Читать книгу To Wed a Sheikh - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

Dinner in the royal palace, Ali decided, was like being thrown into the deep end of the pool with no working knowledge of water safety and no arm floaties to keep her from sinking. One on one with Kamal was one thing. But the whole family together in a dining room that felt as big as her entire apartment at home was intimidating.

This environment of wealth and formal beauty was so far beyond her frame of reference, she could as easily be on another planet. The soft ting of goldware against china was an elegant, sophisticated sound she’d seldom heard and always in a restaurant. Nothing in her nurse’s training had prepared her for this. If someone choked on a crab-stuffed mushroom and became a candidate for the Heimlich Maneuver or clogged their arteries from froufrou food and needed CPR, then she was your gal.

A symptom of her intimidation was being tongue-tied. The silver lining to that was being able to observe her surroundings without interruption. If she’d been a brave little soldier who muddled forward, she wouldn’t have had as much opportunity to admire the crystal chandelier overhead and the graceful wall sconces that lighted the room with just the right amount of soft glow. Nor would she have been able to appreciate the arrangements of fresh flowers on the table and every other flat surface in the room.

She admired the intricate pattern on the crocheted lace tablecloth and suspected it cost a small fortune. Only the imminent threat of dehydration could compel her to move a hand anywhere near liquid and chance a spill on the costly material. The upside: her full glasses of water and champagne would save the hovering servers the necessity of refilling them.

Ali looked at Princess Farrah who was sitting diagonally across from her at the end of a table long enough to line dance on. The woman was engaged in a spirited conversation with her nephew Rafiq and his wife, Penny, regarding El Zafir’s greatest natural resource—children. King Gamil sat at the head of the table talking with Fariq and Crystal about the country’s opportunities for foreign investors. Kamal was between Ali and Johara. She felt like a bump on a pickle and just about as exciting. Taking call for a teenage mother-to-be was one thing. Having dinner with a multitude of royals at the invitation of the little mother’s aunt was something else altogether. What did one converse about with them?

Ali was in over her head. No question about that. Kamal was intimidating enough all by himself, although she’d managed to stand up to him. But now she was afraid to open her mouth—even with Penny and Crystal there.

In college speech class, she’d learned one of the techniques to get over stage fright was to picture the audience in their underwear. Her gaze slid sideways to Kamal. In his dark suit, tone-on-tone deep gray shirt and tie, he looked every inch the designer-dressed, powerful crown prince—a sight that made her pulse pound and her hands tremble. One thing became crystal clear to her in that moment. Picturing Kamal in his underwear wouldn’t cure what ailed her. If anything, it could double-knot her tongue.

“Ali?”

“Hmm?” She glanced past Kamal’s chest to his aunt’s amused gaze. “I’m sorry. You were saying, Your Highness?”

“I said I’m delighted that you could accept my invitation for dinner this evening. We wanted to welcome you and make your first night in the palace memorable.”

“I—I—” She cleared her throat when the word came out a croak. “I assure you, this is an experience I’ll never forget,” she replied sincerely.

“Is your room comfortable?” the princess asked.

“Is there anything you need?” The king looked like a gracefully aging movie star with his dark eyes and silver hair. Very Cesar Romero.

Leaving her dessert untouched, Ali settled her gold fork on the side of her delicate china plate. It seemed the prudent thing to do since she couldn’t eat anything anyway.

“My rooms are wonderful,” she said, picturing in her mind the large suite.

The living room had French doors leading to a balcony that overlooked the Arabian Sea. The large bedroom was littered with numerous pieces of matching cherry-wood furniture. Gold bathroom fixtures. Marble floor. What was not to like? Her rooms were definitely satisfactory—the most satisfactory rooms she’d ever had.

Johara leaned forward, looking past her brother. “I am happy you could stay. It relieves my mind to have you close. I will—”

“Farrah.” King Gamil interrupted his daughter and pointedly met his sister’s gaze. “Is there any progress on that matter we were discussing the other day?”

Ali glanced at the teenage princess and saw the flush that crept into her cheeks at being talked over as if she wasn’t there. Her mouth compressed to a straight line as her large dark eyes snapped with what looked like resentment. Ali couldn’t help feeling sorry for the young girl. But before she could dwell further on what had happened, Princess Farrah was speaking. She noticed the questioning look the woman slid in Kamal’s direction.

