Читать книгу Christmas With Her Secret Prince - Nina Singh - Страница 9

PRINCE RAYHAN AL SAIBBI was not looking forward to his next meeting. In fact, he was dreading it. After all, it wasn’t often he went against his father—the man who also happened to be king of Verdovia.

But it had to be done. This might very well be his last chance to exert any kind of control over his own life. Even if it was to be only a temporary respite. Fate had made him prince of Verdovia. And his honor-bound duty to that fate would come calling soon enough. He just wanted to try and bat it away one last time.

The sun shone bright and high over the majestic mountain range outside his window. A crisp blue stream meandered along its base. The pleasant sunny day meant his father would most likely be enjoying his breakfast on the patio off the four-seasons room in the east wing.

Rayhan found his father sitting at the far end of the table. Piles of papers and a sleek new laptop were mixed in with various plates of fruits and pastries. A twinge of guilt hit Rayhan as he approached. The king never stopped working. For that matter, neither did the queen, his mother. A fact that needed to be addressed after the events of the past year. Part of the reason Rayhan was in his current predicament.

This conversation wasn’t going to be easy. His father had been king for a long time. He was used to making the rules and expected everyone to follow them. Particularly when it came to his son.

But these days the king wasn’t thinking entirely straight. Motivated by an alarming health scare Rayhan’s mother had experienced a few months back and prompted by the troublesome maneuverings of a disagreeable council member, his father had decided that the royal family needed to strengthen and reaffirm their stability. Unfortunately, he’d also decided that Rayhan would be the primary vehicle to cement that stability.

His father motioned for him to be seated when he saw Rayhan approach.

“Thank you for seeing me, Father. I know how busy you are.”

His father nodded. “It sounded urgent based on your messages. What can I assist you with, son? Dare I hope you’re closer to making a decision?”

“I am. Just not in the way you might assume.”

Rayhan focused his gaze on his father’s face. A face that could very well be an older version of his own. Dark olive skin with high cheekbones and ebony eyes.

“I don’t understand,” his father began. “You were going to spend some time with the ladies in consideration. Then you were to make a choice.”

Rayhan nodded. “I’ve spent time with all three of them, correct. They’re all lovely ladies, Father. Very accomplished—all of them stunning and impressive in their own unique way. You have chosen well.”

“They come from three of the most notable and prominent families of our land. You marrying a prominent daughter of Verdovia will go far to address our current problems.”

“Like I said, you have chosen well.”

The king studied him. “Then what appears to be the issue?”

Where to start? First of all, he wasn’t ready to be wedded to any of the ladies in question. In fact, he wasn’t ready to be wedded at all.

But he had a responsibility. Both to his family and to the kingdom.

“Perhaps I shall choose for you,” the king suggested, his annoyance clear as the crisp morning air outside. “You know how important this is. And how urgent. Councilman Riza is preparing a resolution as we speak to propose studying the efficacy and necessity of the royal family’s very existence.”

“You know it won’t go anywhere. He’s just stirring chaos.”

“I despise chaos.” His father blew out a deep breath. “All the more reason to put this plan into action, son.”

The plan his father referred to meant the end of Rayhan’s life as he knew it. “It just seems such an archaic and outdated method. A bachelor prince choosing from qualified ladies to serve as his queen when he eventually ascends the throne.”

His father shrugged. “Arranged marriages are quite common around the world. Particularly for a young man of your standing. Global alliances are regularly formed through marriage vows. It’s how your mother and I wedded, as you know. These ladies I have chosen are very well-known and popular in the kingdom.”

Rayhan couldn’t argue the point. There was the talented prima ballerina who had stolen the people’s hearts when she’d first appeared on stage several years ago. Then there was the humanitarian who’d made the recent influx of refugees and their plight her driving cause. And finally, a councilman’s beautiful daughter, who also happened to be an international fashion model.

Amazing ladies. All of whom seemed to be approaching the king’s proposition more as a career opportunity than anything else. Which in blatant terms was technically correct. Of course, the people didn’t know that fact. They just believed their crown prince to be linked to three different ladies, and rumors abounded that he would propose to one of them within weeks. A well-calculated palace publicity stunt.

