“I like this one very much,” he said louder, turning to the stylist.
“Me, too. Would you like to see the last one, Your Highness?” Lisette draped a red dress over her forearm. The Grecian-inspired design cinched over one shoulder.
“Yes, I would,” Kofi said, his voice lowered to a deeper timbre.
“I can show you later,” Dahlia said.
“I’d like to see it now.”
They stared at each other, in a sort of standoff.
“I could help you get dressed,” Lisette said, her gaze shifting between the two of them with uncertainty.
Dahlia couldn’t continue to argue without making a scene. “I’ll take it to the dressing room.”
Lisette helped her with the zipper and Dahlia slipped back into the dressing room. Taking a deep breath, she put on the dress.
When she stepped back into the room, Kofi was seated on a chair, his right ankle crossed over his knee and speaking into one of his cell phones. When he caught sight of her, he said something quickly in his native tongue and hung up.
Dahlia knew she should twirl around to show off the dress and how it looked on her from all sides, but she couldn’t move. His eyes riveted her in place, his gaze smoldering as he regarded the way the fabric molded over her full breasts, cinched below them by the intricate beading, and then fell loosely to her ankles. The red color flattered her exposed shoulders and arms, and when Lisette pulled back and pinned up her hair, she felt regal and elegant.
“Voila!” the French woman said excitedly. “Red is her color, no? She looks absolutely ravishing!”
Without taking his eyes from Dahlia, Kofi said, “Leave us.”
Without a word, Mariama scooped up the sleeping Noel, and she and Lisette scurried from the room, a knowing smile at the corners of the stylist’s lips.
15
Dahlia’s stomach tightened into a coil of tension. “I suppose you like this one, too.” She filled the silence with the first thing that came to her mind.
“Yes, I do.” His smoldering gaze almost seared her from across the room.
Dahlia ran her hands nervously over her hips, unnecessarily smoothing the material. His eyes trailed the movement over her curves. “Well, now you’ve seen it, I’ll go change.”
His mouth lifted into a rueful smile. “Don’t worry, Dahlia. I intend to keep the promise I made to you.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “I spoke to the council today, and they approved the proclamation that Noel should be next in line to the throne.”
“That’s good news.”
“Are you settled in?”
“Working on it,” she hedged.
“I spoke to Daisy. She said you haven’t talked to her much.”
“You contacted my chief of staff behind my back?”
“Only because I haven’t seen any movement toward establishing yourself in your new role.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“What exactly makes it so hard?” Kofi crossed his arms over his chest.
“Everything. The language, for one. English is no problem, but only a few people around me speak it. I know two words in French—au revoir and bonjour. Forget about Mbutu. Then there’s the food, it’s so...different.”
“Have you tried any?’
“One or two dishes,” she admitted, a bit embarrassed. “What I did try was so spicy. I tried to cook my own meal the other day, and I think I insulted the chef. I’d kill for a burger right now. Or some chicken and waffles.”
“You sound miserable.”
“Maybe I am, a little,” she said, hoping for sympathy.
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Not mine. It’s not my fault I don’t speak the language and the food is unfamiliar to me. This is your life. You’re used to living in it.”
“You have an entire staff, including a chief of staff to manage everyone for you.”
“Forget it. You expect me to be perfect and you haven’t given me any help. But why would I expect help or anything else from you?” She was too embarrassed to say she felt lonely and missed her friends, especially Angela. “Funny how you keep telling me what I should be doing, but what about you? We’re getting married. You’re going to be my husband. Maybe you could start acting more like a husband, unless you have someone to fill that role for you. Or should I just accept I’m in this alone?”
“You’re never alone, Dahlia.”
“Oh right, because I have a full staff and security guarding the front door.”
She felt like a fish out of water, the same way she’d felt when her parents passed away. Alone and lost without anyone to turn to. Living with her grandparents didn’t help much. They were loving, but older, and didn’t have much time or energy for a child her age. The same way Kofi didn’t have time for her.
She should have tried harder to get away. She wished she’d never come and hated everything about this place—the heat, the microscope she already lived under, the ridiculous rules she’d already learned so she could fit in. The demands on her time. Even hearing the other languages got on her nerves, because sometimes people would speak and she didn’t have a clue what they were saying. She was an outsider, and being an outsider made her frustrated.
She stared at her hands. “Don’t let me pull you away from your own duties.”
Kofi studied her. “You’re overwhelmed.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, glancing away.
“Where’s your binder?” he asked.
Dahlia stared at him for a moment, wondering where he was going with this, but then she walked over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. She removed the thick spiral bound folder Daisy handed her the day after she arrived.
“Sit,” Kofi said.
His commanding voice irritated her, but Dahlia did as he instructed. They sat on the bed next to each other, and he flipped to a page that listed a long line of potential organizations for her to work with.
“What do you see?” Kofi asked.
It was hard to concentrate with him sitting so close, smelling so good, and his voice so rich and low.