“Kamal and I have talked. I have high hopes that things will proceed well from now on.”

“Do we want to know what things?” Penny glanced at each of them, then her husband.

In response, Rafiq smiled lovingly at her. “Probably not, my dear. So I will change the subject.” He looked at his sister. “Johara, how are you feeling?”

Good for him, Ali thought. Just because her father seemed bent on pretending Johara wasn’t there didn’t mean the rest of the males had to as well. She saw the dark look the girl tossed her father before her chin lifted.

“Big,” the teen answered, staring ruefully at her belly. “I am very ready for this baby to arrive.”

“I can imagine,” Crystal said. “I’m barely showing, but I can hardly wait to hold this child in my arms.”

Fariq looked at her. “My wife is a wonderful mother. She’s proven that with Hana and Nuri.”

“Your twins adore her,” Penny said. “But seeing how uncomfortable Johara is, I vote we shorten the gestation period significantly.”

“I’ll draft a resolution,” Kamal said wryly. “And submit it to the El Zafirian ruling cabinet. We’ll see what we can do to accommodate your request.”

“Yes,” Johara agreed, shifting uncomfortably. “I second that.”

The king cleared his throat. “Are you well, Crystal? Penny? I understand the doctor was here yesterday.”

“Everything’s fine with Penny and me,” Crystal said.

Ali tried to think of something to add to this conversation. This was a subject she knew about. The king of the country had made an effort to be polite to her even if he was being an old poop to his daughter. Ali should be able to come up with a bonding sort of thing to say.

“Your Highness, you must be very excited at the prospect of having three new grandchildren here in the palace,” she finally managed to say.

King Gamil turned his dark-eyed gaze on her. “I have only two grandchildren on the way.”

Ali’s heart was pounding as she saw the tears in the young girl’s eyes and waited for someone to come to her defense. Crystal and Penny looked as shocked as she felt. The men stared daggers at their father, but said nothing. Ali felt the pressure build inside her. It was probably too forward, but she couldn’t keep silent. Outrage melted her intimidation.

“Johara is your daughter. When she gives birth in a couple weeks, that child will be your grandchild also.”

“Miss Matlock—Ali,” the king said. “I do not expect you to understand this. But I no longer have a daughter.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said. “I know her situation isn’t ideal, but—”

He held up a hand. “She sits here at the insistence of her brothers and aunt. But she chose to turn her back on me when she ignored all the teachings of her revered ancestors. I cannot forgive that.”

“It wasn’t like that, Father.” Johara slapped her napkin on the table. “I fell in love.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, the king took a sip of coffee from his cup, then set it back on the saucer with an almost musical clink. “Kamal, how is the hospital progressing?”

Studying the crown prince, Ali held her breath. Anger and disapproval swirled in his eyes as he met his father’s gaze.

“Father,” he said, “are you also aware that the doctor said Johara’s pregnancy is at a very delicate stage? Her condition can be adversely affected by stress. She needs your support—”

“Her condition is that she is with child and without a husband. She has shamed me.”

“But, Your Highness,” Ali blurted out. Funny how adrenaline loosened the tongue. She leaned toward the man on her left. “She’s young. Didn’t you ever make a mistake when you were her age?”

“You are a visitor to this country and therefore cannot comprehend this situation. There are consequences for dishonorable actions.”

Abruptly, Johara stood. “The king is rigid in his beliefs. He refuses to admit that times are changing even here in El Zafir. Since I cannot convince him of this, I must concentrate all my energy on my baby.”

With all the dignity a very pregnant, very emotionally upset young woman could manage, she left the room. In her wake, a churchlike silence descended.

“Times are changing,” Kamal said, the muscle in his lean cheek contracting.

You go, Kamal, she rooted silently. Sure, the girl had made a mistake, Ali thought. But she was paying for it. She was going through the most momentous experience a woman could have. Under the right circumstances—a committed couple waiting for a baby that represented the tangible result of their love—it would be joyous. Johara was facing the prospect of raising her baby alone and she was doing that under the cloud of her father’s disapproval. Ali crossed her fingers in her lap, hoping the crown prince would tell him off for his lack of compassion and understanding.