“As far as being outdated,” the king continued, “have you seen the most popular show in America these days? It involves an eligible bachelor choosing from among several willing ladies. By giving them weekly roses, of all things.” His father barked out a laugh at the idea.

“But this isn’t some reality show,” Rayhan argued. “This is my life.”

“Nevertheless, a royal wedding will distract from this foolishness of Riza’s.”

Rayhan couldn’t very well argue that point either. The whole kingdom was even now in the frenzied midst of preparing for the wedding of the half century, everyone anxious to see which young lady the prince would choose for himself. Combined with the festivities of the holiday season, the level of excitement and celebration throughout the land was almost palpable.

And Rayhan was about to go and douse it all like a wet blanket over a warming fire.

Bah humbug.

Well, so be it. This was his life they were talking about. He wanted to claim one last bit of it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not this time. But this was a new experience for him. Rayhan had never actually willingly gone against the king’s wishes before. Not for something this important anyway.

“Well, I’ve come to a different decision,” he told his father. Rayhan made sure to look him straight in the eye as he continued, “I’ve decided to wait.”

The king blinked. Several times. Rapidly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like to hold off. I’m not ready to choose a fiancée. Not just yet.”

“You can only postpone for so long, son. The kingdom is waiting for a royal wedding... We have announced your intention to marry. And then there’s your mother.”

Rayhan felt a pang of guilt through his chest at the mention of the queen. She’d given them all quite a scare last year. “Mother is fine now.”

“Still, she needs to slow down. I won’t have her health jeopardized again. Someone needs to help take over some of the queen’s regular duties. Your sisters are much too young.”

“All I’m asking for is some time, Father. Perhaps we can come to a compromise.”

The king leaned toward him, his arms resting on the table. At least he was listening. “What sort of compromise did you have in mind?”

Rayhan cleared his throat and began to tell him.

“Honestly, Mel. If you handle that invitation any more, it’s going to turn into ash in your hands.”

Melinda Osmon startled as her elderly, matronly employer walked by the counter where she sat waiting for her shift to begin. The older woman was right. This had to be at least the fifth or sixth time Mel had taken the stationery out simply to stare at it since it had arrived in her mailbox several days ago.

The Honorable Mayor and Mrs. Spellman request the pleasure of your presence...

“You caught me,” Mel replied, swiftly wiping the moisture off her cheeks.

“Just send in your reply already,” Greta added, her back turned to her as she poured coffee for the customer sitting at the end of the counter. The full breakfast crowd wasn’t due in for another twenty minutes or so. “Then figure out what you’re going to wear.”

Melinda swallowed past the lump in her throat before attempting an answer. “Greta, you know I can’t go this year. It’s just not worth the abject humiliation.”

Greta turned to her so fast that some of the coffee splashed out of her coffeepot. “Come again? What in the world do you have to be humiliated about?”

Not this again. Greta didn’t seem to understand, nor did she want to. How about the fact that Mel hadn’t yet moved on? Unlike her ex-husband. The ex-husband who would be at the same party with his fashionable, svelte and beautiful new fiancée. “Well, for one thing, I’d be going solo. That’s humiliating enough in itself.”

Greta jutted out her chin and snapped her gum loudly. “And why is that? You’re not the one who behaved shamefully and had the affair. That scoundrel you were married to should be the one feeling too ashamed to show his face at some fancy-schmancy party you both used to attend every year when you were man and wife.”

Mel cringed at the unfiltered description.

“Now, you listen to me, young lady—”

Luckily, another customer cleared his throat just then, clearly impatient for a hit of caffeine. Greta humphed and turned away to pour. Mel knew the reprieve would be short-lived. Greta had very strong opinions about how Mel should move along into the next chapter of her life. She also had very strong opinions about Mel’s ex. To say the older woman was outraged on Mel’s behalf was to put it mildly. In fact, the only person who might be even angrier was Greta’s even older sister, Frannie. Not that Mel wasn’t pretty outraged herself. A lot of good that did for her, though. Strong emotions were not going to get her a plus-one to the mayor’s Christmas soiree. And she certainly was nowhere near ready to face the speculation and whispery gossip that was sure to greet her if she set foot in that ballroom alone.

