meant a great deal to her.
The man approached Laila and Harris, extending his hand in greeting to Harris. “I am Khalid bin Jassim Al Sharani. This is my late brother’s wife, Iba.”
Laila and her mother broke apart, and Iba turned to Harris. Her eyes were as sharp and intelligent as her daughter’s. Harris got the impression neither woman missed anything.
Harris introduced himself and waited for Khalid to continue.
Khalid gestured for everyone to sit. “We were surprised to learn Laila was bringing a friend to the wedding. In the past Laila has preferred to be on her own. She’s always been an independent woman. Aasim has only good things to say about you, Harris, but he admitted he didn’t know you well.”
A test, Harris was sure. “Laila and I have been friends for some time. I was pleased to be invited. My family has vacationed in this area, and they’ve always spoken highly of Qamsar. This is my first time in the country.”
Khalid took an ornate ceramic cup from the center of the table. Almost as soon as he turned it over, a waiter appeared with a carafe in his hand and poured coffee into the cup. “Where did your family vacation?” Khalid asked, not acknowledging the waiter except with a wave of his hand.
Harris was prepared with a lie. “They stayed in Cyprus, near the beach at the Palm Hotel.”
Khalid liked Harris’s response, whether the reference to the elite area of Cyprus or the luxuriousness of the Palm Hotel impressed him. Harris was glad he hadn’t made an enemy of Khalid. Yet.
“What do you think of our country?” Khalid asked. He took a sip of his coffee.
Harris glanced at Laila and her mother. Laila was staring intently at him, worry written on her face. To anyone watching, she was nervous about the scrutiny her suitor was receiving from her uncle. Harris knew the truth. She was worried he’d make a mistake and say something to incriminate them.
Harris was too practiced and too deep into the part. He wouldn’t let on who he was or why he was in Qamsar. “I’ve only seen the compound and the souk. Everything has been great. Of course, part of that is having an excellent tour guide to tell me about the area and the history.” He inclined his head toward Laila.
Harris glanced at Laila and was struck once again by how beautiful she was. It was difficult for him to keep his eyes off her. Even showing almost no skin, her clothing loose and her hair covered, she was breathtaking. He’d always thought women in lingerie or wearing provocative clothing drew a man’s attention. In this case, Laila drew his attention without giving anything away. She redefined sexy.
Harris was saved from more questions. A hush fell over the room as the emir entered with his future bride, Aisha. Mikhail wore a dark suit, western-style, and his bride looked happy in an orange dress, a head scarf covering her hair and neck. Mikhail stopped to speak with several men waiting near his table. Harris watched and smiled, mimicking the other guests around him.
Aisha’s father was a prominent businessman in Qamsar, and their marriage had been arranged when the two were infants.
The emir’s brother, Saafir, sat at a table near the head table, a teacup between his hands. He appeared somber. He wasn’t mingling with other guests, and he didn’t appear thrilled to be at the dinner. Was there bad blood between the brothers? Resentment that Mikhail, as the older brother, had inherited his position and his fortune? Very little had been available to the CIA and FBI about Saafir’s personal life.
Harris memorized the faces of the men Mikhail seemed closest to and made a mental note to speak to them sometime in the next few days if he could. After several minutes Mikhail stood behind his table and gestured to his bride who sat at his side, gazing up at him. She had nailed the role of adoring wife. How much of her behavior was genuine, and how much was an act? Appearances were important to the royal family, but
The man approached Laila and Harris, extending his hand in greeting to Harris. “I am Khalid bin Jassim Al Sharani. This is my late brother’s wife, Iba.”
Laila and her mother broke apart, and Iba turned to Harris. Her eyes were as sharp and intelligent as her daughter’s. Harris got the impression neither woman missed anything.
Harris introduced himself and waited for Khalid to continue.
Khalid gestured for everyone to sit. “We were surprised to learn Laila was bringing a friend to the wedding. In the past Laila has preferred to be on her own. She’s always been an independent woman. Aasim has only good things to say about you, Harris, but he admitted he didn’t know you well.”
A test, Harris was sure. “Laila and I have been friends for some time. I was pleased to be invited. My family has vacationed in this area, and they’ve always spoken highly of Qamsar. This is my first time in the country.”
Khalid took an ornate ceramic cup from the center of the table. Almost as soon as he turned it over, a waiter appeared with a carafe in his hand and poured coffee into the cup. “Where did your family vacation?” Khalid asked, not acknowledging the waiter except with a wave of his hand.
Harris was prepared with a lie. “They stayed in Cyprus, near the beach at the Palm Hotel.”
Khalid liked Harris’s response, whether the reference to the elite area of Cyprus or the luxuriousness of the Palm Hotel impressed him. Harris was glad he hadn’t made an enemy of Khalid. Yet.
“What do you think of our country?” Khalid asked. He took a sip of his coffee.
Harris glanced at Laila and her mother. Laila was staring intently at him, worry written on her face. To anyone watching, she was nervous about the scrutiny her suitor was receiving from her uncle. Harris knew the truth. She was worried he’d make a mistake and say something to incriminate them.
Harris was too practiced and too deep into the part. He wouldn’t let on who he was or why he was in Qamsar. “I’ve only seen the compound and the souk. Everything has been great. Of course, part of that is having an excellent tour guide to tell me about the area and the history.” He inclined his head toward Laila.
Harris glanced at Laila and was struck once again by how beautiful she was. It was difficult for him to keep his eyes off her. Even showing almost no skin, her clothing loose and her hair covered, she was breathtaking. He’d always thought women in lingerie or wearing provocative clothing drew a man’s attention. In this case, Laila drew his attention without giving anything away. She redefined sexy.
Harris was saved from more questions. A hush fell over the room as the emir entered with his future bride, Aisha. Mikhail wore a dark suit, western-style, and his bride looked happy in an orange dress, a head scarf covering her hair and neck. Mikhail stopped to speak with several men waiting near his table. Harris watched and smiled, mimicking the other guests around him.
Aisha’s father was a prominent businessman in Qamsar, and their marriage had been arranged when the two were infants.
The emir’s brother, Saafir, sat at a table near the head table, a teacup between his hands. He appeared somber. He wasn’t mingling with other guests, and he didn’t appear thrilled to be at the dinner. Was there bad blood between the brothers? Resentment that Mikhail, as the older brother, had inherited his position and his fortune? Very little had been available to the CIA and FBI about Saafir’s personal life.
Harris memorized the faces of the men Mikhail seemed closest to and made a mental note to speak to them sometime in the next few days if he could. After several minutes Mikhail stood behind his table and gestured to his bride who sat at his side, gazing up at him. She had nailed the role of adoring wife. How much of her behavior was genuine, and how much was an act? Appearances were important to the royal family, but
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