Authors: Ginger Solomon
One Choice (8 page)
She stepped out of his arms and swiveled away. He watched her shoulders sag.
“I know you meant well. You did what you thought was right. It wasn't your fault. I was just so surprised to see those bright green eyes again. So trusting. So innocent. It was my reaction which hurt her feelings. It was my fault. You needn't ask for forgiveness.”
Anaya swung back around. “Again?”
“Remember the one I bumped into at the market last week?”
“Her?”
“Yes.”
He stepped to the door overlooking the garden. He longed to walk there and think things through. There were many other gardens, but this one was his favorite.
Those green eyes dominated his thoughts. The tears made them sparkle and didn't detract from their beauty. She had gazed at him with hesitation and uncertainty at first, but then with a boldness he hadn't seen in any of the others. The others viewed him with disdain, not knowing he was the prince, except Cahri and the other one â the young one. He sighed.
Now he knew why Anaya had chosen this one. Cahri was beautiful. Different, but beautiful, inside and out. After his mistake, she'd been worried about offending him. A little of her concern may have stemmed from last week's encounter, as well.
This one was his choice for a bride. The force of the notion shocked him. How could he want to make this woman his wife, when he'd seen her only twice? He didn't even know anything about her.
No matter. He felt the peace about her in his spirit, but he would have to continue with this charade of a Bridal March to please his father. The next six months stretched out before him and would require a great deal of patience.
A different sort of patience than he thought he would need a few hours ago. Excitement coursed through him at the thought of getting to know her better.
****
Cahri woke before the sun made its appearance, though a hint of color tinted the horizon. She changed and redid her hair into the style Anaya had shown her. She tucked the handkerchief into her pocket, picked up her notebook, and a book Anaya had loaned her, “Sharpshooter in Petticoats,” and walked to the common room.
Today when she opened the door to the garden, no one stopped her. She found a bench surrounded by gladioli. She sniffed the purple one closest to her and held her breath, enjoying the fragrance.
Lifting her head, she gazed at the rising sun. The horizon flamed orange. She sighed and sat on the bench. Sunrise was her favorite time of day â peace reigned, spider webs glistened, birds chirped, and a few flowers bloomed, even this early in the year.
After reading about Mandy's troubles in the novel, her situation seemed trivial. She removed the handkerchief from its hiding spot and smelled it again. The fragrance was so, so⦠well, the right word escaped her. So masculine, maybe, but even then it didn't seem to fit quite right. Intoxicating. Sensual. Rugged. All of those things and more.
The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. She rubbed her skin, but the tingling sensation remained. Was someone watching? She scanned the windows on the first floor. Nothing. Shrugging it off, she opened her notebook and began writing.
Day 4â
Yesterday Anaya had a servant come and she trimmed my hair. Then Anaya taught me a new way to fix it in preparation for last night's inspection. Several women went home, including the obnoxious one. I'm still here. I fear I have offended the prince, who happened to be the man I ran into at the food market last week.
Who knew? Well, I guess he did.
J
He's so handsome. I almost drooled. Dark hair with a slight curl at the ends, which begs to have my fingers run through it, and eyes to die for â the color of milk chocolate. He is slim, but not scrawny. His arms and shoulders filled out his shirt. Those eyes⦠I could have stared into them for hours and forgotten everything around me. His touch was gentle when he lifted my chin to look at him. A spark of something worked its way down my spine at his touch. Same as in the market. What is it about this man that sends my insides into knots and mush at the same time? No one else has ever caught my interest like he has and I've only seen him twice.
Wow!
The sensation of someone watching returned. She glanced at the second floor. A curtain fell back into place. Someone was up there. She put the handkerchief back in its hiding spot. Having someone watching her made her uneasy.
Was she as safe here as she'd supposed?
Of course she was.
A servant, maybe, peeped out the window at the garden.
She returned her gaze to her open notebook and read what she'd written. She wrote more as she described the garden and the smells. Over an hour passed as she read her book and wrote or doodled in her journal. She rose from her spot and stretched.
