain.”
Aziza gave a funny little intake of breath.
Irene saw the pain in the younger girl’s face, and her lips parted as if she’d taken the blow herself. It was one thing to insult her—Irene could take it—but to purposefully hurt someone as sweet and defenseless as Aziza...
Putting her hands on the table, Irene started to rise to her feet, intending to say something sharp and reckless. But Sharif beat her to it.
“Enough, Kalila.” He was standing at the end of the table, cold fury on his face. “You will apologize to my sister for your words that are both hateful and untrue.”
Glaring at him, Kalila tossed her head. “High time someone told the girl to do something with herself!”
“It’s all right, brother.” Aziza tried to smile, but her eyes still looked suspiciously moist. “She’s right. I have many flaws. I could stand to lose a few pounds.” She looked down at her tightly folded hands, all her usual excitement deflated as she whispered, “I am lucky that the sultan even wants to marry me...”
Sharif stared at her.
“No,” he said gently. “I meant to tell you. You won’t be marrying him, after all.”
Her eyes widened, then she said miserably, “Did he change his mind because I’m too fat?”
Her confidence was so shot, Irene wished ardently to slap the cold superior smile off Kalila’s face.
“No. He wanted to marry you. But I called it off,” Sharif said firmly. He glanced at Irene. “Miss Taylor convinced me that college is the proper place for a young woman as bright and determined as you.”
“Bright?” Aziza breathed. “Determined?”
Walking to her place at the table, Sharif put his hand on his young half sister’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said quietly. “And brave and strong. Your whole life is ahead of you. You might become a scientist, an economist, who knows? There are many ways for a princess to benefit her country.” He smiled down at her. “You will do good things for Makhtar in ways I cannot even yet dream. I trust you to find the right path.”
“Oh, brother...” Bursting into tears, Aziza rose to her feet and threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she breathed. She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “You won’t regret this.”
Watching them, Irene had a lump in her throat.
“You’re throwing away her only chance for a good marriage,” Kalila said, looking down at her red-tipped nails. “No man will ever want to marry a fat, smart girl.”
It was the final straw. Throwing her hands against the table, Irene jumped to her feet. “You horrible, dreadful woman!” she cried. “You, be queen of Makhtar? You’re not fit to even clean the palace bathrooms!”
Kalila looked at her, all cold, thin, glamorous beauty.
“Ah, so the claws come out at last,” she murmured, “of the famous Miss Taylor that half this city has fallen in love with.” She narrowed her eyes, and Irene suddenly wondered if she’d heard rumors—if she was the reason that Kalila had come here so abruptly. Tilting her head, the heiress said with venomous sweetness, “But with Aziza’s wedding canceled and her leaving for college soon, there is no reason for you to remain here anymore as her companion, is there? I will thank you to leave my table.”
Irene shook with rage. “Your table?”
“Yes. My table,” she said coldly. She waved her skeletal arm. “This palace will be mine. The country will be mine.” With a hard smile, she looked straight into Irene’s eyes. “Sharif will be mine.”
Kalila’s vicious words sliced through Irene’s heart, causing her to stagger back.
The other woman watched her reaction with spiteful pleasure, then turned to Sharif and said sweetly, “I have finally decided to set a date. With your sister’s engagement off, we will officially announce our engagement tonight.”
“No...” The word was a barely audible whisper, coming unbidden from Irene’s heart.
Sharif stood beside his sister, his shoulders tight, as cold and expressionless as a statue.
“Well?” Kalila said.
He glanced at Irene. For an instant, she saw the flash of pain in his dark eyes. Then he turned to Kalila with perfect manners and no emotion whatsoever.