The Princess Brides. Jane Porter

gotten to know him she didn’t want to be the one to disappoint him. ‘‘I was born with doubts. Of the three of us, I was the princess most likely to—’’ She broke off, realizing she was about to make another Nicolette pronouncement, and he was suspicious of those Nicolette pronouncements.

      ‘‘To?’’ he prompted softly.

      ‘‘You don’t want to know.’’

      ‘‘I do.’’

      She shrugged helplessly, as if to say, I warned you. ‘‘Most likely to initiate world war.’’

      He coughed.

      She flexed her fingers, tension coiling throughout her body. ‘‘I know. I’m sorry.’’

      ‘‘What can we do? How can I help?’’ He sounded so tranquil, so comfortably conversational. ‘‘Is there something that I could do? Something I could tell you?’’

      She closed her eyes, felt the late morning sun warm the top of her head, wrap her shoulders in heat. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. Didn’t know how she’d lost control of the situation. She wasn’t supposed to get involved here. She was to have been a guest…just a guest…Instead she’d started to feel things, genuine things, for Malik Nuri.

      Nic swallowed, opened her eyes. Malik should have been troubled but he looked calm, as if all his concern was for her instead of himself. ‘‘I don’t want to—’’ her mouth had gone dry and she reached for her glass of juice, took a sip, wetting her lips ‘‘—humiliate you.’’

      ‘‘I’m glad. I hate being humiliated.’’ But the corner of his lips lifted, and he sounded downright cavalier.

      She didn’t know how he could joke at a time like this, yet she smiled at his humor, her emotions strung up like the rope of flags on the Royal Star.

      ‘‘But you’re not going to humiliate me,’’ he continued confidently. ‘‘I know you. You’re like me. You understand duty, and responsibility. You love your country, your people, and your family. You’ll do what’s best for them.’’

      He was speaking matter of factly and she found herself hanging on each word, as if she couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say next. ‘‘If you give me your word now,’’ he added, ‘‘I know the ceremony will take place. You wouldn’t cancel at the last minute, now when it’d be so awkward for both our families. Never mind national pride.’’

      National pride. Nic couldn’t speak, couldn’t make a sound, and life seemed to crystallize around her—the sun shining through her glass, filling the guava juice with shimmering light, the heady scent of the damask roses, the forlorn cry of a seagull above, a reminder that the Atlantic sea wasn’t so very far away.

      ‘‘You’re free,’’ he added even more gently. ‘‘You’re free to go home now. I’d never keep you here against your will.’’

      He didn’t even know who she was, she thought, and if she did marry him, pretending to be Chantal, what would happen later when he found out later she wasn’t Chantal? Would he say fine, one Ducasse is the same as another, or would he want Chantal—the good one—the obedient one, and divorce her on grounds of fraud? Deception?

      But if Nic confessed the truth now, what would happen to Chantal and Lilly? What if they were close to getting home to Melio? What if Nicolette ruined it for them now?

      She couldn’t imagine that all this…subterfuge…should be for naught.

      ‘‘I’m not going anywhere.’’ Her voice sounded rough. ‘‘I’m staying right here.’’ Nic looked up at him and prayed he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. ‘‘I’m on holiday today, remember? And you’ve promised me to show me something new…something fun.’’

      ‘‘I remember.’’

      After the meal, Nicolette quickly changed shoes, applied some sunscreen to her face and returned to the front hall. Her heart felt heavy when she saw Fatima waiting.

      Fatima looked at her. ‘‘This wasn’t my idea,’’ she said stiffly.

      Nic could barely nod, ridiculously disappointed. Just then the car and driver pulled to the door and Malik arrived. Like Fatima, he’d changed into a jellaba, and like his cousin, his long robe was made of expensive fabric with ornate needlework lining the seams.

      ‘‘Do I need to change?’’ Nic asked, touching the neckline of her turquoise jacket.

      ‘‘I have a jellaba you can wear if you’d like,’’ Malik answered, lightly circling her with his arm. ‘‘But I see no need for you to change. You’ll find that many of our young people favor jeans and T-shirts. Between our French colonial past, and the flood of tourists in winter, you’ll find that our city center is quite Western.’’

      ‘‘Is that where we’re going?’’ she asked, settling into the back seat.

      He suddenly spoke in Arabic to his cousin, and Fatima, who’d just sat down next to Nic, reluctantly moved, relocating herself to the opposite seat. Malik took the vacated space next to Nic.

      ‘‘Is this proper?’’ Nic whispered to Malik as the king stretched an arm across the back of the seat, his fingertips brushing her shoulder.

      ‘‘It’s my car,’’ he answered, looking down at her.

      ‘‘Yes, but your cousin—’’

      ‘‘Knows you’re to be my wife.’’ He reached for her hand, kissed the back of it. ‘‘Now relax. I want you to enjoy yourself. You’re not allowed to worry.’’

      ‘‘Not about anything?’’

      ‘‘About nothing. Not even Lilly. I’ve everything under control.’’

      Something in his tone made the fine hair lift at the nape of her neck but she didn’t dare ask. He’d said not to worry, and for one hour, she could try to do that much, couldn’t she?

      With a small convoy of police escorts, the limousine wound through numerous avenues, the streets growing narrower with each turn until they’d reached the market square.

      Merchants and peddlers had filled the square with colorful bazaars, their booths offering every kind of ware imaginable. Baskets mounded with fruits and nuts. Copper pots. Bolts of fabric. Leather goods.

      Nic sat forward on her seat, anxious to see everything. Malik’s fingers trailed down her spine until his hand settled in the small of her back. ‘‘You’re eager to explore.’’

      She couldn’t contain her curiosity. She loved getting out, doing things. It’d been hard being so cooped up in the palace during the past week. ‘‘I am.’’

      The driver parked and the security circled the limousine. Malik climbed out, extended a hand to Nicolette and then Fatima.

      As Nicolette stood, she realized that nearly all of the women bustling around the market were wearing the long colorful jellaba. ‘‘Do you still have the…coverall?’’ she asked, indicating his jellaba. ‘‘I think Fatima and I would draw less attention if we looked the same.’’

      Fatima aided Nicolette in settling the long navy jellaba over Nic’s head, covering her pantsuit.

      ‘‘Would you care to have a look around?’’ Malik asked Nic once she was finished dressing.

      ‘‘Yes,’’ Nic answered, ready to see as much of the medina as she could. She’d wanted to visit the city hub ever since she arrived.

      ‘‘Fatima will walk with you,’’ he said. ‘‘I’d like to go with you, but I think it’s less complicated for security if I wait here.’’

      She understood, especially as the market was very crowded and it’d be difficult for a group—much less the sultan