Rosanna breathed deep and focused on the positive, refusing to undermine herself this way. With her professional skills and her aunt’s advice and connections, she was perfectly capable of playing fairy godmother to an aspiring Cinderella.
She just hoped the royal prince wasn’t some warty toad.
That was how, in the early evening, Rosanna found herself in the back of a limousine, purring along a well-made road that skirted the capital of Dhalkur.
The sun sank over distant purple hills, gilding the ancient city and turning its shadows from amber to dark ochre and violet. Fascinated, she saw a massive crenellated city wall and beyond it a skyline of spires, domes and towers.
Rosanna looked forward to telling her parents about this place when they spoke next. They still worried about her after the scandal and her move to the UK. It would be good to divert them with something so exciting.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the fruit juice and water that had been supplied for her.
This was a whole new world. Not just because she found herself in a kingdom that had, until today, been only an exotic name on a map. Even the air was different, dry, warm and faintly scented with something that made her want to take her time and fill her lungs.
From the moment she’d been collected from her aunt’s house, Rosanna had entered a world of ease and luxury that she’d occasionally glimpsed courtesy of her aunt’s moneyed clients but to which she didn’t belong.
Never had international travel been so easy. Even the formalities of passport and customs control had been finessed by the sheikh’s staff and Rosanna had spent the flight in the comfort of a private luxury jet.
Not that she’d been able to relax.
She was plagued with the disquieting feeling she’d forgotten something. But it was too late to worry whether she’d packed the right clothes to visit a royal palace.
Rosanna bit back a nervous laugh. Fortunately she wasn’t important enough to stay there. She’d be in a nearby hotel, which suited her perfectly.
No, what really niggled were doubts over her preparation. She didn’t feel ready, despite the hours she’d spent on the plane, reading the files on prospective matches for the sheikh from Marian’s copious records. She would put in a few more hours of reading once she got to her accommodation.
Plus do more detailed research on her client.
His Majesty Sheikh Salim of Dhalkur.
Her heart dipped then rose again, pattering faster. She smiled, recognising that, despite her nerves, she was thrilled to have this opportunity. To take responsibility once more for a major project, even if one outside her previous expertise. It felt good.
As for His Majesty, she’d followed Marian’s advice and concentrated so far on potential brides rather than him. Apparently the sheikh would provide information on his specific likes and dislikes after she arrived.
Nevertheless she’d feel better when she had more background on him than his name, age—thirty one—marital status—single but actively looking—and occupation—newly minted king.
She’d read about his programme of civic development and modernisation plus speculation that he’d need to be both visionary and determined to make change succeed in his staunchly traditional country. But there’d been nothing about him personally. No insights into him as a man.
The sheikh was the ultimate authority in Dhalkur. Did he also have a stranglehold on press reporting in the country?
A shiver tickled her spine. She’d dealt with powerful people, but never someone who ran his own country. Did he expect instant and total obedience?
Even the photo she’d found of him at his coronation was unsatisfactory. He’d been at a distance, a tall, proud figure standing before a crowd of jubilant citizens.
Rosanna reached for her phone, intending to do a thorough trawl for a royal photo, when the car turned into an enormous gateway and she caught her breath.
They passed through incredibly thick walls, complete with not one but two high-tech guard posts. Then they entered a long, sprawling garden.
Palms towered overhead and Rosanna caught the glint of ornamental pools beyond a screen of flowering shrubs as the car turned up to the most imposing entrance she’d ever seen.
Wide steps, tiled in azure blue, ascended to a lofty, ornamented arch, embellished with intricate carvings in shades of emerald and gold. A few metres beyond that was a slightly smaller arch, even more beautifully decorated in tones of turquoise and silver. Beyond that was a third, smaller archway, stunningly embellished with cobalt and gold, which housed a pair of studded metal doors, glowing bright bronze in the dying sunlight.
Rosanna gasped as a thrill ran through her, drawing her skin tight.
‘It’s amazing,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
The entrance was grand and architecturally magnificent with the arch within an arch, within an arch, drawing you inside before you even reached the doors. It was also simply beautiful.
‘It is one of our treasures,’ the chauffeur said, pride in his voice. ‘It’s said it took thirty artisans thirty years to complete the western entrance.’