“Some things are not meant to change,” the king said.

“Father, my sister is in a most delicate condition. It is likely that your attitude is contributing to her stress and could result in harm to her and her child.”

“Do not interfere, Kamal,” the king ordered. “You have always been weak where she is concerned. This behavior is unacceptable for the man who would follow me on the throne of El Zafir.”

Ali noticed he wouldn’t use Johara’s name or call her Kamal’s sister. It was as if she’d been surgically cut out of the family for him. The idea outraged her. She looked at Kamal, waiting for his comeback to his father. His eyes snapped with anger and the muscle worked in his cheek as he clenched his jaw. But he said nothing more.

Where was the conquering hero she’d seen yesterday? The one who refused to be boxed into a corner?

Kamal found Ali in the palace garden. Back and forth she marched, muttering to herself as the scent of jasmine and magnolias drifted in the air. Stars winked in the black velvet sky above but the night was moonless. The only illumination came from strategically placed spotlights and the small white lights strung in the palms and date trees clustered in the center of the lush area and around the perimeter. Flowered vines climbed the pink-tinged stucco walls surrounding the courtyard. This was one of his favorite places in the palace and he came here often for the serenity it offered.

Although not tonight, he thought, watching Ali prowl like a cat. She hadn’t noticed him yet and her fevered pace made him think of an enraged kitten. But when she stopped at the end of the stone pathway and turned toward him, the furious look on her face convinced him to keep that opinion to himself.

“I have been looking for you,” he said.

She hurried forward and stopped in front of him. “Is it Johara? Is she—”

He held up his hand. “I left my sister a short time ago and she was in good health.”

Her chin tilted up with a somewhat defiant air. “Then you were looking for me because of what happened at dinner.”

“I was,” he confirmed.

She straightened to her full height and met his gaze as a glint of steel glowed in her own. “I need to explain something to you.”

“Yes?”

“I have a hard time when someone is throwing their weight around. When a person is being bullied, I will defend the underdog.”

“I noticed,” he said wryly.

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. In her white, long-sleeved silk dress with the midcalf hem and deep V neck, the movement gave him a most enticing view of her bosom. Normally, he took his height for granted, but at times like this, he was most grateful for it. And the fact that even in high-heeled pumps, her lack of stature gave him quite a delightful vantage point.

Color stained her lovely, high cheekbones. “I’ve been known to act impulsively, but, I believe, with right on my side. Like tonight, for instance.”

“What about it?”

“It’s wrong of your father to cut off his daughter. She mentioned the emotional exile, but until I saw it with my own eyes, I didn’t quite believe her.” She stared at him for a moment and the shadows in her eyes made him wonder. “Johara made a mistake,” she continued. “No one, especially her, denies it. But who died and made him king?” she huffed.

“I believe that would be my grandfather.”

She blinked and one corner of her lush mouth lifted. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“I know.”

“If he can’t be supportive, she needs him not to add stress. In fact, if he’s truly disowned her, why was she at a family dinner? Why hasn’t he sent her away somewhere?”

“You’d have to ask my father.”

“Probably he thinks that would be too easy. If he keeps her around to ignore, every day she’s an outcast reminds her of her error.”

“You think he’s a cruel man?”

“I think the way he’s treating his only daughter is cruel.”

“It’s complicated.” Kamal sighed. “But he loves her very much. In fact, she is his favorite.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it. It’s hard for me to believe he favors her.”

“I didn’t think you would understand. But remember, a change in attitude takes time and my father is of a different generation. He is conservative and puts a high price on family honor.”

“It doesn’t seem especially honorable to turn your back on family, someone you’re supposed to love.” There was an edge to her voice that made him wonder if she had personal reasons for her impulsive defense of his sister.

But then, she was talking about love. A complex concept and one he had been successful in avoiding. Family affection was simple and straightforward. The web of emotion between a man and woman was not. It was a maze he wished never to enter or experience.

“Love equals weakness,” he said. “Look what happened to my sister in the name of love.”

“And you think she’s weak because she gave in to her feelings for a man?”