by Leslie North
The second cup of tea had her sitting straighter and deciding she might as well dive in. "You don't think much of me."
She got another direct stare, but it came with the fragment of a smile. "I am withholding judgment. You are at least not as bad as Jasmine Hadad. That was going to be a disaster of a marriage. When were you born?" Ginni rattled off her birth date. Amal nodded. "Gemini. A good match for Nasim, but we should have your chart done."
Rattling her tea cup into its saucer, Ginni leaned forward. "Yeah, that'd be fine. But it's more the future that's got me worried. Nasim's in trouble, it's my fault, and I have to make it right." The words tumbled out in a flow.
Ginni found Amal to be great at listening. She sat next to Ginni, hands folded in her lap, eyes bright, nodding every now and then. Ginni's own mamere had died when Ginni was only eight, and she'd missed having someone like this who'd just sit and listen.
She ran out of words and breath and slumped back in her chair. "If I could just get to Sheikh Ahmad."
Eyes narrowing, Amal asked, "Is that all you need? Tell me, just what are you willing to do to—as you say—make things right?"
Ginni sat up. "Anything. Well, just about. I won't do anythin' that'll end up slappin' back on Nasim. You got something in mind?"
Chapter Twelve
Nasim sat at the conference table in Tarek's office. Arif sat opposite. Three of Tarek's top ministers shared the table, along with their ambassador to Dijobuli, Yusef Laan. Tarek had listened to everything, a frown in place and a line between his eyebrows. Nasim's shoulders had knotted, and he wanted to get up and leave. This was useless.
Sheikh Ahmad turned down their offer of money, but the ambassador insisted the ruler of Dijobuli seemed open to perhaps a trade of oil fields or even an offer of some of the royal jewels.
Jaw tight, Nasim shook his head. "The man had his pride hurt. He's trying to do anything that will see me squirming."
The ambassador—an older man with gray in his beard—fixed Nasim with a hard stare. "You could divorce this American."
"And what would that do, Yusef?" Nasim asked, voice clipped and tense. "Jasmine Hadad married another man—she is never going to be my wife."
"And Virginia Leeland is such a prize?" Yusef nodded to the minister sitting next to him. Uneasy, the man pulled out his mobile, swiped up a photo and offered the image for everyone to see. "Your wife was seen having drinks with another man—the man she was supposed to marry in America, a man who also works for Leeland Enterprises. It seems your bride is really just a loose woman who is using you to get Leeland access to our oil."
Pushing back his chair, Nasim stood and leaned his hands on the table. "If you ever dare accuse my wife of infidelity again, I will—"
"Nasim!" Tarek's voice cut across Nasim's words. He bit off the rest of the threat. He wanted the man's head. But Tarek was right—Yusef had been a friend of Nasim's father. He could do nothing to harm the older man. He turned to leave, but Tarek's voice stopped him again.
"This meeting is over. Nasim and Arif, please stay."
Nasim walked over to the French windows that looked out into the garden, which shaded Tarek's office. He crossed his arms and kept his back to the room as the others left. When the door closed behind the ambassador and the ministers, Nasim turned. "Where'd he get that bloody photo?"
Tarek shrugged. He pulled off his keffiyeh. Like Arif, he'd worn traditional dress to the meeting. Nasim had opted for a suit and tie. He yanked the tie loose now and glanced around. "Got anything stronger than lemonade?"
"That would be setting a bad example for my people," Tarek said. But he opened a small fridge behind his desk and pulled out three bottles of Guinness. "Every now and then, I miss England, too, cousin."
They popped the tops, and clinked glasses. "To Zahkim," Arif said. The toast had been their tradition when they'd been at Oxford.
Nasim took a long pull off the bottle and then let out a breath. "Honestly, Tarek. Old Yusef is right. I don't know Virginia all that well. What if all of this is just about her wanting that deal for Leeland Enterprises?"
Arif gave a snort. "You haven't been watching your wife very closely if that's what you think."