“She’s right, you know,” Frannie announced, sliding into the seat next to Mel. The two sisters owned the Bean Pot Diner on Marine Street in the heart of South Boston. The only place that would hire her when she’d found herself broke, alone and suddenly separated. “I hate to admit when that blabbermouth is right but she sure is about this. You should go to that party and enjoy yourself. Show that no-good, cheating charlatan that you don’t give a damn what he thinks.”

“I don’t think I have it in me, Frannie. Just to show up and then have to stare at Eric and his fiancée having the time of their lives, while I’ll be sitting there all alone.”

“I definitely don’t think you should do that.”

Well, that was a sudden change of position, Melinda thought, eyeing her friend. “So you agree I shouldn’t go?”

“No, that’s not what I said. I think you should go, look ravishing and then confront him about all he put you through. Then demand that he return your money.”

Melinda sighed. She should have seen that argument coming. “First of all, I gave him that money.” Foolishly. The hard-earned money that her dear parents had left her after their deaths. It was supposed to have been an investment in Eric’s future. Their future. She had gladly handed it to him to help him get through dental school. Then it was supposed to be her turn to make some kind of investment in herself while he supported her. Instead, he’d left her for his perky, athletic dental assistant. His much younger, barely-out-of-school dental assistant. And now they happily cared for teeth together during the day, while planning an extravagant wedding in their off-hours. “I gave it to him with no strings attached.”

“And you should take him to court to get some of it back!” Frannie slapped her palm against the counter. Greta sashayed back over to where the two of them sat.

“That’s right,” Greta declared. “You should go to that damn party looking pretty as a fashion model. Then demand he pay you back. Every last cent. Or you’ll see him in front of a judge.”

Mel sighed and bit down on the words that were forming on her tongue. As much as she longed to tell the two women to mind their own business, Mel just couldn’t bring herself to do it. They’d been beyond kind to her when she’d needed it the most. Not to mention, they were the closest thing to family Mel could count since her divorce a year ago.

“How? I barely have the money for court fees. Let alone any to hire an attorney.”

“Then start with the party,” Greta declared as her sister nodded enthusiastically. “At the very least, ruin his evening. Show him what he’s missing out on.”

Nothing like a couple of opinionated matrons double-teaming you.

Mel let out an unamused laugh. “As if. I don’t even have a dress to wear. I sold all my fancier clothes just to make rent that first month.”

Greta waved a hand in dismissal. “So buy another one. I tell you, if I had your figure and that great dark hair of yours, I’d be out shopping right now. Women like you can find even the highest-end clothing on sale.”

Mel ignored the compliment. “I can’t even afford the stuff on sale these days, Greta.”

“So take an advance on your paycheck,” Frannie offered from across the counter. “We know you’re good for it.”

Mel felt the immediate sting of tears. These women had taken her in when she’d needed friendship and support the most. She’d never be able to repay their kindness. She certainly had no desire to take advantage of it. “I can’t ask you to do that for me, ladies.”

“Nonsense,” they both said in unison.

“You’d be doing it for us,” Greta added.

“For you?”

“Sure. Let two old bats like us live vicariously through you. Go to that ball and then come back and tell us all about it.”

Frannie nodded in agreement. “That’s right. Especially the part about that no-good scoundrel begging you for forgiveness after he takes one look at ya.”

Mel smiled in spite of herself. These two certainly knew how to cook up a good fantasy. Eric had left her high and dry and never looked back even once. As far as fantasies went, she was more likely to turn a frog into a prince than receive any kind of apology from her ex-husband.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.” Or ever. Mel reached down to tighten the laces of her comfortable white tennis shoes. She had a very long shift ahead of her, starting with the breakfast crowd and ending with the early-evening dinner guests.

“You won’t know unless you go to this ball.”

She couldn’t even tell which of the ladies had thrown that out. Mel sighed and straightened to look at them both. Her bosses might look like gentle, sweet elderly ladies, complete with white hair done up in buns, but they could be relentless once they set their minds to something.

“All right. I give.”

They both squealed with delight. “Then it’s settled,” Frannie declared and clasped her hands in front of her chest.

Mel held a hand up. “Not so fast. I haven’t agreed to go just yet.”

Greta’s smile faded. “Come again?”

