“No, but they can do a short bit at the reception.”
“Ma’am, it’s Mr. Nelson on line one,” said one of the secretaries.
“What are you doing, baby?”
“I’m at the store. Getting the gown. So don’t pick me up, it’s bad luck.”
“At the store?” he grumbled.“Damn, girl, you are such a salesman. Even with our wedding.”
“They watch me … you know that.”
“Don’t I just,” Nelson said darkly.
“Don’t be mad. I’m running out the back door, I’ll be with you soon.” She wanted to tell him about all the new magazine covers, the TV slots, the offer from Hollywood that she was turning down—business was the star, and she, Sally Nelson, was GLAMOUR. “I’ll make it up to you, baby,” she promised.
Sally could hear his grin through the phone. “You certainly will.”
“Mark Cohen on two.” She punched the line to hang up on Chris and pick up Mark. Wow! This store was a rocket. If she didn’t physically leave the building, her phones would never stop ringing. Mark was Jane’s latest hire, shipped in from New York to be the general manager of GLAMOUR L.A., their original, flagship store. Jane had insisted they run every store like a first-class hotel.
“We got the extension from the city.”
“Fabulous.” Haya and Ahmed’s place was way too small; they had discovered that months ago. Now she could concentrate on building something glorious. Lots of smoked glass, she thought, and an indoor garden, with fully grown trees, like they had in the lobby of CAA …
“And the monthly sales figures have tripled.We’re selling stock as fast as we can ship it in.” Cohen was ecstatic. “Ms. Morgan called and told me to pass on to you that three more consortiums have made offers. She also wants a meeting to consider going public.” He paused. “Ms. Lassiter, what with the amazing figures from the opens in New York and London … do you understand how rich you are now?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ve only just started,” Sally said coolly. “And tell Ms. Morgan’s assistant I’ll call her back.”
She hung up, told Maxi to deal with her messages, and got ready to sneak out the back door.
She had an important appointment. With a realtor, and her fiancé. Let’s face it, Sally thought. Life is pretty damn sweet.
Chris whistled a little, as soon as the pushy broker had left them to themselves.
“This is quite a house,” he said. “Are you sure we need this much space?”
“Think of the fun we’ll have christening every room.”
He kissed her, one of those slow, lingering kisses that got her squirming and impatient.
“If you like the place, folks, ask is twenty,” said the agent, bustling back in after half a minute. Sally pulled away from her fiancé, annoyed.
“We need much more time to think about it. Please give us some privacy.”
“Oh, certainly,” the woman said.“But I have another viewing at five o’clock.”
“If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the owners and tell them you personally cost them a sale.”
The agent bolted.
“Tough cookie,” Chris said, admiringly, feeling her ass; Sally shifted under her dress, wanting him, right there on the kitchen floor. “But baby … twenty mil. I’m not that rich. Sorry.”
“We’ll bid fifteen,” Sally said. “They’ll take it. I have to have this house.”
“There are lots of other good ones… .”
“You’re not that rich, but I am,” she interrupted, kissing him back, stretching up on her toes to do it. “GLAMOUR … it’s doing well. More than well.” She summarized for him.
“Man.” He blew out his cheeks. “When I met you, you were living in a scummy walk-up apartment. Is the store really that hot?”
Sally nodded proudly.“Hey, at least I know you’re not marrying me for my money!”
Chris gave her a slap on the rear.“Just for that, when I get you home, I’m gonna make you work out naked.”
“Promises, promises,” Sally teased back; but she was turned on, and he could see it.
Chris took her hand. “Let’s go. I want to see you on that exercise bike …” He whistled loudly, and the realtor came running back in.
“Fifteen mil. Not a cent over. And they’re lucky my fiancée likes the place,” he said dismissively. “Call me back only if you have a signed contract. Come on, sweetness… .”
And he ushered her out, back to the car.
They hadn’t driven more than half a mile before the car phone rang.
