The Sheikh's Secret Princess (12 page)

“Fadi,” she asked, in the swiftly closing window before the staff would begin filtering into the restaurant. “Do you regret any of it?”

He seemed taken aback. “Do I regret what? What happened to your family? No, regret is not the right word. That was… There was nothing I could have done differently. I wish that were not how it was, and I still feel ashamed there was nothing I could do.”

“No, not that. It seems like there’s something you regret. When you talk about it all, I can see it. When you talk about how things were before…”

He was busy washing vegetables in one of the sinks, but at her words, he stopped, and sighed. “You are an observant one. You always have been.”

“What is it?” Anita asked, her voice quivering. “It’s just… I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’m going to regret the same thing.”

Fadi went back to what he had been doing, as though burying himself in it would make it easier to say the words.

“I regret not trying,” he said at last. “That is all you need to know.”

There was a catch in Anita’s voice as she asked her next question.

“Even if it was impossible?”

He nodded, a faraway look in his eye. When he spoke, she heard the quiet burning of more than twenty years of regret.

“Especially then.”

Anita couldn’t say why, but the words unleashed a flood of emotions in her that she didn’t know she had. She’d been so concerned with the pain and the grief that had consumed her, but what awoke in her now was anger. It was unjust. It was cruel that things should be this way—that her own happiness should be decided by events that happened so long ago and so far away. It wasn’t fair.

Fadi smiled. “There she is,” he said, even as Anita was taking off her apron. “There’s my Anita.”

She barely heard him. She didn’t have much time; she had a gala to get to.

FIFTEEN

The gala was her only chance, Anita thought, as she made her way out of the restaurant and up to the apartment. It was the only time she would be able to get past security, and get to Hakim’s parents without him noticing. They’d never agree to see her if she gave them a choice in the matter.

If she was going to stand a chance of blending in at the gala, Anita knew she would have to look the part. As soon as she got to her room, she pulled out all the dresses from the chest at the end of the bed. It had been years since she’d seen them all, and she’d forgotten how dated a few of them were. The nineties were not exactly a great time for fashion in Al-Dali, Anita surmised.

At last, she found the dress she had been looking for. It was green, like her eyes, and it was a dress that would make her feel, more than anything, like the princess she apparently was.

It was in a western style, though a little more modest, in line with the culture of her homeland. It had what looked like a corset, but with a delicate green lace covering the shoulders, set with a few tiny glimmering white gems that, Anita now realized, were probably real diamonds. The skirt was a little lighter, in a soft, fluffy fabric Anita couldn’t identify.

She’d worn this one often, as a child. Though Fadi had refused to have any of the dresses altered, for reasons she only now understood, he’d given her a ribbon to tie it onto her, and she’d run around in it, holding up the soft mass of the skirt with her tiny arms.

Now, it fit her perfectly, and Anita held her breath as she looked at herself in the mirror. She still didn’t know what her mother had looked like, but now, wearing her dress, Anita felt like she knew a bit of what she had looked like at least for one night of her life.

She did her hair and makeup in a hurry. There was little she could do about the telltale signs that she hadn’t slept well, or that she’d been crying; that was too real to be hidden.

Shoes were another problem. She should really be wearing elaborate heels with this kind of dress, but she didn’t have any. Flats would have to do—they were all she had in even a remotely coordinating color. And besides, it wasn’t impossible that at some point in the evening, she would need to do some running.

She put them on, and did one final check in the mirror. They couldn’t be seen under the hem of her dress. Good enough.

She grabbed a small clutch that she hoped wouldn’t look too obviously cheap, and headed out the door. She was already dreading driving in the dress—especially in her old beater, a manual that was about as likely to break down as it was to get her to the gala on time.

But when she got downstairs, she saw Fadi waiting outside for her in his own car. Instinctively, Anita looked to the sign at the front of the restaurant. The “open” sign was flipped to closed, and below it, Fadi had tacked on a little handwritten note that said “for the night.”

Anita smiled broadly, and got in.

“To the Da Vinci?” Fadi asked with a grin.

“But how did you know about the gala?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I read the news. Give me some credit.”

His driving now, in the heat of the moment, reminded her a little bit of Hakim’s... but only to a point. He had the speed right now, but he certainly didn’t have the control.

Fadi laughed when he saw her expression. “You wanted to know about home? This is how we drive at home!”

They parked a block away from the Da Vinci, to prevent Anita being seen getting out of such a low-priced car at such a high class event.

Fadi wished her luck, and she thanked him before stepping out of the car. She smoothed down her skirt and was just about to head off when she heard his voice.

“Anita!” he said, calling her back for one more word.

