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“Good morning, Emily,” Caroline greeted her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you.” Emily took the chair drawn out by a house servant, murmuring her thanks as she sat.
“I understand that you’ve already had breakfast with Abbar this morning,” Caroline said. “But perhaps you’d like another cup of coffee?”
“Coffee would be lovely.” Emily waited until the servant poured the mix of rich coffee and milk into her cup. “I confess, I’m hoping to take the recipe home with me.”
Jenna laughed and her mother chuckled.
“We love it, too. I used to steal sips from Papa’s cup when I was tiny,” Jenna said. “I think I was fifteen before he gave in and agreed to let me have coffee with breakfast.”
“I didn’t want you drinking coffee at all before you were sixteen and I strongly suspect that your father purposely pretended not to see you stealing sips from his cup when you were a little girl.” Caroline’s gaze rested fondly on her daughter and they exchanged a look of warm understanding.
Emily caught an underlying current of sadness from the two women. Beneath the queen’s graciousness and Jenna’s impish humor there was a thread of pathos when they talked about the king. She suspected that the emotion was due to his ill health and her heart went out to them.
“What are your plans for the day, Emily?” Caroline asked.
“I need to check in with my office staff back home, and then I’m hoping to begin preliminary work on the plans for Lazhar’s wedding.”
“Ooh, fun.” Jenna’s face lit with enthusiasm. “What will you do first?”
“I’d like to look at the venue for the event—I assume the ceremony will be held in a church in the city and the reception here at the palace?”
“Yes, that’s the traditional method,” Caroline confirmed. “The church is St. Catherine’s and the largest ballroom would be best for the reception.” A soft smile curved her mouth. “That’s where Abbar and I were married.” She sighed before visibly collecting herself. “The palace chef will cater the reception, which is always preceded by a sit-down luncheon for four to five hundred people.”
Emily made mental notes while fervently wishing she’d brought her Palm Pilot or at least a pencil and notepad with her.
“Mother, Emily should jot this down,” Jenna said firmly, holding up a hand. “Otherwise, we’ll have to schedule a meeting to go over this again in your office and it’s much more pleasant doing it here over coffee and croissants. Right, Emily?” She paused, looking expectantly at Emily.
“Yes, much more comfortable,” Emily agreed. “If that’s acceptable to you, Your Highness?”
“Please, call me Caroline. We’ll be spending many hours together planning this wedding and we may as well be comfortable together. And that’s an excellent idea, Jenna.” She lifted a tiny silver bell from its place beside her crystal water glass and shook it. The tinkling sound was immediately followed by the appearance of a young girl wearing the palace uniform. “Ah, there you are, Sofia. Please bring a pen and pad of paper for Miss Parks.”
Emily barely had time to say thank you to the queen before the girl was back, handing her a goldcapped fountain pen and a leather-bound notebook.
“Thank you, Sofia. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the ceremony is held at St. Catherine’s, the reception here at the palace, and there will be four to five hundred people at a sit-down luncheon. There will probably be a thousand or so invited to the reception,” Caroline continued. “You’ll want to discuss menus and timing with our chef, of course. And the protocol of invitations, seating, etc., will need to be coordinated by the palace diplomatic office. The most difficult seating arrangements will be those for our relatives. Our family is related through a tangle of marriages and descendants to most of the royal families in Europe, all of whom will think they should have a front-row seat.” Caroline sighed. “And I never can keep track of who’s not talking to who at any given moment.”
“Which is why you have Maria, Mother,” Jenna said. “That’s Mother’s secretary,” she explained to Emily as she spread jam on an airy croissant. “The woman is amazing—she never forgets a thing.”
“True,” Caroline agreed. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. Now,” she said briskly. “What else do we need to talk about before you begin?”
“How big will the wedding party be? I’m assuming that there will be bridesmaids, flower girl, ring bearer. How many bridesmaids and groomsmen?” There was no immediate answer. Emily glanced up from her notes to find both Caroline and Jenna looking at her with arrested expressions. “Is that a problem? The bride hasn’t discussed that with you yet? If she hasn’t, I can inquire when I speak with her.” Emily was instantly reminded that she still didn’t have the bride’s name. “Will she be available later today, perhaps this afternoon?” Caroline and Jenna exchanged a swift look, but neither responded. What’s going on here? Emily wondered, baffled by their silence.
“That, um, that may be a problem,” Jenna said at last.
“Is she not here in Daniz?” Emily thought a moment. “I usually meet with the bride in person in this preliminary stage, but if she’s out of the country, we can always set up a conference call to get the necessary input.”
“Unfortunately,” Caroline said carefully, “that won’t be possible, either.”
“No?” This is more and more curious, Emily thought. Where was the elusive bride?
“No.” Jenna shook her head, opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and looked helplessly at her mother.
Emily’s gaze followed Jenna’s. Caroline looked from one to the other and visibly collected herself.
“You must promise, Emily, that what I am about to tell you will not go beyond this room,” she said.
Startled, Emily stared at her for a silent moment before replying. “Yes, of course.”
