The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride

Relief mingled with satisfaction on his face and he nodded. “This jet is at your disposal, should an emergency arise. And if all goes well, I’ll fly you home when you’ve had time to tour my country, visit the palace, meet the people of Daniz and feel you have enough information to plan the wedding.”

Emily picked up her notepad and pen. “I suppose that’s reasonable,” she said reluctantly. “How long do you think that will take?”

“A week, perhaps two. It depends on when you feel you’ve seen enough to feel comfortable planning a wedding that fits within our culture.”

“I’ll pencil in a week.” Emily gave him a cool look. She’d always secretly longed for travel and adventure but her single-minded focus on building her company had taken up all her time. Of necessity, she’d put that dream on the back burner. Lazhar was unwittingly fulfilling one of her childhood wishes but she was still annoyed at his high-handed method of gaining her cooperation.

“A week,” he repeated with a nod. Emily read satisfaction in his eyes before his gaze left hers. He pushed one of the buttons located in a key pad on the chair’s armrest, then picked up the wine and refilled their glasses. As he was returning the bottle to the tabletop, the cabin door opened and the steward entered.

“Ah, Carlos,” Lazhar greeted the man. “We’re ready for dinner.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” Carlos bowed and disappeared through the doorway, only to return promptly with a wheeled cart. He worked efficiently and quietly, whisking a linen tablecloth and napkins from the cart to cover a mahogany table near the back of the cabin. He took silverware from one of the cart’s compartments, china and stemware from another, and in moments, the table was set, food steaming on the plates.

He bowed and pushed the cart out of the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Emily, who had watched the steward’s transformation of game table to dinner table, glanced at Lazhar. “Is Carlos a genie in his off-hours? Because that was quite a trick.”

Lazhar returned her smile. “He’s very good at his job.” He stood and held out his hand. “Shall we?” Emily took his hand and let him draw her to her feet. “He’s worked for my father, and now me, for over twenty years. I followed him around as a child when our family traveled, trying to uncover his secret for producing food at the precise moment my parents wanted it, but I never did. The only thing I ever managed to learn was that he’s amazingly organized.”

Lazhar pulled out a chair and seated her before taking his own seat across from her.

“This looks wonderful.” Determined to maintain a polite, professional distance between them, Emily picked up her fork and took a bite. The grilled fish was crisp on the outside, perfectly cooked on the inside. She sampled the paella as well, the flavors of saffron, red and green peppers blending with shrimp and mussels in a mouthwatering combination. “It tastes even better than it looks.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased. I’ll pass your comments on to Carlos.”

They chatted easily during dinner. Lazhar seemed more than willing to answer her questions about his country and the customs that would impact the royal wedding. He had a wry sense of humor that had her laughing and his insightful comments about the differing economic stratas in his country made her realize that he wasn’t a prince who isolated himself in a luxurious castle. He must spend a lot of time working alongside the residents of Daniz, she thought as he related a story about attending a rural wedding of a distant cousin. The wedding celebration continued for a week and during that time, the male guests helped erect a small house for the newlyweds. It was clear that Lazhar relished the physical activity of pounding nails and raising walls.

Their dinner long finished, their dessert plates empty and the bottle of wine drained, they remained at the table, Emily listening with fascination to his stories about life in Daniz. I could care too much for this man, she realized as she gazed at him, his features animated when he described how the guests had carried his cousin and his bride around the house on their shoulders before leaving them inside the finished structure.

“We’ll drive out to the country and visit my cousin and his wife while you’re in Daniz,” Lazhar commented, glancing at his watch and lifting an eyebrow in surprise. “It’s late. I’m afraid I’ve been boring you with family stories.”

“No, not at all.” Emily glanced at her own small diamond-studded watch and was shocked to find that it was after midnight. “I had no idea it was this late.”

“You should try to get some sleep.” He stood and once again, held out his hand. “The bag Jane packed for you is in the bedroom.”

Emily put her hand in his, palm against palm, her fingers sliding against his rougher, larger ones. She was getting accustomed to having him take her hand, she realized, and for some reason, didn’t mind it. There was something about him that found its way past her defenses and instilled confidence, generating acceptance.