Nasim shot him a look, but Tarek held up a hand. "Leave Sheikh Ahmad to me. Zahkim is my country to rule, and I will not see him strip us of either our oil fields or the royal jewels. If his pride must be placated, we will do so. In the meantime, a deal with Leeland Enterprises might not be such a bad thing. Right now, Sheikh Ahmad believes our only option is a pipeline across Dijobuli. Leaking word to him that we are in serious discussions to pull in American investment, expand and improve our roads to the north, may not be such a bad thing."
Arif nodded. "Ahmad is not stupid. American investment means any threat to Zahkim suddenly pulls American attention to Dijobuli, and not in a good way."
Tarek turned to Nasim. "Have a word with your wife, Nasim. Get the details of the deal, and we'll see they end up in Ahmad's hands."
"I'm also going to have a talk with her about this man she was seen with—I can't believe she is playing me false, but we should know if someone else from Leeland Enterprises is the real decision maker."
Arif shook his head. "Nasim, have you learned nothing?"
"Learned what?" Nasim turned to face his cousin. "Is this more of your talk about patience? What kind of patience do I need to find out if my wife of only a few days is playing me false already?"
Throwing his hands wide, Arif told him, "Fine. Go talk to your wife while you are in a temper instead of finding a cool head first. But I don't want to hear the complaints afterwards when you realize you have lost the wife chosen for you by fate. Didn't I tell you your wedding would be a disaster? You still won't open your eyes. You still believe you can barge ahead, not paying attention, and not waiting to see any signs that might be put in front of you."
"That’s because signs go on posts to mark roads—not life." Nasim threw the words at Arif and strode out before either of his cousins could reply. Signs! Patience? Was Arif never done with his lectures about the unseen world? He even had Tarek, who'd always been the practical one, listening now to such nonsense. Shaking his head, Nasim decided he would simply find his wife, ask her about the man she'd met, and then he would have a talk with her about the proper behavior of a sheikh's wife. It would all be very reasonable—and he would not lose his temper.
Trying to relax his hands out of the fists they had bunched into, he called for the staff. No one seemed to know where Ginni might be found. She had apparently taken tea with Sheikha Amal in the gardens, but she was not there now, nor was she in her rooms. Amal also could not be found to be questioned.
Arms crossed and fingers tapping on his jacketed arm, Nasim stared at the staff gathered in front of him in the main hall. "Well? Find her!" He swept out a hand.
The staff scattered. Nasim knew he should go to his office. He had papers to read, emails to answer, business to handle. Worry ate at him, however. Had Ginni left with this man she'd met? She had mentioned there had been another man in her life. Jealousy clawed into his chest. She would not have left him for this former love—would she?
Pulling out his mobile, he did a search on Ginni, pulling up the gossip about her ex-fiancé. He found a name—Hank LaRue. And what sort of name was that? LaRue sounded like a stripper's name. He also found a photo, which left him frowning and started a headache just behind his temples. The man in the photo identified as Hank LaRue looked far too much like the man in the photograph the ambassador had shown them.
Swiping closed his mobile, Nasim paced the floor again. Where was that woman? He pulled out his phone again, texted her, and paced again.
At last, two members of the staff and two of the palace guards opened the front doors. Nasim stopped his pacing. He pulled in a breath. He would be reasonable. He would apply the patience Arif was forever nattering on about. He would listen.
And then an American voice reached him. "I'm here to see Virginia Leeland
, and I don't appreciate being hauled around like this."
Nasim stiffened. The guards and staff escorted in a man with a stained shirt front, a tie pulled loose, and very American blue eyes and blond hair. Nasim allowed himself a small smile. He could easily look down on this short American.
Pulling his arms free of the guards, the American faced Nasim. "You must be this sheikh fellow."
"Sheikh Nasim Said," Nasim said, with a fraction of a bow.
Smiling now, the man put out his hand. "Hank. Hank LaRue. Came by to see Virginia. I owe her an apology." He smoothed his tie. "We had a little spat. That girl's got a temper on her, and I said the wrong things."
"Sorry, Ginni is not here."
Hank stiffened. "Not here, or not wantin’ to see me? There's a difference."
Nasim waved the guards away and gestured to the garden. "Will you have some tea?"
