Jag could not have found a better partner in this endeavor.
However, he had brought her to Jameel not to assess her capacity to make everyone she met fall in love with her. He’d brought her for some clothes.
Answering his wife in order to remind the tailor of their purpose in being here, Jag said, “Like in all design, impeccable attire comes down to the details, my dear.”
Directing his attention more fully on Rita, Jameel said, “You’re rather beautiful, you know,” as if he were surprised to only now realize it.
Brushing aside the strange spurt of possessive aggression that rose within him upon noting the other man’s gaze, Jag agreed. “Indeed, she is a diamond in the rough.”
An odd expression flashed across Rita’s face at Jag’s words, but she smiled at Jameel and said, “Thank you.”
“Who are you?” Jameel’s question seemed to slip free without his realizing that it was a monumental breach of the discretion he was famous for.
For his part, Jag understood.
There was something powerfully magnetic about his new bride. Something about her approachable appeal frayed the seams of even the strongest sense of propriety.
Because of that, and because there was no time like the present to practice the winding navigation of their story, rather than ignoring Jameel’s question, Jag answered with a careful truth. “She is NECTAR.”
Jameel’s mouth dropped open, and again Jag was impressed by the uniqueness of the situation.
Jameel regularly outfitted the kings and queens of the world—that he was moved to shock upon meeting this particular woman spoke volumes.
“B-but...I had no idea NECTAR was a woman...” Jameel stammered.
“I trust you’ll have no problem outfitting a woman.”
“Certainly not,” Jameel said absently, tossing a “help yourself to the refreshments” over his shoulder as he led Rita off.
Two hours later, Jag’s diamond had been polished to a shine.
“Prince Jahangir, may I present the newest NECTAR conversion to hit the world, the mad genius herself?” Jameel’s voice held the humor of an inside joke, and Jag opened his eyes to another surge of possessive feeling.
He had not brought her to Jameel to develop a rapport; he had brought her here for a casual outfit for a princess.
But upon laying his eyes on her, thoughts of jealousy fled Jag’s mind.
A change of clothing should not have transformed the woman the way it had.
And to be fair it wasn’t that she looked different, per se.
The same bright glowing brown face smiled at him, with the same big glossy eyes and the same lushly full lips.
Her heart-shaped face was the same, with the same charming pointed chin, with its faint hint of cleft, and the same perfect white teeth and the same straight brown brows and thick curling lashes, each feature emanating the same sheen of health and vibrancy that they had had before she’d gone away with the tailor.
It was only her clothing that had changed, but the difference was night and day.
Jameel had outfitted her in slim-cut ankle-skimming black pants whose thick black satin material retained a gentle structured form while at the same time flowing smoothly with the movements of her legs.
For her top, Jameel had chosen black as well, dressing her in a three-quarter-length-sleeve tunic with a mandarin collar and decorative clasps.
It was the astounding embroidered long coat, though, that truly made the look.
Technically a long sleeveless vest, the black garment was made to be worn open, falling to about knee-length and embroidered with what Jag knew would be real gold thread that had been woven into intricate and detailed geometric and star patterns along the front and lower edges of it.
The effect was natural and effervescent, bold and future-minded, while remaining respectful of tradition. She looked exactly like the conversions she created.
Once again, the clothier had proved himself to be of the highest order.