“How about a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll go out after my shift and look for a dress.” Though how she would summon the energy after such a long day was a mystery. But she was getting the feeling she’d hear about this all day unless she threw her two bosses some kind of bone. “If, and only if, I come across a dress that’s both affordable and appropriate, I’ll reconsider going.”

Frannie opened her mouth, clearly about to protest. Mel cut her off.

“It’s my only offer. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” they both said in unison before turning away. Mel stood just as the bell for the next order up rang from the kitchen. She had a long day ahead of her and it was only just starting. She was a waitress now. Not the young bride of an up-and-coming urban dentist who attended fancy holiday balls and went shopping for extravagant ball gowns. That might have been her reality once, but it had been short-lived.

Little did the Perlman sisters know, she had told them something of a fib just now when making that deal. She had no expectation that she’d find any kind of dress that would merit attending that party in a week.

The chances were slim to zero.

His driver-slash-security-guard—who also happened to be a dear childhood friend—was very unhappy with him at the moment. Rayhan ignored the scowl of the other man as he watched the streets of downtown Boston outside his passenger-side window. Every shop front had been decorated with garlands and glittery Christmas decorations. Bright lights were strung on everything from the lamp poles to shop windows. Let his friend scowl away, Rayhan thought. He was going to go ahead and enjoy the scenery. But when Saleh took yet another turn a little too fast and sharp, he found he’d had enough. Saleh was acting downright childish.

To top it off, they appeared to be lost. Saleh had refused to admit he needed the assistance of the navigation system and now they appeared to be nowhere near their destination.

“You know you didn’t have to come,” Rayhan reminded the other man. “You volunteered, remember?”

Saleh grunted. “I clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Why are we here, again? At this particular time, no less.”

“You know this.”

“I know you’re delaying the inevitable.”

He was right, of course. Not that Rayhan was going to admit it out loud. “I still have a bit of time to live my life as I see fit.”

“And you decided you needed to do part of that in Boston?”

Rayhan shrugged, resuming his perusal of the outside scenery. “That was completely coincidental. My father’s been eyeing property out here for months now. Perfect opportunity for me to come find a prime location and seal the deal.”

“Yes, so you say. It’s a way to... How do the Americans say it? To kill two birds with one stone?”

“Precisely.”

“So why couldn’t you have come out here with the new soon-to-be-princess after your engagement?”

Rayhan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just needed to get away before it all gets out of control, Saleh. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Not many people would, Rayhan thought. Particularly not his friend, who had married the grade-school sweetheart he’d been in love with since their teen years. Unlike Rayhan, Saleh didn’t have to answer to nor appease a whole country when it came to his choice of bride.

Rayhan continued, “Everywhere I turn in Verdovia, I’m reminded of the upcoming ceremonies. Everyone is completely preoccupied with who the heir will choose to marry, what the wedding will be like. Yada yada. There are odds being placed in every one of our island casinos on everything from the identity of the next queen to what flavor icing will adorn the royal wedding cake.”

Saleh came to a sudden halt at a red light, a wide grin spread across his face.

“What?” Rayhan asked.

“I placed my wager on the vanilla buttercream.”

“I see. That’s good to know.” He made a mental note to go with anything but the vanilla buttercream when the time came. If he had any say on the matter, that was. Between his mother and the princess-to-be, he’d likely have very little sway in such decisions. No doubt his shrewd friend had made his bet based on the very same assumption.

“I don’t understand why you refuse to simply embrace your fate, my friend. You’re the heir of one of the most powerful men in the world. With that comes the opportunity to marry and gain a beautiful, accomplished lady to warm your bed. There are worse things in life.”

Saleh overlooked the vast amount of responsibility that came with such a life. The stability and prosperity of a whole kingdom full of people would fall on Rayhan’s shoulders as soon as he ascended. Even more so than it did now. Few people could understand the overwhelming prospect of such a position. As far as powerful, how much did any of that mean when even your choice of bride was influenced by the consideration of your position?

“How easy for you to say,” he told Saleh just as the light turned green and they moved forward. “You found a beautiful woman who you somehow tricked into thinking marrying you was a good idea.”

Saleh laughed with good-natured humor. “The greatest accomplishment of my life.”