"Sure. Sweet tea if you have it."
After asking one of the staff to bring them mint tea, Nasim led the way into the gardens. His first instinct had been to simply have this Hank LaRue escorted off the grounds; he was curious, however, to see what kind of man had once interested Ginni. He also wanted to know just why this man had met Ginni here.
Nasim led the way to a table set up near the fountain in the center of the garden. He sat and waved Hank into a chair opposite. "You are in Zahkim on business?"
With a grin, Hank sat down and loosened his tie. "Dang, but it gets hot here. To tell the truth, I asked Mr. Leeland to send me. He's worried about his daughter, and what father wouldn't be—girl in a strange country and all, and she sure does know how to get herself into trouble."
Nasim gave a noncommittal hum. The tea arrived. The man who brought it poured, and Nasim lifted his cup. "This is mint tea—a tradition in Zahkim."
Hank sniffed his glass but drank it and pulled a face. "It's sweet enough, but I was kinda hopin' for something cold."
Smiling, Nasim lifted his cup. "Hot tea is always better in hot weather. So you met up with Ginni in Al Resab?"
"Bumped into her, more like." Hank brushed at his shirt. "Ended up wearin' my drink, too. She didn't care for me relaying a few words from Mr. Leeland. And, of course, she hates hearin' the truth told to her."
"Really? I hadn't noticed that."
"Well, you haven't known her that long. Me…I met her years ago, when I first came on at Leeland Enterprises as an accountant. Worked my way up the ladder to vice president."
Nasim gave another hum. This conversation had started to bore him, and Hank LaRue's constant grin dug under his skin like needles. Obviously, Ginni had not intentionally met this man—and had little interest in him, to judge by the fact that she had cooled him off by pouring a drink on him.
For a moment, Hank glanced around the gardens. He glanced back, seemed to consider saying something, and then reached into his inside coat pocket to pull out a slim folder with papers.
"Say, while we're waiting for Virginia to show up, why don't I just show you a package I worked up with Mr. Leeland for shipping Zahkim's oil to the—"
"Guards!" Pushing back from the table, Nasim stood.
Hank sat, mouth open, the folder in his hands half open. "Uh…I say somethin' wrong?"
"You did. There is only one person at Leeland Enterprises with whom Zahkim will ever do business. I trust Ginni Leeland, but I bloody well don't trust your easy grin or your attitude that Ginni is some wayward child who requires babysitting, and I understand why Ginni dashed a drink in your face. Although her aim needs work."
The guards arrived, and Nasim gestured to his unwanted guest. "Please see that Mr. LaRue is escorted from the palace and that he leaves the country on the next fight."
"Hey, wait a minute. I'm here on legitimate business. You can't just—"
"You forget, Mr. LaRue, I am a sheikh of Zahkim. My cousin rules this country, and when I tell him of this episode, he will approve of my actions. Go back to Mr. Leeland and tell him his daughter is well able to negotiate on behalf of Leeland Enterprises, and he will approve of such a thing, or he will not have access to my country."
He snapped his fingers. The guards stepped closer. Hank huffed out a breath, opened his mouth to say something, and glanced back at the guards. Muttering, he headed back toward the exit.
"Not as stupid as he looks," Nasim said. He smoothed the sleeves of his suit, drank his tea, and then called for someone to bring his car to the front. It was time to expand the search for Ginni to outside the palace. Where the bloody hell had she got herself to?
Stepping into the foyer near the front doors, he found Sheikha Amal's maid, swathed in black robes, pacing and wringing her hands. She turned to Nasim, a flood of Arabic pouring out, and all of it seemed to indicate that Amal and Ginni had left the palace together in Amal's car.
But why would Ginni go anywhere with Tarek's grandmother, and what was that meddlesome old bat up to now?
Chapter Thirteen
Okay, so robes and veils were loose enough to give a girl room to move around in, and with the air conditioning of the limo, they weren't half bad to wear. But the veil over her face kept heating her up from her own breath. She glanced over at Sheikha Amal, who sat back in the limo looking every inch a royal lady. Ginni wished she had that kind of calm. She kept twitching at the robes—least they were soft—kept fussing with the air conditioning controls, and kept wishing this was over with.
