The Sheikh’s Accidental Heir(14)

Melanie’s stomach had jumped at those words. A part of her was hoping it was Ahmed’s other brother—or a cousin—who was getting married. But she had to face the truth—she might have been his last-minute fling. She needed to focus on the job, the money, and the fact that this was going to launch her company into being in demand by the wealthiest clients in the world. There was nothing but upside on this.

So why were her hands shaking worse than George’s had been?

Angie, Sid and Terry burst into the kitchen, chattering like the college students they had been up until a few months ago. George called them the Three Musketeers. They were her go-to team, and she clapped her hands, got their attention and put them to work.

Today, they had to prep three rounds of tester foods for the bride and groom—samples that would showcase options for the menu and confirm she could handle the job. Madam Zolest had said she’d be doing the first tasting before anything went out to the happy couple, and Zolest hadn’t sounded happy or confident that Melanie could deliver. She was going to blow Zolest out of the water.

Today it was all about hors d’oeuvres.

Sid was working on the spiced plantains, crispy fried bananas with a sweet curry spice, and an Allo Tika, spiced chicken done in a cube on a stick. Angie was making spicy tuna in a hand-rolled Miso seaweed cone, a seared Hamachi and fish tacos in wonton shells. Terry had the hard job—an array of wood-fired mini-pizzas, with toppings ranging from caviar to roasted vegetables. As a nod to tradition, Melanie was going to do a hand-held Shawarma—the lamb was almost done roasting and filled the kitchen with the aroma, and fresh pita that was cooling right now—and dates stuffed with a goat cheese, walnut and honey mixture. Those were already made and on a tray in a cooler to get them to the perfect temperature.

She stopped by the stations to see how everyone was doing. Sid flashed her a quick smile, Angie was biting her lower lip in concentration and Terry was humming—a good sign. Madam Zolest poked her head in twice, sniffed, frowned and left—maybe she wasn’t a lamb fan. When the samples were ready, Melanie gave the trays one last look—plating was as important as taste. Everything looked beautiful and smelled even better. Taking a deep breath, she had Sid and Terry pick up the tray and Angie held open the door. They headed into the dining room.

She’d seen it before—Madam Zolest had given her a blurry, fast tour. The palace seemed all white walls, a lot of marble, heavy portraits and gold leaf. The dining table could host a state dinner—meaning it would seat three hundred comfortably. But Melanie almost stumbled into a huge Chinese vase when Ahmed looked up from the table.

Next to him sat a woman in a black burka, her head covered but her face revealed—and she was beautiful. Exotic and beautiful, and Melanie suddenly felt skinny and far too much the tomboy she’d once been.

Ahmed was the groom.

She blinked. Her chest seemed too tight with a breath caught that she couldn’t dislodge. Her skin chilled, and the nausea lifted again. But she had a job to do. She pushed back her shoulders.

They hadn’t made promises to each other—it had been a fling.

She glanced at the bride. With her mouth turned down and her dark eyes snapping, the woman didn’t look happy. Just what was going on here?

Ahmed looked—well, he looked better than ever in a tailored suit and with his smooth, dark features. His seductive eyes held a gleam she didn’t trust. She put on a smile and concentrated on the professional demeanor she’d worked so hard to cultivate.

Melanie explained the samples as Sid and Terry served them. Her stomach churned and her heart pounded as she watched Ahmed and his fiancée try a bite of this or that.

Well, if her fling had gotten her this job, that was great. But if Ahmed thought they were going to keep things going while he got married, he was going to have a few things explained to him.

But this didn’t seem to be a happy couple.

The woman—Nasiji, Ahmed called her at one point—hated the fish, loved the Shawarma, and couldn’t make up her mind about the dates. Ahmed kept saying, “Whatever pleases you.” But his tone was such that it sounded more like he was running out of patience. Madam Zolest started to look more harried. No wonder, since this looked like a wedding about to blow up. What was going on?

Ahmed avoided looking at her now—and that was a good thing. She wanted the focus to be the food. But the polite bickering at the table—Nasiji managed to be difficult with passive-aggressive perfection, and Ahmed’s clipped tones were giving the wedding planner a heart attack—overwhelmed everything. Nothing was decided, and Madam Zolest excused Melanie and her staff with a nod and a wave of her hand.