“Chris? It’s Jemma.”
“That’s Mr. Nelson,” he said sharply. Neither of them liked the woman.
“Yes, sir,” she said eagerly. “They’ve accepted! I’m having a signed contract messengered over to Malibu. Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll enjoy Beverly Hills …”
“Good. You’ll get the money wired by tomorrow.” He punched the button and hung up. “Looks like you got it, baby.” Nelson shook his head.“Man, that place is so big it’s like owning my own country. It’s a long way from the Bronx.” He casually lifted her skirt with his left hand, and felt her inner thigh. “So why did that place appeal to you so much? There are lots of other mansions… .”
“You don’t understand,” Sally said. “That was my home. My dad’s place. The one they threw us out of.” Her face was bright with a fierce pride. “And now it’s mine again. Mom can live in the guest cottage. Maybe one day I’ll give it to her.”
He was shocked. “Fifteen million?”
“The way things are going, we’ll soon be able to afford six of them,” Sally told him.
“Man, what am I doing in practice all day?”
“Getting ready to win the World Series?”
“There is that, I guess.” His hand went higher. “You’re still gonna be working out naked. Somebody has to keep you under control.”
“Have you seen the latest consignment?” Haya was angry. “I expect quality control, Muna.You can’t assume honesty.”
“Nine times out of ten—”
“Ninety-nine out of a hundred,” Haya interrupted. “But we serve an amazingly expensive, luxurious chain. I need the quality to be there one hundred times out of one hundred. When I made a surprise inspection at the Cairo docks I found four machine-woven carpets. Machine-woven! Do you know the scandal that would cause, if we misrepresented them? Furthermore, do you understand what that means?”
The older woman hung her head.“That the suppliers did not buy them from the artisans?”
“Exactly. So not only are we being cheated, some poor woman who depends on us for her survival is, too… .”
“It won’t happen again, Siti Haya.”
“It better not. Or you’re fired. And don’t call me Siti,” Haya snapped. They were always doing that—she hated it, all the assumptions, the idea that Jaber would marry her in due course, make her his….
The more she was seen at the palace, the more they said it was a done deal.
When she talked with him, she was free to be herself. He was intelligent, strong, and masculine, and yet respectful of her—interested in her business, and how she was shaping it. Jaber relaxed her, and she knew that however hard she tried not to, she was falling for him… .
Yet in the last month, he had withdrawn from her. They had met for dinner only twice, and he was moody and distracted.The only time he seemed like his old self was when he played with Noor, already toddling around.
There was some other woman, Haya was sure of it. And her heart ached at the thought. She loved Ghada now with a passion, but she couldn’t stay here; couldn’t turn on the TV, read the local papers and see the emir, the favored foreign minister, accompanied by a new princess, his chosen bride; Jaber worked hard for charity; he would attend every benefit, every concert Haya got involved with. And as one of the world’s most successful Muslim businesswomen, that would be quite a few. Haya and GLAMOUR were famous in Ghada. Famous across the Middle East. She
had insisted on sticking to her principles—ethics and profit—and people loved her for it. Haya only talked to the regional press.The company had its strategy; let golden Sally be the face of GLAMOUR in the West.
So she would have to move. And Haya had already decided she would go back to Amman, live in a villa, somewhere secluded and safe for Noor to grow up in; the country her father had left for America; with her, it would come full circle. She would always love the States. But she would live with her heritage.
“I understand,” Muna said, chastened.“I’ll check them all personally, Ms. Al-Yanna.”
There was a hard rap on the door.
“Come in,” Haya called.
A soldier opened the door; he wore the epaulets of the royal house and had a gun at his belt. Muna shrank back, toward Haya, who instinctively stepped in front of her employee.
“What do you want?” Haya asked, fighting to stay calm.
“Madam, you must come with me,” he said in guttural English. “It is His Royal Highness who orders it.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He looked at her, his eyes expressionless.“I have orders to take you by force if necessary. It is for your own protection.” He lifted the gun. “Please come.”
