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

“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.”

“That’s true,” Lazhar confirmed as they walked out of the shaded alleyway between the stalls, redolent with the scent of hay, saddle leather and horses. The cobbled courtyard beyond was surrounded by stone buildings and the narrow alleys between them led to grassy pastures. They passed grooms leading mares, Arabians with proud small heads and dainty ears, lush tails that nearly brushed the ground behind their back heels, and glossy coats. Several of them were heavily pregnant, their bellies round with foals. “The son of the first king of Daniz married a Saudi princess and part of her dowry was a stallion and mare from her father’s herd. That pair was the beginning of the Daniz Stud.”

“You have quite a family history,” Emily remarked as they strolled across a cobbled forecourt, through a stone archway, and reached a low building with Office printed on a small brass sign beside the heavy door.

“A great deal of tradition is tied to that history,” Lazhar agreed. “But unlike my ancestors, I can waive the dowry for my wife. She doesn’t need to be rich—my family has all the money it needs. I can marry where I want—and if I choose, I can wed her even if all she has in the world are the clothes on her back.”

Before Emily could react to his flat statement, he pulled open the door and motioned her inside. The office, cool after the heat outside, was empty.

“Jenna?” Lazhar crossed the room and disappeared down a short hallway. In seconds he was back. “She must be out in the stables somewhere.” He glanced at his watch. “We don’t have time to hunt for her if we’re going to visit the Jewel Market this morning.”

They left the office and retraced their steps to the palace, Lazhar leaving Emily at her door. A half hour later, after freshening her makeup and collecting her purse, she sat beside him in a gleaming silver Porsche as he negotiated the curving road leading into the city.

“This is St. Catherine’s.” Lazhar gestured to their right as they slowed for a turn.

“It looks a bit different in the daylight,” she said, gazing at the soaring arches and towers of the church. She and Lazhar had climbed the stairs and entered the quiet church after leaving the casino the night before in order to drop her winnings in the poorbox. The tower lights had glowed against the night sky and the interior had been softly lit with minimal lighting. Today, the soft rose-colored stone had a patina of age, the graceful church an elegant grande dame of buildings among her century-old neighbors. “I believe your mother said that, according to tradition, royal weddings are held at St. Catherine’s?”

He nodded, glancing at her as he downshifted to climb a hill. “St. Catherine’s for the wedding ceremony and the palace for the reception.” The breeze ruffled his hair, his eyes concealed behind sunglasses. “Remind me to introduce you to Antoine Escobar—he’s the chief of protocol for the family and can give you all the details about which wedding traditions are set in stone and what you can change if you wish.”

“Perhaps I can talk to him this afternoon?”

“If we return to the palace early enough, certainly.”

Emily made a mental note to remember the protocol chief’s name as Lazhar swung the car to the curb and turned off the engine. “We’ll leave the car here.” He leaned toward her to point out her window and down the side street. “The Jewel Market is just down the street, the large building with the pillars and dome. I thought you might want to walk from here and browse in some of the shops on our way.”

“I’d love to, thank you.”

Emily stepped out onto the sidewalk just as Lazhar’s bodyguards, parked in a dark sedan behind them, exited the car, exchanging nods with Lazhar.

“I didn’t realize the guards were following us,” she commented.

“They go everywhere with us since the paparazzi invaded Daniz,” Lazhar confirmed. “After the wedding, I’m sure life will settle down once again and the reporters will get bored and leave us to chase another story. In the meantime, I’ve doubled the guards for family members. Jenna and I can no longer move about as freely as we once did.”

“Does it bother you, being the focus of so much attention?” Emily asked.

He shrugged. “No, I can’t say it bothers me, exactly, but it does make life a bit more inconvenient.”

They paused outside a spice shop. Narrow wooden carts edged the wall on each side of the doorway and held small bins filled with a display of spices. Emily closed her eyes, breathing deeply to draw in the heady scents of coriander, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemons and so many other intriguing flavors that she couldn’t identify them all.

“Want to go inside?”

She opened her eyes to find Lazhar watching her, his face amused. “It smells heavenly.” She gestured at the bright colors on the carts. “And it looks gorgeous.”

They stepped over the stone doorsill and entered the small shop, Lazhar loitering at her side as Emily browsed the scented shop, fascinated. She paused to watch the shop owner scoop nutmeg into a paper cone, then twist the top closed. He repeated the action with several other spices before the woman handed over her coins, tucked her purchases into her shopping bag, already bulging with fruit, and left the store.

They followed her outside and moved on down the street, pausing to gaze into shops. Emily purchased a cut-crystal glass vase for Brenda at a china shop and a bottle of Spanish wine at a vintner’s for her brother, Cade. Lazhar handed her packages to one of the bodyguards to carry and they strolled on. They reached the end of the street that led to the Jewel Market and paused, waiting for traffic on the busy main street to slow before they crossed. The small crowd waiting on the curb allowed them privacy, although they smiled and nodded, some bowing with respectful deference. Emily assumed they were native Danizians and perhaps accustomed to seeing members of the royal family on the streets.

Lazhar turned to speak to one of the bodyguards, his attention distracted, and in that brief moment, a small child, no more than two or three years old, wiggled free of her mother’s grasp and darted into the street.

