GINA WILKINS - The Park's Empire - Handsome Strangers... - The Prince's Bride

They drove past an open-air market, flowers and fruit making brilliant splashes of color against the ancient stone walls laced with black ironwork balconies above.

“You’re sincere about finding my city beautiful.”

It was a statement, not a question, and when Emily drew her gaze from the view outside the window to look at Lazhar, his expression held a quiet pride and satisfaction.

“Yes, it’s absolutely fascinating.”

They shared a spontaneous smile of accord and for one brief moment, she felt as if she’d known him forever, that he understood exactly how much she enjoyed this glimpse of his city, so very different from her native San Francisco despite both being built on steep hills. Then he glanced away from her and out the window, pointing out the fountain in the center of the square they were currently circling, and the moment was gone.

Emily’s first view of the Daniz Royal Palace left her speechless. The castle sat atop a hill, with breathtaking views from all sides. The rose-tinted stone building had medieval square towers with crenellated tops standing guard at each end, the walls connecting the towers lined with high, arched windows on the top two stories, the lower story having only small, square openings covered with glass. It looked like a fortress, which indeed, it had been during its early years.

The limousine smoothly negotiated the winding avenue, lined with Italian poplars and centuries-old buildings housing apartments above and shops at street level. Then they passed through impressive wrought-iron gates manned by uniformed guards to enter the palace grounds. Lush green lawns dotted with huge, century-old trees edged the driveway leading to the palace itself; the car swept to a stop on the cobblestone circular driveway before an imposing door.

The driver and bodyguard immediately exited and held open the door for Lazhar, who handed out Emily, turning away for a moment to converse in low tones with the guard.

Emily’s fascinated gaze swept the castle facade, drinking in the sight of stone sculptures carved above each of the many windows and what seemed to be a hanging garden halfway down the building’s length, one floor up where a stone balustrade topped the first level.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Lazhar took her arm and they walked toward the doorway.

Emily barely had time to note the coat of arms carved into the stone above the arched doorway, the two snarling panthers holding crossed swords over a crown. Then they were inside, crossing an entryway tiled with a blue and gold mosaic pattern; the room was easily large enough to hold several hundred people.

“Antonio is taking your bag to your room,” Lazhar told her as they ascended one side of the curving staircase to the second floor. “My mother and sister always need to rest after flying home from the States due to the jet lag. When you’re ready, your maid will tell you where to find me and we’ll discuss the itinerary for your stay.”

“Very well,” Emily murmured. She caught glimpses into rooms off the hallway that were decorated in a mix of Mediterranean architecture, Persian carpets, Italian glass, French furniture, and Moroccan pillows. She was charmed by the beautiful building with it’s jewel-box rooms; somehow the interiors she saw managed to combine palatial elegance with the warmth of a real home.

“Here we are.” Lazhar pushed open a door and halted. “If there’s anything you want or need that you don’t find, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” Emily stepped into the room, her gaze quickly sweeping the lovely furnishings before she turned to look at him, her fingers closing over the door handle. “You’re very kind.”

“Not at all.” He shrugged, his lashes narrowing as he assessed her. “You look ready to fall asleep standing there. Get some sleep,” he said abruptly. “We’ll talk after you’ve rested.” And he reached out and caught the edge of the door, gently moving it out of her grasp, closing it between them.

Left alone, Emily surveyed her room and realized that it was actually a suite of rooms. The ruby and cream Persian carpet was thick and plush beneath her feet as she walked across the airy sitting room to peek through an open door. Here, the drapes were partially drawn across floor-to-ceiling windows, barring the hot sunlight from the interior. The wide bed was draped in sheer white panels, the pale lemon sheet and green silk coverlet turned back invitingly below the embroidered pillows. Despite the effects of jet lag that had her yawning, Emily walked to the archway and stepped out into a lovely garden. Walled on three sides for privacy with bougainvillea spilling hot pink flowers over the sand-colored stones, the garden was a riot of white and pink roses, fragrant lavender, sage, rosemary and silvery artemisia. One wall was only waist-high and the view of Daniz Harbor and the Mediterranean Sea beyond was breathtaking. Emily drew a deep breath. The tang of salt carried by a faint breeze from the harbor mingled with the sweet scent of the garden’s floribunda roses. The breath turned into a yawn and she reluctantly turned away from the spellbinding view of sea and garden to reenter the bedroom. She showered, pulled on a nightgown, and climbed into bed.

She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

When she woke, the midafternoon sun was slanting through the half-open drapes. Disoriented, she stared at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering why it was a pale rose instead of the eggshell-white she normally saw when waking in her bed in San Francisco.

Because I’m not home in San Francisco. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and stared around her. The airy, shaded room was exotic and opulent, a mix of architecture that reflected the countries and cultures that bordered Daniz. The Spanish archway leading to the sitting room was edged with Greek tiles in green and gold and the French influence was apparent in the delicate Louis XIV chair placed in one corner near her bed. An exquisite Italian vase of handblown glass stood on the dresser, its shade of deep green a perfect foil for the white roses and trailing greenery it held. And the high ceilings and airy hangings tied back on the bed, that matched the sheer white draperies at the windows, reminded Emily that Morocco was just across the Mediterranean Sea.

It was so lovely and so exotically different from her apartment in San Francisco that she felt transported into another world.

It is another world, she reminded herself. The royal palace in a foreign country is definitely light years away from my apartment in San Francisco.

She tossed back the silky sheet and light coverlet and rose, wondering what time it was and how long she’d slept. She picked up her watch from the nightstand.

“Two o’clock? How could I have slept so long?” she murmured, dismayed that the day was half gone. She hurried into the bathroom where she found herself pausing once again to stare with pleasure at the effect of green and cream tiles, thick cream-colored turkish towels, and pale jade marble tub and sink. It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to the beauty and comfort that money could provide. She’d grown up in her father’s opulent mansion; her playmates and friends all lived in similar wealthy homes. But there was something subtly different about Lazhar’s home. The deep jewel tones of the carpets were softly muted as if they had covered the teak and marble floors for years. The paintings of ladies and gentleman that hung on the walls bore a resemblance to one another and Emily suspected that they were Lazhar’s ancestors. The furnishings spoke of centuries of wealth and history yet conveyed a welcoming warmth that she’d never felt in her father’s oddly sterile mansion.