Haya was terrified; her palms started to sweat from adrenaline. “What’s going on?” she cried. “Where is Noor? Where is Noor?”
“There is trouble at the palace.Your baby and her nanny have already been collected—they are at His Highness’s compound.” He moved forward to grab her, but Haya was already ahead of him.
“Take me to my daughter,” she said firmly. “At once. Do you hear me?”
Startled, the soldier gave a small bow.
“Yes, Siti,” he said.
This time, she did not object.
“You’re here.” He walked over to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Mash’Allah, you are safe.”
“And Noor?” They were standing in his private apartments, and Haya was still shaking; the ride through the streets, her car, armored, flanked with five riders with guns, had taken fire; screaming, she had dropped to the floor.The center of Ghada City was on fire. People in the streets were running, yelling, throwing rocks. Even inside the royal compound, it was all different: rows of the palace guard, no longer ceremonial, AK-47s at their sides, were dressed for battle.
“She is upstairs. One of my servants will show you to a guest room.We have supplies, baby formula.You are too well known as my companion—they would have come for you.”
“What’s going on?”
“The sons of the crown prince are impatient; they have prepared a revolt.There are mercenaries here, and they intend to kill the king. I am to fight them. If I fail, take this.” He looked behind him and withdrew some papers and money from a cabinet. “Passports in a false name for you and the child, money to take you across the border. My personal bodyguard will see you out of the palace.”
Haya wept—she wanted to hold him, to kiss him. But they were not even engaged.
“Be careful,” she blurted out. “Come back to me, come back safe. I pray you will come home!”
“It will be quick,” he said grimly, and then, to her astonishment, he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“Haya—I love you. Maybe this is not the time or the place, but I have no choice. If we survive this, will you marry me?”
She opened her mouth to consent, but Jaber stopped her.
“I knew this was coming. It is why I did not ask you. But Haya, know this. If you are my wife, you cannot be directly involved in GLAMOUR anymore.You will be a princess.You will have to be merely a partner, and instead of commerce, perform other duties with me.” He pressed her hand. “And they are duties, Haya, and there is no time off. So you will have to choose.”
There was gunfire in the distance—she looked at him; now her heart was on the line, there was no choice. Not really, not when he might die.
“I accept,” she said, and kissed his hand. “Go with God!”
He looked back at her, briefly, then picked up his gun, lying on the table, and rushed from the room.
A nursemaid in palace uniform crept into the apartments and gave Haya a small half curtsy.
“I will take you to your daughter,” she said.
“Yes—let me see her.” Haya’s heart was full. Terror and joy and loss, mingled together. Oh, God! She loved him now, loved him so completely.
She had no idea what the night would bring. She clutched the papers to her. Of course, if she had to flee, she would flee…. Noor’s safety came first. But she didn’t want to go. She never wanted to leave Jaber.
The baby was toddling around the bedroom, with a frightened Emily Wilkins manfully trying to play with her; she laughed with delight at seeing Haya; there was another burst of gunfire outside the windows, closer this time.
Haya picked Noor up and covered her with kisses, slinging her over her shoulder.
“What are those?” Mrs. Wilkins asked, looking at Haya’s papers.
“Safe conduct to get out. If you want to go, Emily, you can get an armed escort to the border. I’ll see to it.”
“I’ve grandchildren of my own.” The older woman wrung her hands. “Oh, God! What shall we do?”
“It’s absolutely fine if you want to leave, but I believe if there’s unrest here, there will be at the airport, too. Prince Jaber has an armed force to protect us. I’m staying here,” Haya said. She was cool and, the nanny thought, regal. “You must make your own decisions. There’s plenty of money here, and a passport for you.”
Mrs.Wilkins looked at her friend and employer, Haya’s shoulders squared, the caftan swirling around her feet.
“If you think we should stay, we’ll stay,” she replied.“You’ve a smart head on your shoulders for a lass who’s not even Irish.”
