His Queen by Desert Decree(34)

Molly smiled, whirling round to look at him to discover he was back in formal apparel, his hair covered, a pristine long white buttoned tunic teamed with a gold-braided cloak. ‘I’ll have a go at being your wife,’ she murmured. ‘But that’s the most I can promise.’

Dark golden eyes gleamed over her smiling face. ‘That you agree to try is enough.’





CHAPTER SEVEN

‘I JUST CAN’T believe you’re married,’ her friend Jan carolled, shaking her dark braided head as she cradled her newborn son, Robbie, on her lap. ‘Tell me everything.’

A week had passed since Molly had flown out of Djalia, travelling on a Djalian diplomatic passport. It had been a crazy busy week. She had settled her final bills, packed up her sparse possessions and had spent hours every day sitting with her grandfather, who sadly hadn’t once recognised her as family but had continually talked about how much her face reminded him of someone. In between times she had shopped and spent more money than she ever had for herself before, utilising the string of credit cards Azrael had given her before her departure. She had bought a summer wardrobe more suitable for Djalia’s climate as well as a wedding outfit.

‘I mean, the minute I read about you marrying him in the paper, I knew you must have met him while you were giving English lessons at that foreign embassy, but I can’t believe you never said anything to me... I saw you two months ago and you never once mentioned him!’ Jan complained. ‘You also never mentioned that you were planning a trip to his country.’

‘That opportunity came up unexpectedly,’ Molly admitted wryly.

‘I suppose you weren’t sure he was thinking of marriage and didn’t want to say anything in case nothing came of it. He’s a very good-looking guy,’ Jan proclaimed enviously. ‘I’m not surprised that you kept him to yourself—’

‘It all happened very fast,’ Molly interposed. ‘I’m not sure I can believe it’s really happening...the wedding, I mean.’

‘I think those three bodyguards waiting for you in my hall say it’s happening all right.’ Jan laughed. ‘Clearly, Azrael either wants to ensure that you’re safe everywhere you go or that you don’t run away! I hope you appreciate that I didn’t say a word to the journalists when I was approached. You only worked for my cleaning firm part-time but I didn’t see that was anyone’s business but yours, and when I was asked about your family background I said they had all passed away before I even met you.’

‘Thanks but you needn’t have worried,’ Molly replied ruefully. ‘It’s this wretched hair. Someone recognised me from the photographs that were taken at the airport and phoned up the newspaper to say that I was a cleaner on the night shift where they worked. I wasn’t prepared for the cameras the day I arrived home and I looked such a mess—’

‘No, you didn’t. You simply looked surprised that anyone would bother taking a picture of you!’ Jan giggled. ‘But, Molly, you’re going to be a queen...of course the press is interested in who you are and where you came from.’

‘Let’s hope they don’t dig up any of my stepmother’s relatives or I’ll be christened a wild devil child,’ Molly groaned, grateful for the reality that the bodyguards Azrael had insisted travel with her kept the press at a safe distance.

‘It’s the Cinderella story, the rags-to-riches dream that draws them,’ Jan commented, shaking her head. ‘But I’m not sure I could face living in a foreign country for the rest of my days and, by all accounts, Djalia is a pretty backward place—’

‘No, it’s a country on the brink of transformation,’ Molly corrected without hesitation.

‘The women I saw in photographs were wearing ankle-length dresses,’ Jan protested in an aghast tone of voice.

‘Only because the former dictator imposed a modest dress code on women. Now the female population simply need access to shops to buy modern clothes. There’s a lot of work to be done in opening up the retail trade,’ Molly told her.

‘You sound like a politician,’ Jan whispered in dismay.

‘No, it’s not that. Azrael asked one of the diplomats to make up prompt sheets for me on the sort of facts I should know about Djalia and I’ve been memorising them and now my head is buzzing with all this random information,’ Molly confided ruefully.

‘He gives you prompt sheets the week before your wedding? Who is this guy?’

‘He was only trying to help me,’ Molly parried, registering in surprise that she had become very protective of Azrael. ‘If I get asked questions, I don’t want to talk nonsense now that I’m supposed to be representing Djalia with him.’