Rayhan was about to answer when a screeching noise jolted both men to full alert. A cyclist veered toward their vehicle at an alarming speed. Saleh barely had time to turn the wheel in order to avoid a full-on collision. Unfortunately, the cyclist shifted direction at precisely the same time. Both he and their SUV were now heading the same way. Right toward a pedestrian. Saleh hit the brakes hard. Rayhan gripped the side bar, waiting for the inevitable impact. Fortunately for them, it never came.

The cyclist, however, kept going. And, unfortunately for the poor pedestrian woman, the bicycle ran straight into her, knocking her off her feet.

“Watch where you’re going!” the rider shouted back over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop.

Rayhan immediately jumped out of the car. He ran around to the front of the SUV and knelt down where the woman still lay by the sidewalk curb.

“Miss, are you all right?”

A pair of startled eyes met his. Very bright green eyes. They reminded him of the shimmering stream that lay outside his windows back home. Not that this was any sort of time to notice that kind of thing.

She blinked, rubbing a hand down a cheek that was rapidly bruising even as they spoke. Saleh appeared at his side.

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. She’s not really responding. Miss, are you all right?”

Her eyes grew wide as she looked at him. “You’re lovely,” she said in a low, raspy voice.

Dear heavens. The woman clearly had some kind of head injury. “We have to get you to a doctor.”

Saleh swore beside him. “I’m so terribly sorry, miss. I was trying to avoid the bike and the cyclist was trying to avoid me but he turned right toward you—”

The woman was still staring at Rayhan. She didn’t acknowledge Saleh nor his words at all.

He had a sudden urge to hold her, to comfort her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, even though she was a complete stranger.

Rayhan reached for his cell phone. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

The woman gave a shake of her head before he could dial. “No. I’m okay. Just a little shaken.” She blinked some more and looked around. Her eyes seemed to regain some focus. Rayhan allowed himself a breath of relief. Maybe she’d be all right. Her next words brought that hopeful thought to a halt.

“My dress. Do you see it?”

Did she think somehow her clothes had been knocked off her upon impact? “You...uh...you are wearing it still.”

Her gaze scanned the area where she’d fallen. “No. See, I found one. I didn’t think I would. But I did. And it wasn’t all that pricey.”

Rayhan didn’t need to hear any more. Unless she was addled to begin with, which could very well be a possibility, the lady had clearly suffered a blow to the head. To top it all off, they were blocking traffic and drawing a crowd. Kneeling closer to the woman sprawled in front of him, he lifted her gently into his arms and then stood. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

“Oh!” she cried out as Rayhan walked back toward the SUV with her embraced against his chest.

Saleh was fast on his heels and opening the passenger door for them. “No, see, it’s all right,” she began to protest. “I don’t need a doctor. Just that gown.”

“We’ll make sure to get you a dress,” Rayhan reassured her, trying to tell her what she clearly needed to hear. Why was she so focused on clothing at a time like this? “Right after a doctor takes a look at you.”

He gently deposited her in the back seat, then sat down next to her. “No, wait,” she argued. “I don’t need a doctor. I just want my dress.”

But Saleh was already driving toward a hospital.

The woman took a panicked look out the window and then winced. The action must have hurt her injuries somehow. She touched a shaky finger to her cheek, which was now a dark purple, surrounded by red splotches.

Even in the messy state she was in, he couldn’t help but notice how striking her features were. Dark, thick waves of black hair escaped the confines of some sort of complicated bun on top of her head. A long slender neck graced her slim shoulders. She was curvy—not quite what one would consider slim. Upon first glance, he would never consider someone like her his “type,” so to speak. But he had to admit, he appreciated her rather unusual beauty.

That choice of words had him uncomfortably shifting in his seat. He stole a glance at her as she explored her facial injuries with shaky fingers.

Now her right eye had begun to swell as an angry, dark circular ring developed around it. Rayhan bit out a sharp curse. Here he was trying to enjoy what could very well be his last trip to the United States as a free man and he’d ended up hurting some poor woman on his first day here.

Perhaps Saleh was right. Maybe this whole trip had been a terrible idea. Maybe he should have just stayed home and accepted his fate.

There was at least one person who would be much better off right now if he had.