“I’ll be fine. You might be slightly poorer, but otherwise, there’s nothing to worry about.” I stay in role, reminding him to, also. “Besides, because of the weather we can’t leave until late this afternoon, anyway.”
He mumbles something about me being up all night praying to the weather gods. I might have been chanting and pleading all night, but it had nothing to do with weather.
“Take this,” he says, placing a credit card that he knows full well I won’t use, near my purse. “And take some more Advil, before you go.”
He flashes me that wolfish grin I’m so fond of, which sparks an idea for the long trip home.
“What will you do while we’re gone?”
“Have a word or two with Ahmad. We spoke by phone yesterday, but he deserves to hear it from me in person. Take Trippi and Baz with you. I’m sure they’ll love a shopping trip.”
I don’t like the idea of leaving Gray at the palace without an ally. This place is fraught with peril, most of it shrouded in secrecy. We’re vulnerable here—even Gray, who can take care of himself. “Trippi and Baz?”
“It’s the only way I’m allowing your little shopping trip to happen.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I’m silenced before a single word emerges.
“This isn’t a negotiation. Save your breath.”
Raksha escorts me, flanked by Trippi and Baz, to the limousine where Saher is waiting. “Good morning.” My voice is cheery and upbeat as I climb into the seat next to her.
“Hello,” she says softly. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles, and she has lines on her face that I don’t remember seeing before. “Thank you for joining me.”
I do something next that pushes the boundaries of protocol, and is completely out of character for me. It’s something Gabby would do, or Lally, or Mrs. Marshall. But not me. I reach down and place my hand over Saher’s, squeezing gently. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
Saher nods, staring out the side window. After a few uncomfortable minutes, she turns toward me. “Saks is not too far,” she says brightly. “The store in Amidane carries brands from all over the world.”
We chat for a few minutes about high-end shopping, which I know very little about, so mostly I listen and try to ask questions that don’t sound too unsophisticated.
About twenty minutes into the trip, Saher presses a button to speak to the driver. “We’ve changed our minds. Pull right into there.” She points out the window. “To Harvey Nichols.”
Wait. We’ve changed our minds? What? I can’t get a good look at Trippi and Baz from where I’m sitting, but I’m sure they’re alarmed too.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” the man seated next to the driver says. “We were told you were going to Saks. We cannot deviate from this instruction.”
“You can and you will.”
Whoa.
“I am King Khalid bin Abdullah’s daughter. You pray every day to remain in the good graces of my father.”
She’s a fighter, God love her.
“The crown prince instructed—”
“The crown prince has my respect,” she interrupts tersely, “but the king, while he has even a single breath in him, has not only my respect, but my loyalty. As he should have yours. Shall I call his secretary and have him wake my father from his nap so that he can tell you what he told me, that I may shop in any store that captures my fancy?”
Without another word, the driver crosses the median and pulls into the front of Harvey Nichols. This gives “bitches get things done” a whole new meaning. Still, I’m wary of the change in plans, and I’m sure my two sidekicks are none too happy either.
She turns to me. “You will love the merchandise. It is of high quality. Saks is in the US—you can go there any time. This will be special.”
She has a plan. I see it in her eyes. Hopefully it’s not some half-cocked scheme, or a trick on me.
We leave the bodyguards, mine and hers, behind, because men are not allowed in the store. “We will be one-and-one half, to two hours, at the most,” Saher instructs the driver. “Let us go,” she says to me.
Once inside, two saleswomen fawn all over us. It’s not me, but the princess who is not only the king’s daughter, but no stranger here.
Saher whips around the room, handing hanger after hanger to the saleswomen, with clothing in both our sizes. I say very little, but nod and gush in all the right places.
In thirty minutes, she’s amassed quite a haul. “We should start to try on the clothes so we have enough time.”
The dressing area consists of a few smaller changing rooms off one large room, with a few chairs, a triad mirror, and refreshments. When we’re settled, she dismisses the saleswomen. “We would like privacy, please. I will call you if we need help. In the interim, would you please find us some accessories to wear with our new clothes?”
“Yes, Princess Saher, of course.” They fawn one more time before leaving us alone.
As soon as they’re gone, Saher pulls me into one of the small changing rooms. “Try this,” she says, handing me a designer gown with a floppy bow at the shoulder. It’s not something I would ever be caught dead in, but she didn’t ask my opinion, and I’m not here to shop anyway.
I assume she’s going to find her own changing room, not because I’m modest, but because this one is tight. But she doesn’t. She strips down to her birthday suit, and grabs another gown off the hanger. She holds a finger to her lips, and motions for me to take off my panties and bra. This is getting weird, but I’ll give her a little more rope.
After we’re dressed to the nines in ballgowns without a shred underneath, she takes our belongings, all of them, and arranges them on the floor in a heap, like she’s going to start a bonfire. Then she covers the pile with the stacks of clothing we brought into the dressing room. Oh my God. She’s a savvy little thing. She thinks our clothes are bugged.
I begin to help her, until everything we brought into the room is piled on the floor.
She hands me another dress, and motions for me to follow her into a changing room on the far end of the larger room.
“We only have a few minutes before they come back,” she whispers. “I don’t understand. Who asked you to pass me the note?” she demands. “Is it a trick by the Americans?”
“No. It’s not a trick.” I want to tell her it’s a message from her father, but I can’t. “Please trust me. It’s for your safety and Amir’s. When your father receives a cable about his sister’s declining health, you must act immediately.”
“The last time I begged to take Amir abroad, I was punished.” Her tone is dire. “They would not let me see my son for one month. Ahmad promised that the next time the punishment would be far more severe.”
“I can’t force you to act, but I hope you will. We haven’t been friends long enough for you to trust my motivation, but I would never do anything to put you in danger.”
Her features contort as she struggles to process all of it. We’re going to run out of time. I need to say something that will convince her it’s safe.