“This isn’t going to work,” Heidi said miserably. “I’m not cut out to be a mistress. I hate the clothes, I can’t wear the shoes or the contacts. I won’t know what to say to him or how to act or anything like that.”
She fingered her shorter, layered hair. That was the only part of her transformation she liked. Even curling it wasn’t too much trouble. And with it all pulled back and up in a bun, no one could tell what she’d done.
Fatima studied her. “We’ve come so far, Heidi. The hotel room is in place. Dora found out that Jamal is expecting a new Italian sports car on Thursday. We were going to intercept the shipment so that you can pretend it was sent to you by mistake. You have your new clothes, your contacts. Why would you want to stop now?”
Heidi struggled to her feet, where she maintained a slightly wobbly balance. Mercifully her eyes stayed clear enough for her to navigate her way across the room and slump down on the sofa.
“Look at me,” she said. “I’m a failure at this. I have yet to put on eyeliner straight. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.”
It was true. While she appreciated everything Fatima and Dora had done, the plan was crazy. Even if it wasn’t, she wasn’t the right person to pull it off. Either she didn’t have the right raw material, or she needed way more training.
Fatima nodded. “You must do what you think is best.”
“Thanks.” Heidi gave her a grateful smile. “I still want to make things work in my marriage, but I think that’s best done as myself. Not some mistress.”
“Of course.”
Heidi studied the other woman, but she didn’t seem upset. “You’re not mad?” she asked. “I really appreciate all you’ve done. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful, because I am. But it’s so not me.”
“I thought that was the point,” Fatima said, then patted her hand. “I want you to be happy. I’ll do whatever you’d like to make that happen.”
“Thank you.” She slipped off her shoes and stood up. What a relief to be able to walk again. “If Jamal and I are going to make it, I have to win him as myself. As inept and feeble as the effort may be, at least it will be honest. Right?”
“Whatever you say, child.”
That night Heidi tried to read yet another chapter in one of Fatima’s sex books. She still couldn’t believe all the different ways that people made love, or the things they did to each other’s bodies. She’d barely experienced her first French kiss, and here she was reading about kissing in other very intimate places.
She was halfway through a chapter called “The Delights of the Feather and Other Ways to Make Your Lover Shiver” when she heard the main door of the suite open. Jamal was back!
Heidi didn’t know where he’d gone for the evening. He hadn’t joined her for dinner, which was annoying, what with her new plan to try to fix the marriage on her own. But he was back now, so she could get started without delay.
She tossed the book onto the bed and hurried out into the main room. Jamal stood by the wet bar tucked into the corner of the living room. He’d already poured himself a drink.
“Hi,” she said, coming to a halt by the sofa. “How was your evening?”
Jamal turned at the sound of Heidi’s voice—then wished he hadn’t. She stood in the center of the living room, wearing one of her loose, unflattering dresses. This one in a most unbecoming shade of light green. Her hair hung down her back in a simple braid, and her feet were bare. She looked young and vulnerable. The questions in her eyes only added to his guilt. It was one thing to avoid her while they were both inside the palace walls; it was another for him to have left the palace this evening. Not only had he not invited her along, he hadn’t told her where he was going.
The guilt was an unfamiliar emotion. He didn’t recall ever feeling it with Yasmin. But then things had been different at the beginning of their marriage. Before he’d known the truth about his greedy first wife, he’d wanted to spend every minute at her side. He’d been taken in by a pair of welcoming eyes and a body that had always seemed too eager for his own.
In time…a very short time…she’d changed. Or rather she’d returned to her real self. Once that occurred, she wanted nothing to do with him, unless they were to attend an official function where she could shine as the royal princess. She’d begun resisting his advances in bed, then had quickly moved into the room Heidi now occupied, telling him how he repelled her and how she wanted nothing to do with him.
With Yasmin there had been no guilt. Only shame and humiliation. He’d been more than a fool. He’d been trapped in a hell with no escape. He hadn’t even been able to talk about his problem with anyone. He’d been too proud to share the truth with his father or his brothers. Fatima had guessed that Yasmin was more interested in shopping and appearances than Jamal, and she had shared her revelation with the king. But neither of them knew the deepest, darkest horror that had been his marriage.
Still, they had tried to be supportive. Eventually even his brothers had figured out his wife was not a gentle soul. By the time Yasmin had met her untimely death in a car accident, no one in the family had cared about her enough to truly mourn her passing.
And now he was married again. He told himself that Heidi was nothing like Yasmin. Heidi was more interested in preserving the history of El Bahar than in any jewels or public appearance. Her clothing made it apparent that she wasn’t going to spend her days shopping. But she shared one vital trait with Yasmin—Heidi didn’t want to share her husband’s bed, either.