in?”
The king nodded. Everyone shifted position as several men with cameras entered the booth and began snapping pictures. Maggie found herself blinded. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, the king waved his hand and the men instantly stopped.
“There’s power,” she murmured to Qadir. “It really is good to be the king.”
“So I hear.”
He gave her a glass of champagne. She took a sip.
“What am I supposed to say when he asks me what I do?”
“Tell him the truth,” Qadir said.
Easy for him, she thought. He wasn’t a car mechanic. “He’s going to give me that look. The one that says I’m weird and that I should have gone for something more traditionally female.”
“He’s the king. He doesn’t do looks.”
“He’ll have the look. Trust me.”
Someone called Qadir away. Maggie eased into a corner and did her best to be invisible. She picked up a cracker with she wasn’t sure what on top and had just taken a bite when the king walked over.
“This is your first time at our theater?” he asked.
She chewed quickly then swallowed. “Um, yes. Sir. The building is stunning. I was admiring it when we came in. There’s something unique about the architecture.” Or was there? She swallowed again but not because of any food. “At least it seemed that way to me.”
“Early fifteenth century,” the king told her. “One of my ancestors built this small palace for a favorite mistress. He promised to build her something as beautiful as herself. When it was completed she claimed that no woman could live up to such beauty. But she accepted the palace anyway.”
Maggie grinned. “You have to respect a woman who enjoys real estate.”
As soon as the words were out, she wanted to stuff them back in her mouth. There were probably a thousand different ways for someone to interpret that comment and most of them were bad.
But before she could think about throwing herself off the nearby balcony, Mukhtar laughed. “An excellent observation, my dear. Very funny.”
She exhaled in relief. Time for a safer topic. “I’m looking forward to the performance tonight. I’ve heard most of the music from the show, but I’ve never seen it in person.” She thought about mentioning she’d seen the performance on PBS, but maybe he wouldn’t know what that was and she wasn’t sure he would find the explanation interesting.
“You are in for an experience,” the king said. “The music is compelling and touches one’s soul.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say to that. Fortunately the lights flickered. Qadir returned to her side and guided her to their seats.
“I did okay,” she whispered. “I didn’t say anything stupid to the king.”
Instead of answering, Qadir motioned to her right. She turned and saw Mukhtar sitting next to her.
She smiled tightly, then leaned to her left.
“You are so going to be punished for this later.”
Qadir, of course, only laughed.
The orchestra began playing. At first Maggie was so aware of the king seated close, she couldn’t relax. But eventually the story pulled her in. She found herself caught up in the events playing out on the spartan stage. When Javert killed himself, she felt tears in her eyes.
She did her best to blink them back, only to feel something soft pressing against her hand.
She looked down and saw a white handkerchief, then sniffed and looked at the man handing it to her.
“He was a good man facing an impossible choice,” Qadir murmured. “His soul could only handle so much before it ripped in two.”
She nodded without speaking, then wiped away her tears. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. She relaxed with his embrace, and felt safe for the first time in what seemed like forever.
Chapter Seven
Q adir stood by the office in the garage. It was his nature to take charge, to direct. Rather than give in to that need, he’d physically stepped back to let Maggie have control of the moment.
Gone was the
The king nodded. Everyone shifted position as several men with cameras entered the booth and began snapping pictures. Maggie found herself blinded. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, the king waved his hand and the men instantly stopped.
“There’s power,” she murmured to Qadir. “It really is good to be the king.”
“So I hear.”
He gave her a glass of champagne. She took a sip.
“What am I supposed to say when he asks me what I do?”
“Tell him the truth,” Qadir said.
Easy for him, she thought. He wasn’t a car mechanic. “He’s going to give me that look. The one that says I’m weird and that I should have gone for something more traditionally female.”
“He’s the king. He doesn’t do looks.”
“He’ll have the look. Trust me.”
Someone called Qadir away. Maggie eased into a corner and did her best to be invisible. She picked up a cracker with she wasn’t sure what on top and had just taken a bite when the king walked over.
“This is your first time at our theater?” he asked.
She chewed quickly then swallowed. “Um, yes. Sir. The building is stunning. I was admiring it when we came in. There’s something unique about the architecture.” Or was there? She swallowed again but not because of any food. “At least it seemed that way to me.”
“Early fifteenth century,” the king told her. “One of my ancestors built this small palace for a favorite mistress. He promised to build her something as beautiful as herself. When it was completed she claimed that no woman could live up to such beauty. But she accepted the palace anyway.”
Maggie grinned. “You have to respect a woman who enjoys real estate.”
As soon as the words were out, she wanted to stuff them back in her mouth. There were probably a thousand different ways for someone to interpret that comment and most of them were bad.
But before she could think about throwing herself off the nearby balcony, Mukhtar laughed. “An excellent observation, my dear. Very funny.”
She exhaled in relief. Time for a safer topic. “I’m looking forward to the performance tonight. I’ve heard most of the music from the show, but I’ve never seen it in person.” She thought about mentioning she’d seen the performance on PBS, but maybe he wouldn’t know what that was and she wasn’t sure he would find the explanation interesting.
“You are in for an experience,” the king said. “The music is compelling and touches one’s soul.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say to that. Fortunately the lights flickered. Qadir returned to her side and guided her to their seats.
“I did okay,” she whispered. “I didn’t say anything stupid to the king.”
Instead of answering, Qadir motioned to her right. She turned and saw Mukhtar sitting next to her.
She smiled tightly, then leaned to her left.
“You are so going to be punished for this later.”
Qadir, of course, only laughed.
The orchestra began playing. At first Maggie was so aware of the king seated close, she couldn’t relax. But eventually the story pulled her in. She found herself caught up in the events playing out on the spartan stage. When Javert killed himself, she felt tears in her eyes.
She did her best to blink them back, only to feel something soft pressing against her hand.
She looked down and saw a white handkerchief, then sniffed and looked at the man handing it to her.
“He was a good man facing an impossible choice,” Qadir murmured. “His soul could only handle so much before it ripped in two.”
She nodded without speaking, then wiped away her tears. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. She relaxed with his embrace, and felt safe for the first time in what seemed like forever.
Chapter Seven
Q adir stood by the office in the garage. It was his nature to take charge, to direct. Rather than give in to that need, he’d physically stepped back to let Maggie have control of the moment.
Gone was the
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