"You sure this'll work?" She started to adjust her veil again.
Amal slapped her hand. "Stop. Your veil is correct. And if you do not wish for Zahkim to have to give up the Ash Lands or for Nasim to have to pay Sheikh Ahmad, this is what we must do. I am the mother to a sheikh and the grandmother to another sheikh. Out of respect for my age and status, Ahmad must see me if I demand an audience. After that…" She waved a hand, her jeweled rings glinting.
While Ginni wore unrelieved black robes, Amal's robes dripped with gold embroidery. Her kohl-lined eyes looked exotic.
I get to be the maid in the background.
Well, if it worked to get her in to see Ahmad, it was worth it.
They'd been on the road for over an hour, the limo speeding along at rates that should have gotten them a ticket. But the fluttering royal flags on the hood meant nobody fussed with them. The landscape changed from rocky desert to sand, and then the glittering capital of Dijobuli rose up before them. Ginni caught a glimpse of blue sea in the distance before the streets and tall buildings cut off the view.
Sheikh Ahmad went in for an office building, not a palace. The limo pulled up in front of a high-rise, and Amal got out and shook out her robes. Ginni copied the move, remembering to stay a couple of steps behind Amal the way she'd been told to. Amal swept into the high-rise, and an elevator took them up to the penthouse, which had a terrific view of the coast and the city.
"Wait until I give you the signal," Amal whispered.
Ginni stared at the woman. What in tarnation was the signal?
She had no time to ask, for guys in white robes and golden vests and turbans bowed them into an office that would've impressed anyone.
A thick, royal blue carpet stretched out over what looked like about an acre of office space. Dark wood paneling lined one wall, and windows lined the other three. A huge desk dominated one end of the room, while gold-brocade couches and chairs offered up seating at the other end. A low, round brass table sat between the chairs, a brass tea urn and gold-trimmed glasses already set out, along with a plate of delicate pastries.
Sheikh Ahmad rose up from behind the huge desk and came forward, a flow of Arabic coming out of him. Ginni caught Amal's name and not much more, but she was going to guess it was all polite stuff, such as nice to see you, hope you had a good trip, and so on.
She'd not forgotten Ahmad from the wedding. He looked much the same—a white robe and long, white tunic, a white cloth over his head, held in place with a gold and black rope band. A trim, white beard jutting out, strong nose and black eyes. Ginni could see the resemblance
to Jasmine in the heavy-lidded eyes, the arched eyebrows, the stubborn chin.
Ahmad bowed them over to the seating area, and one of the staff poured tea. Ginni stood behind Amal and a little to her right, trying to figure out what the signal was supposed to be. Her heart had started thudding as soon as she'd stepped into the room. Now, sweat dampened her upper lip, and her palms itched.
Conversation suddenly dried up, and Amal turned and looked at Ginni. Well, guess that was as good a signal as any. Ginni pulled off her veil; Ahmad sat where he was, a glass of tea halfway to his mouth, his mouth dropping open and his eyes bugging wide.
"Now don't go getting into a—"
Ahmad slapped his glass down on the brass tray with so sharp a move, Ginni worried he'd crack it. "What is the meaning of this deception?"
Ginni let out a breath. "I just want to talk."
"I will call the guards and have—!"
"Ahmad!" Amal's voice, stern as only a mamere could be, stopped his tirade. "Sit down and be respectful. This girl has gone to much trouble to see you." She said something else in Arabic, and whatever it was, it left Ahmad red faced, but he sat and crossed his arms.
"I am a busy man. And if this is about you trying to intercede on behalf of Sheikh Nasim, you have wasted both your time and mine."
Yeah, busy trying to make trouble.
Ginni bit down on the thought. "This won't take much time, and it's about Jasmine."
Dropping his arms, he leaned forward and jabbed a finger in Ginni's direction. "You may not know, but as her father, it is my right to have Jasmine's marriage declared null and void. She did not have my consent to marry!"