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Her maid Hafa had explained it was a custom for the bride to have her hands decorated with henna the morning of the wedding, and sometimes her feet. She’d shown Janna some photos from her own wedding and Janna had been enthralled with the delicate patterns.
Hafa had even introduced Janna to her cousin, who also worked in the palace. The cousin had placed a very small henna tattoo upon the inside of Janna’s palm. and as she looked at it this morning, she could almost see both of her hands covered in such artwork …
“Miss Janna?” a maid called, jarring her from her thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Sheikh Nassir asked me to bring you this.”
Curious, Janna looked at the silver-dome covering the serving tray. “What is it?”
“He said it was your favorite.”
Janna lifted the dome, revealing a cup of hot cocoa and two s’mores beneath. She laughed and took the tray from the maid. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” The maid bowed and left and Janna sat the tray on a small table beside her. So Nassir had remembered her love of chocolate. And s’mores.
Janna picked one up and took a bite, closing her eyes at the flooded of memories the treat conjured. Lazy summer nights, campfires, the smell of pine and the buzz of mosquitoes. She smiled and looked up in time to see the man from the restaurant the other day approaching, his expression both determined and dark. Her smile disappeared.
“Miss Davis? I am sorry to interrupt your work, but I am Hazim Adjalane.”
Adjalane? Janna wondered if he was involved with Nassir’s oil business. She smiled politely. “Yes, I remember you from the restaurant. If you’re looking for the Sheikh, I believe he’s in his office.”
“Actually, I was hoping to speak with you a moment, if you have time.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Sure.”
“May I?” he asked, indicating the chairs at the table.
“Of course.” They both took a seat. “What is it?”
“I received my e-mail invitation to the wedding and printed it out as instructed, but there appears to be an error.”
“An error?” She’d had nothing to do with the invitations. It was the one thing Nassir had insisted on handling himself and with her hands full, she’d gladly let him. “What kind of an error?”
He pulled a sheet of white paper from the pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to her. “Have a look.”
The top of the e-mail was in Arabic, with the English translation below:
????? ???? ?? ?? ????? ? ???? ???? ????? ????? ???? ??? ?????? ?????? ?? ?????? ??????? . ?????? ?????
Sheikh Nassir Adjalane of Al-Sarid and Miss Janna Davis respectfully request your attendance at their wedding celebration. To be held…
She frowned, blinked, read it again. Then again. Then a third time just to be sure. Damn right, there’d been a mistake.
Janna pushed to her feet, her hands trembling slightly. “I’ll bring this to the Sheik’s attention right away. I’m sure he’ll get this straightened out.”
“So you are not marrying Nassir?”
“Of course not. I’m his wedding planner, not his bride.” She headed for the patio doors. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go talk to Nassir…I mean the Sheik right now.”
“As you wish.” Hazim inclined his head to her with the glimmer of a small smile.
“Where is Sheikh Nassir?” Janna asked the first housekeeper she ran across.
“He’s at the Adjalane Oil corporate offices. There is a meeting…”
“Thank you.” Janna took off down the hall to grab her bag. It had to be a mistake. Nassir would never deceive her like that, would he? Memories of all his mystery bride’s missed appointments and all his cryptic excuses rang through her mind.
