shopped,” she admitted. Her dark eyes were bright with mischief. “It was Paris and San Francisco, after all, how could we not shop?”
“Easily,” her brother said. “Your closets were already full. What did you do with all the clothes you must have thrown out to make room for the new ones?”
“I donated them to charity,” Jenna replied. “Mother and I packed two boxes and took them to the Sisters of Mercy Hospital for their annual fund-raiser. The nuns were delighted to get them.”
“I’m sure they were. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had never been worn.”
“Not true!” Jenna shook her head. “Absolutely not true. I didn’t give away anything that I hadn’t worn several times.”
Caroline smiled at Emily. “Lazhar always teases us about the number of gowns we buy, but we’re often photographed and the press has an amazing ability to remember if we wear an outfit more than two or three times.” She sighed. “It’s a shame, really, because I’ve had to give up some gowns and suits that I truly loved.”
“Except for her Chanel suits.” Jenna put in. “She can’t bear to part with them.”
“They’re classics,” Caroline said firmly. “And I have to draw the line somewhere. Besides, I really adore those suits.”
“It’s not easy being a queen,” Lazhar said to Emily, his deep voice filled with affectionate teasing as he grinned at his mother.
“That’s true,” Caroline said promptly. “Your family is well-known in San Francisco, Emily, and I’m sure the society photographers follow you. Do you have this problem?”
“Very rarely. Now that I’m an adult and no longer live at home, I seldom attend functions with my father. But when he requires the family’s appearance at one of the charity dinners or fundraisers that the Parks company supports, I try to make sure I never wear the same dress twice.”
“How do you do that?” Jenna asked.
“I taped a list to the inside of my closet door and write down dates, events and what I wear to each one.”
“Emily likes to make lists,” Lazhar commented.
“I like to be organized,” she corrected him calmly, determined to ignore the shiver of attraction she felt each time he smiled at her.
“Mother and I make lists, too,” Jenna added. “Except my maid keeps track of what I wore where and when. Mother’s secretary keeps a running total for her.”
“I have a staff of two terrific women at the office that keep track of my business appointments,” Emily commented. “I’d be lost without them.”
“It’s the same for Jenna and I, as well as Lazhar and his father. Our commitments to appear at functions on behalf of the crown are a part of our family business,” Caroline said. “Without staff to assist us, we’d be hopelessly lost in no time.”
“Do royal functions take up all of your time?” Emily asked, curious.
“A great deal of it,” Caroline responded. “I always make time to spend with the family, of course. And Jenna has cut back on some of her volunteer work because she’s become more involved with the day-to-day running of the palace stables since my husband asked Lazhar to take over as head of Daniz security.”
“Mother also spends one day a week at the Sisters of Mercy Hospital,” Lazhar said. “Volunteering in the children’s ward.”
“I trained as a pediatrics nurse before marrying Abbar,” Caroline explained to Emily. “And although my other duties make it impossible to have a full-time career outside the palace, I like to keep my hand in at the hospital.”
“And she gets to hold the babies.” Jenna winked at Emily, a mischievous smile lighting her face. “I think that’s the real reason she never misses her time at the hospital.”
“Until you and your brother give me grandchildren, I have every intention of cooing at babies in the maternity ward every chance I get.”
Jenna rolled her eyes, Lazhar chuckled, and their mother serenely sipped her coffee, ignoring them both.
Just like an ordinary family, teasing each other over dinner, Emily thought. Only this family lives in a royal palace and their husband and father is the king. She found it amazing that they were so warm and approachable. Lazhar was relaxed and open, teasing his younger sister, affectionately attentive to his mother. The cool businessman she’d first met in her San Francisco office was absent, replaced in this private setting by a son and brother who clearly loved his family.
She was having trouble keeping her perspective. It was increasingly difficult to think of Lazhar as a client when everything about him seemed to have been tailor-made to fit her private dream of the perfect man.
He’s not perfect, she told herself firmly. This is the guy that tricked you into boarding a plane and then flew you to a foreign country without first asking your permission.
A small voice reminded her that Lazhar had an understandable reason for doing so, but she ignored it. She needed reasons to convince her foolish heart that Lazhar wasn’t a perfect prince. She’d take what she could get.
Emily was still contemplating the unwise attraction she felt for Lazhar when they left the palace for the Daniz casino. They’d said goodnight to Jenna and Caroline after dessert—Caroline leaving to look in on her husband and Jenna off to join friends at a small birthday party. Emily had hoped Lazhar’s sister would join them to provide a buffer between herself and the prince, but Jenna waved goodbye with a promise to see them the next morning.
Fortunately for Emily’s peace of mind, Lazhar seemed intent on playing tour guide as the black Mercedes limousine wound through the narrow streets. The city seemed even more exotic and foreign to Emily under cover of night, the narrow streets sometimes shadowed, sometimes brightly lit.
“The casino provides employment for many of our citizens as well as generating income for the monarchy,” Lazhar said as they turned a corner onto a wide avenue.
A short block away, the avenue ended in the circular driveway facing the casino.
“It looks like photos I’ve seen of the Opera House in Paris. Is there a connection?” Enchanted, Emily smiled with delight and looked at Lazhar for confirmation.
“The architect was Charles Garnier, who also designed the Paris Opera House and the Monte Carlo Casino in Monaco.” Lazhar leaned closer and his fingertip brushed her cheek, just to the left of the corner of her mouth. “When you smile, you have dimples.” His voice was distracted, his gaze intent.
Emily forgot to breathe. Warmth lingered where the tip of his finger had touched her. “I know. You haven’t noticed them before?”
“I noticed. But they aren’t always there.”
A tiny frown of confusion pleated her brow. “They aren’t?”
“No. Only when you really smile, like you did just now, do they appear.” His voice was deeper, the smooth tones roughened and faintly uneven.
“I
