Sheikh's Desert Duty. Maisey Yates

innocent.”

      He turned away from her again, and continued walking down the corridor, and she took a deep breath, and went after him, doing her best to keep up. “Would you care to elaborate?”

      “Do I hear a hint of the journalist in your tone?”

      “You ought to. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

      “That, and you were essentially forced into coming.”

      “For the sake of my pride, let’s not speak of that.” Not that one really had any pride to speak of when one was tromping down the hall after a stranger in last night’s dress, trying not to twist an ankle on the uneven mosaic floor.

      “Well, then, for your pride.”

      “My pride thanks you,” she said, her tone dry.

      “Somehow I doubt it.”

      “I’m trying to make small talk,” she said.

      “Perhaps it’s best if you don’t.”

      It seemed that this area of the palace was deserted. Such a strange thing. Especially when she knew there had to be hundreds of members of staff and residents. Especially when the house she’d grown up in could easily fit inside one of the large antechambers.

      The cavernous, empty feel was kind of unsettling.

      They came to the end of the hallway and he stopped at a pair of double doors, inlaid with gold and jade. They were a stunning piece of art, rather than just a means of entry or exit.

      “This is your room.”

      He didn’t make a move to open the door, so she cautiously reached past him and pushed it open.

      Calling it a mere room was a grave disservice. It was a suite of rooms, with a plush seating area in front, and great pillars dividing it into sections, separating it from a raised bedroom area at the back. The bed was large and plush, swaths of fabric hanging from the ceiling, sweeping outward before being caught by an ornate golden canopy that guided the lush silk to the floor.

      To the right, through a domed entryway, she could see what looked like a bathing chamber. Not a mere bathroom, that was way too tame of a description for a room so grand, with what looked like a sunken bathtub that was larger than some backyard pools.

      Zayn turned to face her. “I trust you will find everything you need here. And if not, do not hesitate to ask a member of staff, or myself, for something that might make you more comfortable.”

      “A computer with internet?”

      He shook his head. “Anything but that.”

      “Satellite phone?”

      “You can’t have that, either.”

      She tapped her chin. “So when you said anything...”

      “I meant a cold drink, or shoes in a different size or color.”

      “Wait... Shoes?”

      He looked down at her feet, at the platform high heels that were starting to make her feel achy all the way up her calves. “I thought that you might be in need of something else to wear.”

      “Well, you’re not wrong. But did you seriously...buy clothes for me?”

      “I had my sister’s personal shopper do it, but yes.”

      “And how do you know what size I wear?”

      “I took a guess. And anything that doesn’t fit can be returned.”

      “You did not take a guess at what size my feet were.”

      He shrugged. “All right, I looked at the bottom of your shoe when you were sleeping on the couch in the plane. I could see the number. But your dress size I did take a guess on.”

      The thought of just what him guessing her dress size might entail sent a shiver through her. He would have had to look at her awfully closely. Taken visual measurements...

      She closed off that line of thinking, and quickly. “Well, indeed.”

      He inclined his head. “I will leave you now, you are formally invited to dinner tonight.”

      “And at dinner we discuss the scandal?”

      “All in good time.” Then he turned and walked from the room, leaving her standing there alone.

      She took a breath. No offer of shoes, or pretty clothes, could be allowed to distract her from what she was doing here, she had to remember that. The wedding was window dressing, the beauty of the palace was window dressing, everything but the Chatsfield scandal was window dressing.

      Isabelle had done so much for her. Without her, Sophie doubted she would’ve ever found her place at university. She doubted if she would have ever made friends at all. She certainly wouldn’t have her job at the Herald. More than that, Isabelle had been a true friend to her, regardless of where Sophie had come from. And that was something Sophie couldn’t put a price on.

      She owed her this now. Isabelle had been through enough at the hands of Spencer Chatsfield, and the idea of her losing The Harrington was inconceivable.

      She would not allow it. If she could play even a small part in preventing it from happening, she would.

      And she would not be distracted.

      Now, she just had to get cleaned up, and begin to feel human again. Then she could choose something to wear for dinner. She really hoped that there was something stunning in the closet. Because she had a feeling she would need it to feel confident. She had a feeling that interviewing Zayn would be a lot like going into battle.

      And that meant she needed to get her armor on.

      She went to the closet and examined the contents. Inside she saw a rainbow of fine fabrics, the lush textures denoting a quality that she could scarcely believe was at her fingertips. A quality that she was, frankly, almost afraid to put her fingertips on.

      The kinds of clothes she passed in a store with barely a glance because she knew she couldn’t afford them, and she always had a feeling the store employees knew it, too.

      She reached out and laid a hand on a dress that was a vibrant orange and an involuntary breath escaped her lips.