He showed her to a beautifully decorated bedroom off the main cabin and left her with a polite good-night. A wave of weariness hit Emily as she closed and locked the door, her gaze searching the room. Her suitcase sat atop a luggage rack next to the bed and she pulled out her pajamas and toiletry bag, quickly preparing for bed. She was so tired she barely noted the opulent fittings of the bath and bedroom before she turned out the light and slipped between the silk sheets. Within seconds, she was sound asleep.

Their landing and transfer from the plane to the black Mercedes limousine waiting for them the next morning was smooth and effortless. The driver left the airport by a private gate, nosing the big car into busy morning traffic along a wide avenue. Seated next to Lazhar in the back, Emily was entranced by glimpses of the azure sea as they passed narrow side streets leading from the vehicle-choked avenue down to the Daniz Harbor. The limousine made a sharp turn and she caught her breath as they plunged down one such street, so narrow that oncoming vehicles nearly brushed door handles.

“Don’t worry,” Lazhar said, his deep voice amused. “Antonio has driven this route a thousand times and never so much as scratched the paint.”

Emily’s gaze left the colorful scene outside her window and glanced at him to find him watching her, an understanding smile curving his lips. A reluctant smile lifted the corner of her mouth in response. “I thought I was accustomed to narrow streets and steep hills,” she commented, gesturing at the window beside him. “But San Francisco didn’t prepare me for this.”

He chuckled. “This part of Daniz City is built on a series of hills that march up from the harbor and since it’s been here for centuries, the streets weren’t built to accommodate automobiles. I’m accustomed to it since I’ve lived here all my life, but I warn visitors that they should think twice before hiring a car and driving here.” He paused, his gaze intent on her face. “What do you think of my city?”

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice sounded as enchanted as she felt. Their car stopped at an intersection, waiting for a crowd of strolling pedestrians to cross the street in front of them, and Emily leaned closer to Lazhar, the better to see out the side window. A carpet with a pattern worked in deep burgundies and rose-reds hung outside the shop on the corner, its lush colors vibrant against the pink-tinged stones of the building behind it. The shop door set into the heavy medieval archway stood open and Emily caught a glimpse of an Aladdin’s cave of brilliant color before the car moved forward, leaving the shop behind.

They drove past an open-air market, flowers and fruit making brilliant splashes of color against the ancient stone walls laced with black ironwork balconies above.

“You’re sincere about finding my city beautiful.”

It was a statement, not a question, and when Emily drew her gaze from the view outside the window to look at Lazhar, his expression held a quiet pride and satisfaction.

“Yes, it’s absolutely fascinating.”

They shared a spontaneous smile of accord and for one brief moment, she felt as if she’d known him forever, that he understood exactly how much she enjoyed this glimpse of his city, so very different from her native San Francisco despite both being built on steep hills. Then he glanced away from her and out the window, pointing out the fountain in the center of the square they were currently circling, and the moment was gone.

Emily’s first view of the Daniz Royal Palace left her speechless. The castle sat atop a hill, with breathtaking views from all sides. The rose-tinted stone building had medieval square towers with crenellated tops standing guard at each end, the walls connecting the towers lined with high, arched windows on the top two stories, the lower story having only small, square openings covered with glass. It looked like a fortress, which indeed, it had been during its early years.

The limousine smoothly negotiated the winding avenue, lined with Italian poplars and centuries-old buildings housing apartments above and shops at street level. Then they passed through impressive wrought-iron gates manned by uniformed guards to enter the palace grounds. Lush green lawns dotted with huge, century-old trees edged the driveway leading to the palace itself; the car swept to a stop on the cobblestone circular driveway before an imposing door.

The driver and bodyguard immediately exited and held open the door for Lazhar, who handed out Emily, turning away for a moment to converse in low tones with the guard.

Emily’s fascinated gaze swept the castle facade, drinking in the sight of stone sculptures carved above each of the many windows and what seemed to be a hanging garden halfway down the building’s length, one floor up where a stone balustrade topped the first level.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Lazhar took her arm and they walked toward the doorway.

Emily barely had time to note the coat of arms carved into the stone above the arched doorway, the two snarling panthers holding crossed swords over a crown. Then they were inside, crossing an entryway tiled with a blue and gold mosaic pattern; the room was easily large enough to hold several hundred people.