“My choices are wildlife conservation, building a new soccer stadium, working with orphans, promoting entrepreneurship among women...” She gasped.
“Why did you stop?”
“One of the choices is drug rehabilitation.” She underscored the words with a forefinger. She never saw it before because she hadn’t paid attention to the list.
“The program is new,” Kofi said, his face inscrutable.
“I thought Zamibia didn’t do much in the way of rehab.”
“We didn’t. A couple of years ago I asked law enforcement to steer people toward treatment instead of prison when they arrest them. We’re in the early stages yet, but getting positive reports so far.”
Did he implement the change because of their conversations? For personal reasons, she’d always volunteered at the substance abuse hotline, even when she lived in New York and worked in property management. She manned the phones to let people know about resources available to them for prevention, treatment, and support. Not only those in the throws of addiction, but their family members, as well. She’d had conversations with Kofi about how Zamibia handled addicts. They locked up people who should be getting treatment, in her opinion.
“You changed your policy?”
“It’s evolving,” he replied.
“I could help in this area,” Dahlia said, getting excited. She’d learned a lot after years of volunteering and from working at the substance abuse center in Atlanta.
“There’s something I need to show you. Something I didn’t get the chance to because I was out of town.”
She followed him out of the apartment and down the hall to another room. Kofi opened the door and let her step inside. Her mouth fell open. A dark room, complete with an enlarger and other photography apparatus.
She swung around to see him standing with his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Why?” she asked softly.
He hadn’t been at one time, when lavish gifts had been the norm—dinners in expensive restaurants, fine clothes, and a diamond pendant necklace she’d sold to help with the move to Georgia. Kofi could be quite generous.
“Thank you.”
He walked over to where she stood and brushed loose hair that had fallen from the updo from her shoulder. As if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, he let his hand slide down her arm. Goosebumps sprang up in the wake of his touch.
She swayed toward him, her fingertips grazing his hard chest.
They looked into each other’s eyes, and then...his phone rang.
Dahlia blinked, and Kofi stepped back. The moment was lost.
He answered the phone. “Bawoh.” He listened and said a few more words in Mbutu. Then he hung up. “I need to go.”
“Of course. Go.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine now.”
His gaze lingered on her. “You’re not alone,” he said. He then turned and left.
She went back into the apartment, skin tingling where he touched her and the scent of his cologne still in her nostrils.
Mind swirling with new possibilities, she changed clothes and retrieved the binder. Holding it to her chest, she exited their residence and took the stairs down to the first floor, nodding a greeting to anyone she met in the hallway.
She entered the suite she’d been told was hers and took stock of the entire space. The outer office contained a desk set up for an administrative assistant and a waiting area with chairs and a coffee table. A small conference room off to the left held a long table and enough chairs to seat twelve. Inside the larger office, which was hers, the walls were stark white and the furniture sleek and modern. She wanted something more feminine but also preferred a traditional style, which meant those pieces would have to go, and the walls definitely needed color.
Taking a deep breath, she set the binder on the desk and walked out and down the hall to her chief of staff’s office.
Daisy, a thin woman whose purple head tie matched her skirt and top, stood right away. “Yes, Miss Sommers?”
“Could you...” Her voice wobbled a bit, but Dahlia took a fortifying breath, straightened her shoulders, and walked closer with bolder steps. Daisy was her employee. Dahlia had managed employees before when she co-owned the property management business with Melanie. Nothing on this type of scale, but her work experience included overseeing personnel. She simply needed to apply what she’d learned to a new environment.
“Set up a meeting with my social secretary to review events I’ll need to attend after the wedding. I also need you to draft the qualifications for an administrative assistant for my review, and find out how soon palace maintenance can have my office painted.”
Daisy looked up from the notepad she’d been writing on. “They can do it right away if you tell them the colors you want.”
“In that case, have someone come by my office in about an hour to discuss options.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dahlia walked out but then, remembering her manners, stepped back into the doorway. “Thank you, Daisy.”
“You’re very welcome, Miss Sommers.”
The smile that lit up her chief of staff’s face was so bright, one would think Dahlia had paid her a profuse compliment. She thought about Kofi’s comment, that people considered it a privilege to serve in the palace. She walked away with a newfound sense of purpose.
Before the meeting with maintenance, she needed to make a quick trip upstairs. Time to have a chat with the chef.
16
Like Nairobi, Johannesburg, and other African cities, Jouba was a modern metropolis. But mixed in among the skyscrapers and other modern buildings were traditional structures representing architecture from centuries past. For the sake of posterity, the monarchy spent millions to preserve a crumbling stone fortress and mud-dried buildings that had survived over the years.
The desire to preserve their history while driving forward with advancements influenced Kofi’s daily decision-making. He worked hard to protect their way of life, and the meeting with Alistair Davies was a means to continue in the same vein.
Flanked on either side by security, he strolled through the lobby of the Jouba National Hotel, a glass and steel structure designed to mimic the tall towers of Sahelian architecture. As he passed by, some citizens stopped and respectfully bowed, while others, along with tourists, snapped quick photos.
