The Bride Wore Size 12 (Heather Wells 5)

“ ‘Sugar Rush’?”

“That’s the one! So catchy. Oh, darn. Now I’m going to be humming it all day.”

I nod. “Hard to get it out of your head.”

“Oh, well,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Thank you. I knew when people told me New Yorkers were mean that they were all lying. I haven’t met a mean one yet.”

I smile at him. “We aren’t all bad.”

Soon my office has emptied—except for Mrs. Harris and her daughter and her suite mates, and of course the prince and his bodyguards.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” the prince is asking, looking regally worried.

“You can go to your lunch,” Lisa says stiffly. “This is none of your concern.”

“I’m afraid it is,” the prince says. “I’m acquainted with the young lady in question. She’s very . . . amiable.”

I notice Chantelle and Nishi exchange glances as they kneel beside Tricky, who is basking in their attention. Amiable! they mouth to each another in delight. They can’t get enough of the prince’s good looks and royal manners.

I’m probably the only one in the room who immediately thinks, Acquainted with the young lady in question? She hasn’t slept in her room a single night all week. Just how acquainted with Ameera is the prince?

“Could my car be of service?” he asks. “It’s quite roomy. Perhaps it could help transport the young lady to the hospital?”

“That’s what we have ambulances for,” Lisa says coldly. She isn’t impressed with his princely ways any more than Sarah was. “We’ll call one if we need one.” She seems to realize how mean she sounds, and adds, in a gentler tone, “I appreciate the offer, but it’s our job to handle these kinds of situations. You don’t need to get involved . . . Shiraz.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised about any of this.” It may not have surprised Mrs. Harris, but she seems to be relishing the drama. “I knew when you said Ameera didn’t come home last night, Kaileigh, that something like this was going to happen—”

“But we don’t actually know that anything’s happened, do we?” Lisa interrupts, sounding mean again. She’s weaving a little on her feet, as if the industrial carpeting is swaying before her eyes, but manages to stay erect. “So let’s reserve judgment until we do, okay?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Kaileigh says, narrowing her eyes at her mother.

“But I really don’t think Kaileigh should have to put up with this kind of stress, especially when classes start.” Mrs. Harris is like Tricky when he’s got hold of one of his treats. She isn’t going to let go, no matter what. “What’s all this worrying going to do to her grades?”

“Mom,” Kaileigh says sharply. “I’m fine. What’s the big deal? Ameera partied a little too hard last night, and now she’s—wait.” Kaileigh narrows her eyes at her mother. “Is that why you’re in here? You came down to complain about Ameera? Oh my God, I can’t believe you. I happen to like my room, Mom, and my roommates. I’m in college now. Why can’t you let me live my own life?”

“Excuse me,” Lisa says, a greenish tint having suddenly overtaken her. She darts back into her office, slamming the door closed behind her. Thanks to the metal grate, we can hear all too clearly why she needed to be excused.

“Poor thing,” Carl comments from the top of his ladder, making a tsk-tsking sound with his tongue. “Lots of people coming down with that stomach flu. My guys had to snake two toilets this morning. Everybody, wash your hands.” Carl wags his drill with grandfatherly emphasis. “That’s the only way to keep it from spreading.”

Everyone looks down at their hands, including the prince’s bodyguards. Even Shiraz looks as if he’s lost some of his self-proclaimed chill.

“Well,” he says, beginning to back out the door, “if I can’t be of any use here, I’d best be going. No offense, but I can’t afford to get sick right now. I’ve got tickets to the U.S. Open this weekend. Not playing, just as a spectator—” Seeing the looks his bodyguards exchange, he adds, in a deeper, mock-serious tone, “Plus with the course load I’m going to be taking, I know Father would want me to stay healthy for my studies . . .”

“We’ll go with you,” Nishi says, reluctantly releasing Tricky and climbing to her feet. “There’s no reason we need to stick around, right? You’ll take care of Ameera if anything is wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Ameera,” I assure her, “but of course we’ll take care of her if anything is.”

Is it my (overactive) imagination, or does the prince look as relieved to hear this as the girls?

“Thanks,” Kaileigh says, smiling at me gratefully. The look she throws her mother, however, is the opposite of grateful. “I’ll call you and Daddy later, Mother,” she adds icily.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Harris, Miss Wells, sir,” the prince says, with polite nods to Kaileigh’s mother, me, and even Carl, who salutes back with his drill. “I hope you feel better,” he calls to Lisa through the metal grate. Her only response is a groan.

Whatever else they might say about the heir to the throne of Qalif, he’s unfailingly polite. He and Kaileigh and the rest of their entourage begin to file out of my office, just as a tall, devastatingly handsome man with thick dark hair and piercing blue eyes comes striding in.

Whenever Cooper Cartwright enters a room, I’m always amazed that the sight of him doesn’t cause every other woman in the vicinity to swoon, the way I feel like doing. Maybe they’re just better at hiding the shattering effect his rugged masculinity has on them. Mrs. Harris barely even glances in his direction, which I find completely perplexing, since he seems to emanate testosterone in his nonskinny jeans and unclingy sports coat in a way Prince Rashid never could.

Then again, we all know how Mrs. Harris feels about sex, so I guess it’s no wonder.

Cooper watches the prince and his entourage without comment until, after they’re gone, he asks, “His Royal Highness, the VIR, I take it?”

“He prefers to be called Shiraz,” I correct Cooper. “Because he’s best served chilled.”

“It’s nice to know he’s assimilating,” Cooper says drily, lowering himself onto the visitors’ couch.