Haya took control. She arranged calls for Emily Wilkins and herself to their worried families on a secure line; she dictated a will, and faxed it off to her father; she tried to distract the anxious staff in the villa by organizing the cooking of a meal on the single working gas ring in Jaber’s kitchen.When the violence was close, so close you could hear the shots outside the gardens, less than a mile away, Haya sang nursery rhymes to Noor, loudly, so that the bangs and crashes would not frighten her.
By the time the baby was sleeping soundly—Haya had her cot moved into the center of the villa, into Jaber’s own bathroom, as far away from the sounds of violence as possible—the fighting had died down. Into the night there were occasional bursts of gunfire, or a flare arcing overhead. Haya remained awake, with her papers at her side. Ready to run, at any moment. Her bags for Noor packed, by her feet.
At half past three he finally returned; there was blood on his shirt, and some more that had dried in his beard. Exhausted, he slumped on a couch in the reception hall; his servants gathered around, and he muttered a few words in the Ghadan dialect; they smiled and clapped.
Haya leaned forward anxiously. “It’s okay? What happened?”
“They put down the coup attempt. The ringleaders are in custody. Nobody liked them coming here with a foreign force; in the end the men of the city took to the streets and destroyed their vehicles.Then it was over.”
“Mash’Allah. And you? Are you injured?”
“A knife wound. Don’t worry,” he bid her as she darted forward. “A doctor has dressed it.There was hand-to-hand fighting at one point.They came within feet of the king.”
“The man who wounded you?”
His eyes darkened. “I killed him.” Jaber looked away. “I didn’t want to tell you of this, when I had my suspicions. But I should have spoken up, warned you. Instead, I was too confident of their loyalty. I put you in danger.”
“You warned me.” Haya was too shy to kiss him.“I just didn’t listen.”
“Is the baby okay?”
“Fast asleep.” She pointed in the direction of his bathroom.
“I have to sleep,” he said apologetic
ally.“I’m sorry; I am dropping. But call your parents, have them fly out here, first class on the first plane, and anybody else you wish to be here.The palace will reimburse them. We will sign the nikkah the day after tomorrow.” He squeezed her hands. “That is, if you still wish it?”
“I do,” Haya said, her heart full.
“And you will even give up your enterprise?”
“I will still own it,” she said, with a touch of stubbornness. “But otherwise, yes, I can see it is necessary.”
“Good.” Jaber sighed. “That will certainly make things a little easier. He’ll be pleased that at least I persuaded you to that… .”
“He?”
“The king, of course. He did not want me to marry you.”
Despite the desperate circumstances, Haya felt a moment of shock and annoyance. “Why not?”
“You are a believer, but you are also an American.That’s tricky. And not a virgin—and there is already a child.”
Haya frowned. “That’s backward thinking, Jaber.”
“I know it.” He shrugged.“But it is protocol. I have been trying to persuade the king for some months now, my love. It wasn’t good to be seen with you.”
“And if you had not been able to persuade him?”
“Then we would have left Ghada together.” Jaber looked into her eyes. “You are not the only one who can fight for what she wants.”
Haya was bold; she leaned forward and kissed him passionately on the lips.
“You sleep,” she said, “my love. I will make some calls.”
Jane Morgan tossed on her bed. It was Indian summer in New York, blisteringly hot and muggy. Her apartment was a ten-million-dollar penthouse on Fifth, overlooking the museum, a real palace, with eight bedrooms and four bathrooms. All her own. And now the air-conditioning had broken down.
There wouldn’t be an engineer available till tomorrow, and who knew what time. She would be taking four cold showers a day just to keep from getting sweaty.
She bet the air-con was working just fine at Craig’s place, in the Village.
Her body ached for him. Levin was like an addiction. Big, strong, thick, the perfect antidote to her softness—in body at least. And too much for Jane. She was struggling with her feelings. Trying, and failing, to give him up.
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