“Antonio is taking your bag to your room,” Lazhar told her as they ascended one side of the curving staircase to the second floor. “My mother and sister always need to rest after flying home from the States due to the jet lag. When you’re ready, your maid will tell you where to find me and we’ll discuss the itinerary for your stay.”

“Very well,” Emily murmured. She caught glimpses into rooms off the hallway that were decorated in a mix of Mediterranean architecture, Persian carpets, Italian glass, French furniture, and Moroccan pillows. She was charmed by the beautiful building with it’s jewel-box rooms; somehow the interiors she saw managed to combine palatial elegance with the warmth of a real home.

“Here we are.” Lazhar pushed open a door and halted. “If there’s anything you want or need that you don’t find, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” Emily stepped into the room, her gaze quickly sweeping the lovely furnishings before she turned to look at him, her fingers closing over the door handle. “You’re very kind.”

“Not at all.” He shrugged, his lashes narrowing as he assessed her. “You look ready to fall asleep standing there. Get some sleep,” he said abruptly. “We’ll talk after you’ve rested.” And he reached out and caught the edge of the door, gently moving it out of her grasp, closing it between them.

Left alone, Emily surveyed her room and realized that it was actually a suite of rooms. The ruby and cream Persian carpet was thick and plush beneath her feet as she walked across the airy sitting room to peek through an open door. Here, the drapes were partially drawn across floor-to-ceiling windows, barring the hot sunlight from the interior. The wide bed was draped in sheer white panels, the pale lemon sheet and green silk coverlet turned back invitingly below the embroidered pillows. Despite the effects of jet lag that had her yawning, Emily walked to the archway and stepped out into a lovely garden. Walled on three sides for privacy with bougainvillea spilling hot pink flowers over the sand-colored stones, the garden was a riot of white and pink roses, fragrant lavender, sage, rosemary and silvery artemisia. One wall was only waist-high and the view of Daniz Harbor and the Mediterranean Sea beyond was breathtaking. Emily drew a deep breath. The tang of salt carried by a faint breeze from the harbor mingled with the sweet scent of the garden’s floribunda roses. The breath turned into a yawn and she reluctantly turned away from the spellbinding view of sea and garden to reenter the bedroom. She showered, pulled on a nightgown, and climbed into bed.

She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

When she woke, the midafternoon sun was slanting through the half-open drapes. Disoriented, she stared at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering why it was a pale rose instead of the eggshell-white she normally saw when waking in her bed in San Francisco.

Because I’m not home in San Francisco. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and stared around her. The airy, shaded room was exotic and opulent, a mix of architecture that reflected the countries and cultures that bordered Daniz. The Spanish archway leading to the sitting room was edged with Greek tiles in green and gold and the French influence was apparent in the delicate Louis XIV chair placed in one corner near her bed. An exquisite Italian vase of handblown glass stood on the dresser, its shade of deep green a perfect foil for the white roses and trailing greenery it held. And the high ceilings and airy hangings tied back on the bed, that matched the sheer white draperies at the windows, reminded Emily that Morocco was just across the Mediterranean Sea.

It was so lovely and so exotically different from her apartment in San Francisco that she felt transported into another world.

It is another world, she reminded herself. The royal palace in a foreign country is definitely light years away from my apartment in San Francisco.

She tossed back the silky sheet and light coverlet and rose, wondering what time it was and how long she’d slept. She picked up her watch from the nightstand.

“Two o’clock? How could I have slept so long?” she murmured, dismayed that the day was half gone. She hurried into the bathroom where she found herself pausing once again to stare with pleasure at the effect of green and cream tiles, thick cream-colored turkish towels, and pale jade marble tub and sink. It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to the beauty and comfort that money could provide. She’d grown up in her father’s opulent mansion; her playmates and friends all lived in similar wealthy homes. But there was something subtly different about Lazhar’s home. The deep jewel tones of the carpets were softly muted as if they had covered the teak and marble floors for years. The paintings of ladies and gentleman that hung on the walls bore a resemblance to one another and Emily suspected that they were Lazhar’s ancestors. The furnishings spoke of centuries of wealth and history yet conveyed a welcoming warmth that she’d never felt in her father’s oddly sterile mansion.

Emily shook herself out of her reverie and turned on the shower faucets, stripping quickly and stepping into the tiled surround.