1
Raed, third in line to the throne of Qasha, lounged in the backseat of the SUV that had brought him to the garden party, phone held up in front of his face for a FaceTime call with his brother. Hamid, King of Qasha, peered through the screen at him, his wife Tali moving back and forth behind him.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be there,” Hamid said, seeming to search Raed’s face for signs of trouble.
He laughed. “You don’t have to look so worried. It’s a garden party, not a political summit.”
Hamid clicked his tongue. “You know better than that. Any gathering at the British consul’s house is a political summit.”
“I don’t think the consul wants much political summiting at his grandson’s birthday party,” Raed said lightly. “You worry too much.” He sat up straight and pushed a hand through his hair, using the phone as a mirror to make sure he looked good. He did, of course. “Everything’s fine here. Mother is well, and I’m here on your behalf—at least, I will be once you let me off this phone call.”
“And everything else—”
“Everything else is going exactly how I thought it would. Mubarak and Mahir are clashing over who gets to be the one to assist me with everything, and they’re running up against boundaries with Stephen.”
“How is Stephen, by the way?” Hamid’s brows knitted together. “It’s been a while since I asked after him. He won’t be—”
“He won’t be causing any trouble with your councilor or your secretary, Hamid.” The two men were doing plenty of that for themselves, what with all their posturing and politeness. “May I go now?”
“Let him go,” Tali said from some distant point in the room. “We have places to be, too.”
Hamid let out a breath. “Relax and enjoy the garden party.”
“Ha ha.” Raed peered out the window toward the garden gates. The consul’s garden was extensive, almost an attraction unto itself, and the SUV had brought him to its separate entrance. The party was visible through the open gates—flashes of bright fabric and soft flowers, and the intense green of a manicured space. And children running here and there and everywhere. “The Consul’s grandson has about a hundred friends in attendance. I doubt there will be much relaxation.”
“Raed—” warned Hamid.
“I’ll relax,” he shot back, then ended the call. So it wasn’t his scene—not with all the children and the noise. That didn’t mean he could slink away. Hamid had asked him to be here, so he would, with a smile on his face.
Raed climbed out of the SUV, and all three of his advisors—his assistant Stephen, plus Mubarak and Mahir from Hamid’s staff—turned to look at him from where they stood by the garden gates. Very casual. He could hardly tell they’d been waiting for him, milling around just like his driver had been doing. He gave them a wave and strode past, through the stone and wrought-iron gates and into the garden.
It was even noisier than he’d imagined. The guests gathered around standing tables, shifting like butterflies in the wind as they greeted one another and exchanged pleasantries. Waiters in dark uniforms circulated among the crowd with trays balanced neatly on their palms, offering appetizers and flutes of sparkling champagne. The hum of conversation overpowered the sound of the bees making their lazy way from one flower to the next.
Oh, he wanted a quiet room to keep planning for the Bahir Foundation, his project that would change the world. Success was so close Raed could practically taste it. All he had to do was get there.
“Hello,” he said, shaking hands with the first person he came across, the man’s name eluding him. Only for a moment, though, because the man offered it to him, the way people usually did when he greeted them. As if he was too important to remember such small things.
“Of course, of course.” Raed clasped arms with him like they were old friends, and then he was off to the races. One by one. Greet them all. Make them all feel special, as if he were seeing into their souls. People remembered that. And even if Raed couldn’t keep all their names in his head, they would remember him. Connections spun out from those handshakes and arm clasps like invisible strings. A prince of Qasha could never have too much influence, Raed had decided a long time ago. He could buy it at events like these garden parties.
Raed turned away from a pair of guests—a lady in a purple dress and her companion, who wore a dark traditional robe—and caught a flash of blonde in the corner of his eye. Long blonde hair in a sleek ponytail. The image tugged at something deep inside him. Two years ago, he’d met a woman with similar blonde hair. She’d been teaching a class at a college in London. A short class. Not nearly long enough to get his fill of the way she moved and spoke. The memories came quickly, one after the other. Two weeks at Lafayette College, where she’d been his teacher for “English for International Business.” Everyone in the class had been hot for her, with that glossy ponytail and her smart little suits and her glasses.
But only Raed knew what was underneath those suits. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face, thinking about the two weeks after the class. He’d taken her to his penthouse, which had a view of the Thames, but that hadn’t been enough for him. He’d wanted to give Lise everything. So they’d gone to dinner in Paris via his private jet and spent a weekend in a Scottish castle and ridden ponies in the New Forest. He’d even taken her up in a hot air balloon over the Cotswolds.
And then—
Then. He’d been called back to Qasha. She hadn’t liked that. What would have happened if he’d stayed? Raed let himself linger on the thought for one more moment, then stepped back into the crowd. He’d never know.
The woman turned, as if she’d heard his thoughts, and his heart came to a crashing stop behind his breastbone.
It was her.
It was Lise.
That nose, the bow of her lips, the rise of her cheekbones—he’d know her anywhere. How had he thought it was anyone else? She wore a tea-length dress that displayed the perfect curve of her hips. And she was coming toward him right now.
The clink of silverware and the buzz of garden-party conversation fell away. Gorgeous, gorgeous—his heart beat harder with every step she took toward him. But his brain fought for control. The consul is coming over. Look alive.
He managed it at the last moment, shaking the consul’s hand with a firm grip. “Sir Richard,” Raed said. “Lovely party.”
“It is, it is,” Richard agreed. “Your Highness, I’d like you to meet Annelise Danbury. You need to hear her ideas. Lise, this is Prince Raed Al-Qasha.”
Raed couldn’t hear anything over the recognition in Lise’s eyes. “Hello,” he said, and he reached for her hand, taking it in his and raising her knuckles to his lips. A fleeting kiss. More glancing than anything they’d shared during those two weeks. Her green eyes narrowed, but she kept her professional smile firmly in place. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her gaze was cool, and she took her hand back with exquisite care. “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine.”
No, it wasn’t—he was sure of that.
“Lise, Raed is establishing a foundation with the kind of reach that would do your project justice.” The consul planted himself between the two of them, his gaze moving from Raed to Lise as he spoke. “What she’d like to do is scope out the possibility of a language school here for Lafayette College.” His voice was so warm, but her gaze was sharp. “But not just any language school. Lise would develop tailored programs for client organizations with teachers placed inside clients’ companies rather than having busy executives come to the school.” The consul put a careful hand on Raed’s shoulder. “You’ll find it absolutely fascinating. If you’ll excuse me—”