“There is no bride.”
“I beg your pardon?” Surely she’d misunderstood, Emily thought.
“There is no bride,” Caroline repeated. “Lazhar isn’t engaged. He has no fiancée.”
“But…” Emily floundered. “But he told me he wanted to hire my firm to plan his wedding.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So…he doesn’t want me to plan his wedding?” Emily was beyond confused.
“No, no, he does want you to plan his wedding,” Caroline said quickly. “But he doesn’t have a bride yet.”
“Yet?”
Caroline sighed and massaged her temple with her fingertips. “I’m doing a very poor job of explaining this. Since the tabloids have announced it to the world and made it common knowledge, I’m sure you’re aware that it’s Abbar’s dearest wish to see Lazhar married. His health is delicate and he feels a need for haste. Lazhar would move mountains to give his father whatever he wants at this stage, we all would. But in this instance, I think my son is wrong.” Caroline paused to sip from her cup, clearly fortifying herself before continuing. “When he told me a month ago that he meant to schedule the ceremony and choose a bride sometime between then and the wedding date, I was appalled. I told him that a person can’t pick a wife the same way one negotiates a business deal but he wouldn’t listen to me. So—” she spread her hands in a gesture of helpless acceptance “—here we are. Planning the wedding of my eldest child without a bride to make decisions with us.”
Emily was speechless. Underneath her shock, joy bubbled irrepressibly. He isn’t engaged. He’s not in love with another woman.
But he will be. The knowledge that he would choose a bride sometime in the next few months deflated the exuberant bubbles.
“Well,” she said carefully, meeting first Caroline’s, then Jenna’s gaze. “Are you two willing to make decisions that the bride normally makes?”
“You mean like the color of bridesmaids dresses, how many attendants, etc.?” Jenna asked.
“Yes, those and others.”
“Sure,” she said airily. “We three can pick out colors and decide on cake flavors, can’t we, Mom?”
“Of course,” Caroline agreed.
“Well, then.” Emily drew a deep breath. “It’s certainly unorthodox and I’ve never planned a wedding without a bride’s input before, but I don’t see why we can’t do it.” A thought occurred to her and she shot a narrow-eyed glance at the queen. “I’m assuming that if Lazhar decides on a wife at the last moment, she won’t be allowed to change all the arrangements at that point?”
“Absolutely not,” Caroline said firmly. “That would make the entire project impossible.”
“Then it appears to be doable.”
“Excellent!” Jenna clapped her hands. “This will be fun—sort of a practice session for the wedding I might have some day.”
“Do you have a groom in mind?” Caroline’s voice was hopeful.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Emily coughed to hide an amused chuckle. Caroline was the picture of a mother hoping that her daughter would wed; Jenna equally typical of a young woman refusing to be nudged. They may be queen and princess, Emily thought, but they were no different than thousands of other mothers and daughters in this age-old tug-of-war.
“What did you think of the casino?” Jenna asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“It was fabulous,” Emily replied. “I loved it.”
“Did you go anywhere else?” Caroline asked.
“Lazhar took me to a nightclub called Pilar’s and we watched flamenco dancers. I was fascinated. I’ve never had the opportunity to see flamenco before but after watching the floor show, I definitely plan to find a club in San Francisco where I can see more.”
The door from the hallway opened and Lazhar strolled into the room.
“Good morning, Mother.” He bent and kissed Caroline’s cheek, straightening to look at Emily. His gaze flicked over the bare little sundress and he smiled at her. “Good morning, Emily. Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” Emily refused to acknowledge the sudden race of her heart. He was wearing faded jeans this morning, with a short-sleeved T-shirt tucked into the waistband and polished black cowboy boots on his feet. Gone was the European prince. This Lazhar could have been any American male, dressed for a casual morning at home.
Except that the watch on his wrist was a Rolex and very few men of Emily’s acquaintances wore faded Levi’s with quite that air of elegance.
Face it, Emily, she thought. You’re hopelessly hooked on the guy.
“I’m on my way to the stables and I thought you might want to come with me, Emily, if you’re finished with breakfast.”
“First she needs to call her office, Lazhar,” Jenna put in. “And she has a list of other places to visit as well. Oh, and we told her,” she added offhandedly. “So you don’t need to worry about letting it slip out.”
Lazhar eyed his sister quizzically. “Let what slip out? What is it you told her?”
“About the bride. That you don’t have one.”
Lazhar’s dark gaze was hooded as he met Emily’s. “Really. You told her.”
It wasn’t a question. Indeed his tone was so neutral that Emily couldn’t tell if he was pleased that she knew, or that he disapproved of his mother and sister sharing that family secret.
“I’ve promised not to tell anyone,” she said calmly. “And they’ve assured me that the lack of a bride to help plan the ceremony won’t impact the organizing of the event, since they’ll make the necessary decisions that your fiancée, if you had one, would normally make.”
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes unreadable as his mouth quirked in a half smile. “Really,” he murmured. “That’s efficient.”