Emily didn’t pause to consider her actions. Without a thought for her own safety, she ran after the little girl, sweeping her up into her arms just as a car bore down on them. Horns blared and the driver slammed on his brakes, the tires squealing in protest. The edge of the car’s bumper grazed her skirt as she leapt to safety on the curb and was grabbed by Lazhar, held safe in his arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” he roared, his arms tight bands around both Emily and the little girl.

Shaking from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Emily lifted her head to answer him but was silenced by his grim expression. Behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, she thought she glimpsed fear in his eyes, but couldn’t be sure.

The child, silent until now, whimpered. Emily looked down at her and managed a smile. “Hey, sweetie,” she crooned softly. “It’s all right. Don’t be scared. You’re fine.”

The crowd around them, shocked into silence by the speed with which the life-and-death rescue had occurred, began to stir.

Emily wiggled, trying to loosen Lazhar’s bruising grip. At first, he just stared at her, but then he seemed to realize that she wanted to be set free and his arms abruptly released her. But his hands settled possessively on her waist, his heavier male body a solid wall behind her.

She looked around for the child’s parent just as a woman, sobbing hysterically, pushed her way through the crowd to reach them.

“Mama!” The tiny girl held out her arms and Emily let her go, surrendering the sturdy little body to her frantic mother.

She was instantly aware that her legs were wobbly, her hands trembling in the aftermath. Lazhar’s hands tightened on her waist, easing her back slightly until she rested against him, his much broader bulk supporting her smaller frame.

“How can I thank you, miss?” the mother said, her daughter clutched tightly in her arms. “One moment she was next to me, the next moment she was gone. If you hadn’t been so quick to run after her…” Fresh tears trembled on the young woman’s eyelids, spilling over to trickle down her cheeks.

Impulsively Emily reached out to comfort the distraught mother, her hand closing with sympathy on the woman’s bare forearm. “But she’s safe now.” She smiled warmly at the woman, clad in a clean but faded dress and the black-haired, darkeyed little girl in a worn, too-small red jumper. “And I bet you won’t let go of your mother’s hand again, will you? Streets can be very dangerous.”

The little girl nodded solemnly, her gaze fixed on Emily’s face, before she turned to pat her mother’s cheek. “Streets are dane-ja-rus, Mama. I have to hold your hand.”

“Yes, baby.” The woman smiled through her tears, exchanging a look of female amusement with Emily. Her gaze moved past Emily and her eyes rounded, evidently unaware until then of the identity of Emily’s companion. “Your Highness.” She bowed, executing a graceful semicurtsy.

Around them, the crowd followed her example as the women curtsied, the men bowed.

Lazhar exchanged greetings with them, taking time to speak quietly to mother and child. Emily was instantly reminded of his position as the prince of Daniz and the respect and affection the residents felt for him. What she didn’t realize was that those same Danizians were smiling approvingly at her, nodding knowingly at each other as she and Lazhar said goodbye and crossed the street to reach the Jewel Market.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lazhar asked as they entered the stone building. His hand cupped her elbow as they walked through the metal detector and then halted, waiting for the bodyguards to circle the detectors, flash their badges, and be waved on by the inspectors. Lazhar drew her into the relative privacy of an alcove, his back to the entryway, sheltering her from the view of passersby.

“What? Visit the Market?”

“Yes. We can leave it till another day.”

His voice was clipped, his big body tense.

“Would you like to skip our tour today and come back later?” she asked, uncertain why he was so edgy.

“Not if you feel up to touring the Market. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go back to the palace and rest?”

“Why would I need to rest?” She was having difficulty defining what his problem was, did he think the car’s bumper had hit her when it had actually only grazed her skirt?

“You could have been killed back there. Don’t you feel the need to recover?” His voice was carefully even, a direct contrast to the tension that gripped him.

“No. My legs were a little rubbery after it was over and we were back on the curb, safe and sound. And my hands were shaking. But I’m over that now.” The muscle ticking in Lazhar’s jaw didn’t ease. Emily tried again. “I’m fine, Lazhar, just fine. But I’d be happy to go back to my room and rest, if you’re still concerned. Would you like to return to the palace?”

“What I’d like is for you to stop jumping in front of moving cars,” he ground out.

“I don’t make a habit of jumping into traffic. In fact, I’ve never done so before.” She tilted her chin and faced him, narrowing her eyes at his stormy features. “What is your problem?”

“My ‘problem’ is that you seem to take your safety too lightly,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I do not,” she said promptly. “I’m normally very cautious. Although,” she admitted reluctantly, “I usually think carefully before I act and I confess I didn’t think just now. When I saw the little girl running into traffic, I didn’t consider what might happen. I just ran to catch her—it was purely instinct, no planning.”

Lazhar’s hot black gaze scorched her for a long moment. Then the tension in his big body eased, his eyes softening. “You have the instincts of a lioness with her cubs, Emily.” His face solemn, he brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek in a slow caress. “Will you protect your own children so fiercely?”

The stroke of his warm fingers against her suddenly hot cheek mesmerized Emily. What was it about him, she wondered, that made all her resolve to keep her distance fly out the window?