How would she exercise while here? She used to walk everywhere for exercise â to work, to the market, to church, and home again.
The hair on her neck stood on edge again, but she didn't look around this time. She thought to ignore it, but the feeling persisted. Wanting to see who watched her, she touched her toes to stretch her leg muscles. She glanced sideways toward the second story window at the same time. Returning her gaze to her feet, she smirked. The prince had a bird's eye view of the garden. He didn't know she'd seen him, so she stretched a little more, and then decided to walk around the garden for a little while.
No one stirred on the first floor except the servants, who remained inside. She walked as far as permitted and stood looking out over the rest of what she could see â desert for the most part â outside of the hedges surrounding the pool. A few indiscernible buildings stood in the distance.
Stormy decided to grace her with his presence and rubbed himself on her legs. Picking him up, she scratched him behind the ears.
“You like it here, don't you, big boy?”
“Meow.”
She continued to scratch him and he purred.
“You know what? I think I could like it here too. The prince was gracious last night. He smells super good, too.” Her confession went unheard except by her mute confidante. He would keep her secret.
Day 45â
Day after day, it's the same thing â get up before the others to spend time in the garden reading and writing, more classes, and then after lunch, spa treatments or recreation time. I prefer to wander the halls if Anaya doesn't come for me.
I find the mornings relaxing as I watch the sun rise and listen to the birds chirp. Yesterday I saw a funny looking bird flitting through the garden. It was early in the morning. The sun hadn't even peaked beyond the horizon. The bird had yellow eyes and a yellow and black beak. Its feathers would blend well with the desert sand. I researched it later and found out it was a Stone Curlew.
The labyrinth of shrubs in the English garden reminded me of the pictures Paul sent of his trip to Versailles all those years ago. The gardener must be quite talented to shape the topiaries into all sorts of animals â ducks, giraffes, and there's even an elephant. It feels like a zoo with green animals.
This morning, an Eastern Bath White caught my attention as it flitted along the pathway. The creamy yellow of its wings made it almost invisible against the sandstone. Had it not moved, I would never have noticed it.
The prince continues to watch me, though not every day. I've seen the curtain flutter from the corner of my eye, but I haven't attempted to catch him spying on me. I just wish we could meet again.
Mom and Dad's teaching resurfaced at unexpected moments, reminding Cahri God made nature for her to enjoy, and she should give thanks. She didn't want to thank God for anything, so she pushed the thoughts to the side. She wasn't ready to face Him. Not yet.
She surveyed an off-limits area down the stairs. A wide swath of dull gray cement bordered a large rectangular pool. Several neon yellow-and-orange-colored lounge chairs and patio tables with umbrellas that matched the chair cushions graced the area, making it perfect for entertaining.
In the distance, she heard horses, so knew a stable existed out there somewhere. Some mornings, when the wind blew from that direction, she could smell the hay and manure. A scent which reminded her of times spent with her parents in remote villages.
Splash!
She glanced back at the pool and saw a white blob move across the water. Stormy. Unlike most felines, Turkish Vans loved to swim, and Stormy more than most. When she'd lived in the apartment, any night she'd decided to take a bath, she'd expected him to jump in with her. He loved water. Cahri laughed as he made his way around the edge of the pool.
She wandered back to the bench. Her thoughts revisited the classes she'd attended so far. Most of them were about caring for a husband and a house, entertaining nobles and the like. Cahri found them so boring she got lost in memories of her mom's teachings on proper etiquette or, more often, daydreams about being a princess. She would decorate her room in shades of blue and gold. The furnishings would be a dark wood, mahogany maybe. A combination of traditional and contemporary.
****
A few weeks later, Cahri returned to the gallery she'd found interesting during their tour. A man sat upon a bench staring at one of the portraits. He lifted his head when she entered. The prince.
“I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.” She backed toward the door.