She went and leaned in through the open window.

“I just wanted you to know that whatever happens in there… today, of all days, I am very proud of the daughter I’m blessed with.”

She smiled, and set off. It was time.

***

As she drew close to the entrance of the hotel, Anita breathed a sigh of relief. She’d timed it well; there were more people arriving than security could handle. They were checking invitations at the entrance, sure, but were wholly and entirely consumed with doing so. There was no way they would notice her if she snuck around to the side door the cooks kept ajar for easier smoke breaks around the side.

Mentally thanking her father’s former sous chef for sharing war stories about places he’d worked before, Anita checked for the rock he said they always used to prop the door open. Times must have changed, though, as instead she found a heavy brick.

She opened the door, and slipped inside.

She wasn’t sure where the hallway led, but she only had one option: forward. She passed the kitchen on the left, where the cooks were luckily still too consumed with the night’s preparations to notice a woman in an enormous green dress passing by.

Put another win on the wall for her good luck, Anita thought.

The hallway led to an elevator bank. She took it up one floor, and found herself up on the level of the main lobby itself, lost in the crowd.

That was sneaking in taken care of. Now came the hard part.

Anita was used to walking around behind the scenes, not being noticed and not wanting to be. But blending in at a high profile event put on by royalty? That was new.

She had to stop herself from desperately looking around for security. Instead, she tried to focus on scanning the room for the people she needed to see. She knew she could get to them here. As for how she would get them to listen to her, she wasn’t quite sure. But she was in the room, now, and that was a start.

Still unable to spot her targets, Anita followed the general movement of the crowd inward, towards the hotel’s ballroom.

For all that Anita disliked the woman, she had to admit: Hakim’s mother knew how to put on a party. The ceiling of the ballroom was draped in flowing silk fabric in deep purples and blues. On one wall, there was a huge “20” in lights. The stage had somehow acquired a sparkling crystal backdrop, which Anita felt would probably look tacky, if it weren’t surrounded by so many elegant people in elegant dresses and tuxes.

Apparently, Hakim hadn’t been able to fight his mother much on the decorations.

Hakim
.

The thought of him struck her like a physical blow. She’d tried not to think of him. She knew she couldn’t do what she needed to if she did.

She had a moment of panic. What if he saw her? She was here to see his parents. She couldn’t face him.

No, she needed to stay in the background as much as possible.

She scanned the room, thankful that the stage made it so that she could be reasonably certain what part of the room he would likely be sitting in.

She began going from table to table, looking at the names on the placeholders. This wasn’t suspicious at all, she thought wryly. Hopefully, to the casual observer, it would look like she was just searching for her name.

Unfortunately, she had no idea what she was searching for.

“Anita?”

She spun around, the sound of her own name setting off alarm bells in her brain.

It wasn’t Hakim’s voice, and as soon as she registered that, it calmed her slightly.

“Mr. Farr!” she said, as the man with the camera around his neck seemed to emerge from the background. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

He looked her up and down, and Anita had the uneasy feeling that he knew at once that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, before he could say anything.

“I’m covering the event for the paper. I went back there a few years ago. I still teach from time to time. But the real question is, what is my favorite student of her freshman journalism class doing at a big oil gala?”

Anita was stuck. She was drawing a total and complete blank.

He laughed. “Can I help you find your table at least?”

It was now or never. She had to trust him or the game was up.

She leaned in, hoping no passersby would be interested enough in their conversation to listen in.

“Look, I wasn’t exactly invited, but I have a good reason to be here, I promise. If you let me have your seat, I promise there’ll be a story in it for you. Something interesting.”

He was intrigued, and thankfully Mr. Farr agreed.

“I’m mostly going to be wandering around taking pictures, anyway. All the old money of Houston is here, oil money and otherwise. And by God, these people love getting their picture in the paper.”

She thanked him, and sat down. Mr. Farr wandered off, but not before snapping a quick photo of her.

“For the story,” he said.

Now there was photo evidence of her trespassing. Wonderful. But at least the seat Mr. Farr had been assigned was far enough back that if Hakim were here, he probably wouldn’t see her.

That didn’t stop Anita from looking around furtively, desperately hoping she would see him, but that he didn’t see her. She’d been sidelined. She wasn’t thinking about finding his parents anymore. She was just afraid.

The crowd meandered slowly to their tables, every last one except the reporter taking pictures and the security guards finding their places at their own table.

The people at Anita’s table tried to talk to her, and she found herself woefully unprepared. She hadn’t thought of a story beforehand. Why hadn’t she thought of a story?

But then it occurred to her. She didn’t need a story. She had the truth.

