good. They didn’t have to wait, but were immediately led to a private table in an alcove.
“Thank you so much for joining us this evening, Prince Qadir,” the hostess said, eyeing Maggie with obvious confusion. “I hope you enjoy your dinner.”
The young woman nodded, then left.
Maggie shifted uncomfortably, wanting to explain that she wasn’t
Still feeling out of place, Maggie picked up the leather-bound menu. As she did, she bumped one of the three different wine glasses set at her place. There was also a waterglass and an assortment of flatware, some of which she didn’t recognize. Couldn’t they have gone for a burger instead?
She opened the menu and stared at the pages and pages of choices.
“Do you have a preference for the wine?” Qadir asked. “French, Spanish, Italian? They also have an excellent selection from California, Washington, Australia and Chile.”
“Whatever you would like is fine with me,” she murmured, knowing she could never admit that the last time she’d had wine, it had been poured from a very lovely box purchased at Target.
She returned her attention to the menu, determined to pick something, but the words all blurred. She couldn’t do this-she didn’t belong here.
She looked up and found Qadir watching her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Pretty much everything.”
He surprised her by smiling. “If it is as awful as all that, then we have many areas where we can improve.”
At least
“I have not.” He took the menu from her hands and set it on top of his. “You are unfamiliar with the circumstances. This will get easier.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me order for you. Do you have any food dislikes?”
This was a fancy restaurant. The possibilities for disaster were endless. “I’d just like something normal. Nothing squishy like sea urchin, or gross like pate.”
“Very well. How about roast chicken with vegetables?”
“I could do that.”
“Then that is what I will order.”
A waiter appeared. He barely glanced at Maggie before bowing low to Qadir and thanking the prince for choosing the restaurant. A fast-paced conversation followed with wine chosen, entrees, salads and either appetizers or desserts picked. Maggie didn’t recognize the names, so she couldn’t be sure which.
The waiter left. Seconds later another man arrived with a bottle of white wine, along with a free-standing ice bucket. The wine was opened, tasted, pronounced excellent and poured. The second man left as quickly as the first.
“One can’t complain about the service,” Maggie murmured as Qadir lifted his glass. She took hold of hers and raised it, as well.
“To new beginnings,” he said. “Let us give them a chance.”
“A sneaky toast.” Still, she touched her glass to his, then took a sip.
The wine was nice. Light and maybe crisp. She didn’t really know the right terms. She knew she liked it and that she would probably faint if she knew how much it cost.
“Perhaps this will go more easily if we get to know each other better,” he said, looking at her over his glass. “Tell me about your family.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she admitted. “I’m an only child. My mom died when I was a baby. Dad always kept pictures of her around, but I don’t remember her. It was just the two of us.” She smiled. “I didn’t mind. I couldn’t miss what I’d never had and my father was great. He was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known. He took me with him everywhere, which is where I learned about cars. I grew up playing around them. I got in the way constantly, but then I learned how to help. It was a lot of fun. I learned math by helping with invoices. My dad made everything fun.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was. He cared about people and loved his work. We lived in a typical middle-class neighborhood. The houses were all the same and the kids played together. I was never into dolls or playing house. I was out with the boys. That was fine when I was young, but became a problem later. I didn’t fit in either place.”
She still remembered the horrible summer when she’d started to get curves. As minor as they were, they still made her feel as if she didn’t fit in with the guys who had always been her friends.
“Feeling out of place made me hang out at the garage even more. It was the only place I felt comfortable.”
She took another sip of wine. “Things got a little better in high school. I started seeing boys as something other than friends and they didn’t seem to mind that I knew more about cars than they did. I never got really close to any of the girls, though.”
She’d tried a few times, but hadn’t known what to talk about. Makeup and clothes didn’t interest her and she’d been too shy to admit to her crushes-a conversation point that might have allowed her to bond with the female half of the population.
“I would think the girls were jealous,” Qadir said.
Maggie laughed. “I wish, but no. Then I started dating Jon. He lived next door. We’d been friends for years. One day I looked at him and everything was different. He asked me out and that was it. Being a couple allowed me to fit in. He was good to me. My dad liked him. We were together all through high school and while he went to college.”
“Your relationship ended recently?”
“A few months ago.”
Qadir studied her. “You are still in love with him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m not,” Maggie said quickly, knowing it was true. “I miss him. He was my best friend forever. It was hard losing my dad, then Jon. I miss belonging and having someone to talk to. But I’m not in love with him.”
Which made her behavior that night even more unforgivable.
Stop thinking about it, she told herself. Especially here, with Qadir.
Qadir didn’t look convinced so she decided to change the subject. “What about your past?” she asked. “Yours must be more exciting, what with your being a prince and all. Don’t women throw themselves at you wherever you go? Doesn’t it get tricky, stepping over all those bodies?”
“It can be tiresome,” he admitted, his eyes bright with humor.
She leaned toward him. “I want details.”
“There aren’t any of interest.”
“No great love lurking in your past?” she asked before she remembered the mention of the mysterious woman the night she’d arrived.
Qadir picked up his wine, then put it down. “When I was very young-still in university-I met someone. Her name was Whitney.”
“Was she from here?”
“England. I went to university there, although I did some graduate work in the States.” He shrugged. “She was lovely. Smart, determined. She wanted to be a doctor. We fell in love. I brought her home to meet my father. I thought everything had gone well, but when we returned to England, she told me she couldn’t marry me. She wasn’t willing to give up her dreams to be my wife.” He glanced at Maggie. “There are…restrictions that come with being a member of the royal family.”
Made sense, she thought. “Whitney wouldn’t have been able to practice medicine.”
“Among other things. She’s now in her final year of residency,” he said. “She’s a pediatric neurosurgeon.”
Something that never would have happened if she’d married Qadir. “You still miss her.”