“No,” he said. “It's okay. Come. Talk to me.” He scooted over on the wide cushioned bench, giving her room to sit. Goosebumps prickled her arms at the sound of his velvety voice.
She swiped her palms down her thighs as she crossed the room. She sat but said nothing. What could she say? An uncomfortable silence fell.
Unable to stand the quiet she spoke. “I'm sorry about bumping into you at the market.” She swallowed. “And for the misunderstanding. I⦠I
was
talking to myself.”
“It's okay. I could tell you were. Your comment just surprised me. Though, I must say it shocked me more to see you here.”
Cahri bit back the sarcastic reply which rose to her lips. “It was a shock to find out I had bumped into
you
.” She glanced up and found him assessing her with his chocolate-brown eyes. Heat suffused her face as she forced her eyes away.
“When you arrived, you brought an animal. What was it?”
“A cat. His name is Stormy. I'm surprised you haven't seen him swimming in the pool.” She bit her lip. No need to give away the fact that she knew he was the one who watched her.
She glanced around the room. Life-sized portraits graced two of the four walls. The third wall contained only windows, and the fourth some sort of official document. “Who are these people?”
“Family.” He cleared his throat, and glanced at the sleek gold watch on his wrist. “I need to go now. Enjoy your visit.”
She stood when he did. “Thank you.”
He reached his hand toward her cheek, but pulled back, glancing at something over her shoulder, then strode from the room.
Cahri frowned at his back. She didn't think she had done anything wrong, but he'd seemed agitated when he left.
She stood there for some time. He was even more handsome than she remembered. His scent lingered after him, and she inhaled to pull in as much of him as she could. She shook her head.
Twenty or thirty portraits lined the walls. She went from one side to the other peering into their eyes. What were they thinking? Former princes, soon to become kings. A family. One of the portraits caught her attention. Was this the picture the prince had been staring at?
The woman wasn't a native, not with pale skin and blue eyes. Cahri reached out to her.
She's like me, a stranger.
Her fingers traced the etching on the gold plate, 1875, Royal Family. This foreigner was queen. It could be her one day.
Doubtful.
Farther down, the dates became more recent. The last portrait was of Prince Jonathan.
Not Prince Josiah?
The date indicated it was painted five years ago. His eyes had the same look of intensity Cahri perceived in Prince Josiah's eyes. This prince displayed a harshness the current one did not have.
Where is this prince? Why is his picture here? She tapped her foot against the tile floor.
Oh
. Prince Jonathan had been killed in a car accident a few years ago.
As she walked back to the door, she stopped to look at some of the other portraits then wandered over to the document protected by a glass box. It listed the kings and the length of their reign.
If these walls could talk, what story would they tell? Were all of these men good kings? Cahri shivered. Would the prince be a good king? A good husband?
Anaya had talked enough about him that Cahri felt she knew him, but her knowledge was incomplete. She liked what she'd seen today. He'd controlled his obvious desire to touch her. And she had wanted to feel his caress.
****
Josiah left Cahri in the gallery. He forced himself to keep walking toward his appointment with his father instead of staying and learning more about her. The desire to kiss her had caught him off guard, but he'd stopped himself just in time. No point in giving his father a reason to dismiss her.
At his knock on his father's office door, he heard a gruff, “Enter.”
Josiah stood in front of the desk, waiting for the older man's acknowledgement.
The king lifted his head. “Ah, good. You're here. I have decided to throw a banquet next week.”
“Father, it's too soon for a banquet.”
“It is not. These women have had over two months of teaching. It is time for them to put it to good use. What better way than with a banquet among the nobles? You may be the one getting married, but I
will
have my say in whom you choose. I will not allow you to pick without discretion.”
“But, Father⦔
“Enough. It is done. Leave me.”
Josiah left angrier than when he'd come. He'd made his interest in Cahri known to his father, who had denied Josiah the chance to end this charade. Fine! He'd do it his father's way, but he would see. The one he had chosen would pass his tests. She would be his queen, and his father would be happy to have the light-skinned beauty as his daughter-in-law.