But now it was time to get ready for her debut.
Rita squeezed into the long black throat-to-ankle, shoulder-to-wrist bodysuit that Jameel had sent with mild trepidation.
Made of shimmering stretchy formfitting material that had the appearance of leather and the breathability of a mesh, the suit hugged every nook and cranny of her form, leaving little to the imagination.
The legs of the garment were accented with diagonal motorcycle stripes across the thighs, and the overall impression it gave was one of a woman who had been born to ride and ready to kick ass.
“I—I can’t wear this,” she stuttered. She looked sexier than she ever had in her life.
This was not what one wore to debut to the world.
And then she saw the accessories.
A belt made of pearls the size of baby’s fists—bigger than Rita had even known possible—glowed in the living, breathing way that only pearls seemed able to do.
A chandelier necklace was obviously intended to wrap around the turtleneck neckline of the catsuit and drape decadently across her collar and chest.
Stunning earrings matched the belt, with diamond posts and three pearls dangling below each.
To the left in the case, a set of three intricately filigreed diamond-encrusted tennis bracelets glittered contentedly, and on the right was a lovely diamond anklet with tiny tinkling platinum bells swinging from it.
None of it, however, compared to the enormous ring that lay in the center of it all.
Rita brought a hand up to cover her mouth, equal parts horrified and amazed.
It was a ring fit for a princess—a ring fit to let the world know she was a taken woman, and, if by outrageous ostentatiousness alone, by whom.
Closing her eyes as she began to put it on, the rest of her senses attuned to the gentle pressure of the jewelry as she lay it across her catsuit-clad skin.
She could not see them yet, but she could sense that the jewels would be breathtaking—if only from the glare shining up from her chest.
She was beginning to wonder, however, when and how her outfit would transition from that of a bedazzled femme fatale into that of a proper international daughter-in-law making her debut.
And then she saw the overlayer.
An expanse of sheer fabric that shimmered in the light, it was thick, yet transparent.
Most astoundingly, it was in a shade of blue that was an exact match to the iridescent paint she had used on the Ferrari.
It was a long fitted jacket that buttoned up the back, with enormous billowing bell sleeves that gathered at the wrist just below where her bracelets rested.
When worn over the catsuit and jewels, what had begun as a revealing outfit on the cutting edge of fashion transformed into something modest and chic.
And although the jacket obscured the view of what lay beneath, because it was transparent and eye-catching, and because the jewels beneath shone through so clearly, it also begged the eye to look closer.
She somehow looked as ready for a spin around the racetrack as she did an elegant twirl around a ballroom.
Which was good, because it was time to go.
The car was waiting to shuttle her away to her grand debut.
Rita was to meet the Prince at a private entrance of the capital city’s world-famous botanical gardens where the closing gala was taking place and the announcement would be made.
In no time at all, the driver was parking and walking around to open her door.
Taking his hand, she stepped out, finding the shoes surprisingly stable, easier to walk in than any heels she’d ever worn before.
She turned to thank the driver when a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.