Unsure what he meant and unable to tell from his expression whether he was pleased or unhappy with their arrangements, Emily was relieved when Jenna glanced at her watch and broke in.
“Drat. I was due at the stable office ten minutes ago.” She pushed back her chair and stood, rounding the table to drop a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I’ll see you two there after you’ve made your calls, Emily.”
And with a quick wave and a cheeky grin, she was gone.
“I think that’s our cue to head for the media room,” Lazhar said to Emily.
“Please keep the notebook and pen, Emily,” Caroline said as Emily was about to remove the pages with her notes. “You’ll be making lots more notes today, I’m sure.”
“Thank you.” Emily rose and left the room, Lazhar right beside her. Neither of them mentioned last night’s kiss, and Emily decided to chalk it up to the combination of champagne and wine they’d both drank.
She refused to let him shake her composure, regardless of the fact that she was more aware of him than ever.
Chapter Six
Emily had forgotten about the time difference between Daniz and San Francisco, and when she dialed her office number, the answering machine picked up. She left a message telling Jane that she’d call back that evening, which equaled morning in California’s time zone, and followed Lazhar outside.
They left the palace and took a shortcut through a lush garden, exiting through a wrought-iron gate that let them out into a wide, paved lane. Farther down the lane to their left were the stable buildings. Directly across from them stretched a paddock where horses grazed and sprinklers turned lazily under the hot sun, creating small rainbows as they watered the already lush green grass.
Lazhar crossed the lane to the paddock fence and whistled. The dozen or more horses grazing within the enclosure looked up, ears pricking with interest. On the far side of the pasture, a white mare whinnied and trotted toward them, a longlegged filly at her side.
“How beautiful,” Emily murmured, so riveted by the horse that she was barely aware she spoke aloud. Head up, small ears pricked forward, her tail a banner held high, the mare’s fluid gait was pure poetry. Beside her, the little white filly shadowed each movement her mother made as if attached to her by an invisible cord.
The mare slowed to a walk as she approached the fence, coming closer until she could bump her nose against Lazhar’s chest. He laughed and took a lump of sugar out of his pocket, holding it on the flat of his palm. The mare daintily lipped the cube from his hand, her strong teeth crunching the little square.
“This is Sheba,” Lazhar told Emily, straightening the white forelock between the horse’s intelligent brown eyes before stroking his palm down her nose. “And her baby, Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth?” Surprised, Emily looked at the purebred Arabian baby. The little filly’s widespaced dark eyes, dish face, beautiful conformation, and delicate-boned long legs made her a miniature copy of her mother.
“Jenna named her—Elizabeth was born the day after my sister watched the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice for the first time.”
“So she’s named after a Jane Austen heroine?” Emily laughed. Lazhar looked pained but resigned.
“Her long registered name includes Shalimar, which is what I’d hoped to use as her common name. But after Jenna began calling her Elizabeth, everyone else followed suit, and now she answers to that name only.” He sighed and shook his head. “A royal Danizian filly answering to an English name. Where’s the sense in that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like it.” Emily stretched her arm over the top rail of the white wooden fence and waggled her fingers invitingly. “Come here, pretty baby. Hello, Elizabeth.”
The inquisitive filly pricked her ears, clearly listening as Emily crooned. Tentatively she stretched her neck toward the fence, her nose not quite touching Emily’s fingertips, and blew a gust of warm air against her palm. Then she jumped back to race off, jolting to a stop several feet away before spinning to run back to her mother. The little horse stopped on the far side of the mare and peered around her mama’s chest at the humans.
Charmed, Emily laughed aloud. “She’s darling.”
“She’s pretty cute,” he agreed with a half grin.
“Will she stay here when she grows up?” Emily asked, looking around at the idyllic pastoral setting. It seemed the perfect place for a horse.
“Yes.” Lazhar gave the mare one last pat and stepped back from the fence. “We’re a breeding farm, so many of the fillies and colts born here are sold away from the stables, but Elizabeth won’t be. Her mother belongs to me, not to the palace, and I bred her to a stallion owned by the king of Saudi Arabia. She has impeccable bloodlines and she’ll live her life out here at the farm where hopefully she’ll give birth to many colts and fillies as valuable as she.”
“And just as cute?” Emily asked, turning to look over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the little filly. Sheba stood at the fence, watching Lazhar walk away, but Elizabeth was already caught up in other things, nosing at a leaf on the ground.
“Probably every bit as cute.”
They reached the stables; the doors stood open and they turned down the wide corridor that ran from one end of the huge barn to the other. Box stalls lined both sides of the alleyway and horses shifted in the occupied stalls, coming to peer out over the top of the gates to watch Lazhar and Emily go by.
Lazhar greeted them by name, stopping to introduce Emily to the individual mares and tell her a little about them.
“Back in San Francisco, when I researched you and your family on the Internet,” Emily said as they strolled on after he’d fed a mare a sugar cube from what seemed to be an inexhaustible supply. “I read an article that said the palace stables are world-famous and that your family has been breeding Arabian horses for generations.”