“Al-Dali… Where is that, exactly?”

She slipped into the role of uninterested royal as seamlessly as she could, rolling her eyes at the question. It seemed to go well enough, until another one of her table mates, a thin middle-aged man with thick black glasses, felt the need to cut in.

“Al-Dali? But I thought they didn’t
have
a royal family?”

He was the kind of man who was happier to be right than to be liked, and Anita shot him an icy look.

“Well, technically we’re deposed,” she said.

To her satisfaction, the woman sitting next to the man hit him lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand, whispering something to him under her breath.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said, and Anita nodded, with her lips pursed, as though resentfully accepting their apology.

No one at her table bothered her again. There were some things about being a princess, Anita thought, that she could grow to like.

But her joy over her good fortune didn’t last long. Soon after that exchange, the lights began to dim, and the stage lit up.

The eyes of everyone present went to it, and the glittering crystal curtain.

That’s when Anita saw him.

Hakim strode out across the stage, waving to the thunderous applause that rose when the crowd saw him.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The two words shot down Anita’s spine like ice on a sensitive tooth. She was never supposed to see him again. Not knowing that she couldn’t have him. But there he was.

“Thank you all for being here with us tonight, and for celebrating twenty years of my family doing business with your wonderful community here in Houston.”

More applause, although Anita looked around and realized there were some present who were very pointedly
not
clapping.

“Now, I know there are some of you who would say that twenty years isn’t that long a time. There are those that would ask why we would celebrate.”

No applause now. No sound of any kind. Everyone was watching intently. Anita could sense surprise in the crowd, as well as curiosity over what he was about to say next.

“But I believe that history has to be celebrated. I believe that the past is important.”

Still complete silence. Anita forced herself to look at him. He looked like she felt—like he hadn’t slept in a year and hadn’t had a moment’s rest from the thoughts running around in his mind.

“But I also believe that even as we celebrate the past, we need to recognize it for what it is. It’s easy to look at the way things were, and think that it was better than it really was. To assume that it would always be that way. To trust the opinions of the people that came before, more than we trust out own.”

Here he looked down, and Anita thought she could sense an immense anger in him.

“But that’s not fair. Simply because something has been done a certain way doesn’t mean it should be done that way forever. And suspicion of new people, or people different from yourself, serves no one. Sometimes, in fact, people who decades ago would have been considered enemies can be your greatest chance of success now. And to be blind to that is only to hurt yourself.”

Anita forced herself to take her eyes off of Hakim and look around the room. The people who had refused to clap before had hard looks on their faces now. But some of them seemed to be reconsidering.

“And so that is why I would like to thank you, Houston, for the last twenty years. For being able to move past old prejudices in order for us to work together. I look forward to another twenty years of letting go of what has been tried and, yes, what has failed in the past, so that we can have a successful future together. Thank you.”

The applause this time was different. Anita thought she could see a few people reluctantly clapping now who were not before.

Hakim left the stage, walking down a set of steps into the ballroom. He looked out at the crowd and for one terrified moment, Anita thought he might have seen her. But it was a false alarm, and he was seated there at the head table, along with his father and various other important-looking people. Anita thought she recognized one of them as the mayor.

And now Hakim’s mother took the stage. She made a grand speech about celebrating the day and the milestone as it
should
be celebrated.

Anita didn’t suffer herself to look directly at the woman. She didn’t want to let her have any more attention than necessary.

Thankfully, Zahrah’s address was a short one, and with that, the feast began.

Food was being brought out by a virtual army of waiters in identical black and white uniforms.

Anita had no intention of sitting quietly and being fed. With all the people milling about, it seemed like she now had as good a chance as ever to get herself out of there.

She had an idea of where she would go. Somewhere private, but close enough to the action that the threat of her making a scene would be real, and they would have to deal with her. The wings of the stage, just in the curtains, out of eyeshot of the gathered group, would serve her needs perfectly.

She had her note, scribbled on a piece of paper during the queen’s speech, telling them where they should come meet her if they didn’t want her causing a scene. She passed it off to a waiter, telling him to give it to the king and queen, and to make sure that the prince didn’t see it.

And then she was off, trying to find her way to the back entrance to the stage. Her heart was pounding. What if she didn’t find it in time? How effective would it be to stand up the queen at her own blackmail meeting?

But she did find the right door, and swept through it quickly, taking care to keep her long dress from getting caught in it behind her.

And then there she was, standing just at the edge of the crystal curtain, little rainbows of light reflecting on her through its many prisms. She could hear the roaring conversations of the tipsy Texan crowd, reduced to a murmur by the dampening effect of the heavy velvet curtains.