He took the elevator up to the appointed floor and marched down the hall to the reserved room where one of his guards entered first, and he followed behind.
Although he often wore suits from top designers, Kofi felt most comfortable in traditional West African attire. Today’s royal blue agbada included gold embroidery on the front, and he wore a matching fila on his head.
While his security situated themselves inside the door leading to the balcony, Kofi stepped out and joined Kemal and Imani, already seated at the table. He wanted another set of ears, and he trusted them both. Kemal was his right hand, and Imani was intelligent and cared as much as he did about the country and its people.
“Are you prepared to offer them anything?” Kemal asked.
Kofi took his seat at the head of the table. “Today we’re here to listen. We’re not making or accepting any offers. My father has concerns about doing business with Titanium Oil, and I have my own reservations, but it doesn’t hurt to listen.”
A few minutes later, Alistair arrived, a man of medium height with light brown hair and a gregarious smile. Right away, he extended his hand. “Thank you for meeting me.”
Kofi lifted an eyebrow when he saw Ambassador Stephens from the UK directly behind him. With golden blonde hair pulled back from her face, she also approached with a hand extended. “Prince Kofi, how are you? Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you.”
“Allow me to add my congratulations, as well,” Alistair added. “I just learned that you’ll be taken off the market in a few weeks.”
They all laughed, and after introductions were made, sat around the table.
“I have to say, ambassador, I didn’t expect to see you today,” Kofi said.
She crossed her legs. “The head of Titanium Oil asked us to get involved because of our long-standing relationship with the royal family and thought I might be helpful in the negotiations. My goal is to help broker a deal that’s beneficial to both parties.”
A brilliant smile remained on her face while she talked, which Kofi found intriguing and irritating at the same time.
The conversation started with pleasantries, and while they chatted, a waiter brought out pitchers of water and bissap and filled their glasses. He immediately followed up with a platter of biltong, a South African import of dried cured meat.
“Today’s choices are beef, antelope meat, and sausage,” the waiter said.
“That will be all. Thank you,” Kofi said.
“I think I’ll pass.” Alistair eyed the platter suspiciously.
“It’s quite good. I’ve grown to love biltong. Makes a great snack.” Ambassador Stephens picked up a piece of meat.
“How about we get to the heart of the matter, as I don’t want to waste your time.” Alistair folded his hands on the table. “First, I have a question for you. Why do you have a problem with outside investment?”
“We don’t have a problem with outside investment. You’re staying at a Hilton Hotel a few miles away, if I’m not mistaken,” Kofi pointed out.
“Of course, the Americans,” Alistair said dryly.
“And the Chinese, the French, and our neighbors in West Africa,” Imani interjected.
Kofi heard the irritation in her voice and smiled. “To Imani’s point, we’re not a closed off society. Trade has been an important part of our lives for centuries. That’s why despite the many dialects spoken here, we
chose to include English and French among our official languages, allowing us to easily conduct trade with our friends in Senegal, Côte d’Ivoire, Ghana, Nigeria, etcetera.”
“If you’re unopposed to trade, why not do business with us? Drilling for oil on land is quite an undertaking, can you imagine drilling in the ocean?” Alistair paused, as if waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question. “It’s challenging, to say the least. We have a good reputation—excellent, in fact. We have an embassy established here in the capital, and we have experience. There’s absolutely no reason why we can’t help you with your offshore drilling.”
“And what kind of guarantees can you make about protecting the environment?”
“Whatever guarantees you need. We don’t want to disrupt the lovely ecosystem we’ve seen in Zamibia. The water is a beautiful turquoise like I’ve never seen, and I’m sure the fishing villages along the shore would be most upset if we killed off the plant and animal life they’re so dependent on.” He laughed.
“We want to see a proposal, of course, and our normal procedure involves getting proposals from different companies. Then, there’s the issue of The Most High Council. Before any final decisions are made or documents are signed, they must approve.”
Ambassador Stephens cleared her throat. “Allow me to interject. You’re insulting me, Your Highness. I’ve lived here long enough to know the real power lies with the Karunzika royal family. Whatever you say goes, and the council is brought in only as a courtesy.”
Kofi chuckled but didn’t deny her assessment. He drank some water.
“I know you’ll want to look at other options, but I strongly believe that working with Titanium Oil will benefit you and your people. They’re the best in the business at this. Imagine the cost of having to acquire all the technology necessary to build the rig and do the drilling, and that says nothing about what money can not buy.” She tapped the side of her head. “Knowledge. It would take time for you to get to the point where you can do what this company is capable of. We’re talking years and almost a billion dollars. Why delay? Every day that passes means you won’t be able to exploit the oil that’s there, which would allow you to invest in more social programs, and improvements in infrastructure, and anything else you deem important. Why bear the brunt of the investment alone, when you could share the costs and continue funding current projects?”
Princess of Zamibia Page 9