The Greek Billionair's Marriage Matchmaker(22)

Anita's heart sunk. The men didn't have a reservation. Even if she  hadn't already taken a look at the reservation book and made note of all  of the large parties due to arrive that night, she'd have known it:  there were no tables available that would seat even half this number.



She strode resolutely towards the hostess stand, clearing her throat for  the tense conversation that she was inevitably about to have. As she  did, she saw one of the men in traditional attire walking up to greet  her. Anita gave him an acknowledging smile, and he gave her an overly  wide one in return, and she had the passing thought that they were like  knights, greeting each other before a joust.



"Good evening, miss," he said. There was something about the way he said  the word "miss" that Anita didn't like, but she let it pass-if she got  annoyed at every condescending thing a customer said to her, she  wouldn't be long for the hospitality world.



"It's certainly a busy one, sir," she replied, as calmly as she could  and with as big a smile as she could muster. "Do you have a  reservation?"



The man lost steam for a second, when faced with her smiling,  ready-to-refuse demeanor, which Anita took as a personal victory. But it  was only for an instant, then he gathered his self-importance around  him like a cloud, and blustered through it.



"We don't, but I'm sure that you can find someone who has finished  enjoying their dinner for the night," he said. As he spoke, he subtly  slipped two hundred-dollar bills across the stand towards her.



Anita caught her breath, but tried not to show how impressive the size  of his attempted bribe was to her. She redoubled her smile, and slid the  bills back towards him.



"Sir," she said, "here in the United States, it is only customary to tip  waitresses at the end of the meal. Also, we are not in the habit of  rushing anyone through their evening. But if you could wait-"



She tried to get her sentence out, but the man interrupted her. He did  it quietly, so that the rest of his party wouldn't hear, but the furious  urgency of his words made Anita unintentionally lean back from the  hostess stand.



"Do you know who that is?" he said, jerking his thumb in the direction  of the only member of the party wearing a suit rather than traditional  garb. "That is Sheikh Hakim al Kamal bin Masfari, heir to the throne of  Az Kajir. And you should thank your lucky stars that he wishes to eat at  your restaurant. So I suggest," he looked down at her nametag, "Anita,  that you see that he has a table at which to do so."



She didn't answer right away. She just stared at him with a placid  smile, trying to show him that his words had no effect. Inside, her  heart was pounding.



"As I was trying to say, sir," she said finally. "If you and the Sheikh  could wait a few minutes, I think I may have a solution."



Her shock-proof façade appeared to have been successful, and the man nodded uncertainly. That would have to be good enough.



Anita took off at a quick walk, scanning the room for the busboys.



"Are you busy?" she asked them, and both of them gave her a look that  said they'd roll their eyes if they weren't being asked by the boss'  daughter.



"OK, right. Fair enough. But I need a few minutes of your time. The  outside dining area in the alley, how close is that to being finished?"         

     



 



There was a short one, and a tall one, and their names were Mark and  Darryl, but she could never quite remember which was which, since she  interacted with them so rarely.



"They've got the cobblestones done, and the wrought-iron barriers. But  no tables or decorations yet, and the shade canopy hasn't been  installed."



Anita nodded, a smile spreading across her face. "Ok, great. Close  enough. I'm going to seat this party out there. Mark, go grab the long  table from the staff room, and some of the extra guest chairs we've got  stacked in the store room. Darryl, go get some of the plants from my  dad's office. Just the big ones, though."



She nodded her head as they ran off. This would work. It had to.



She braced herself for the go-between's reaction as she returned to the  hostess stand and explained to him that his party would be eating in the  alley. He took the news about as well as Anita had expected.



He was still trying to hiss at her-to keep his voice low enough to  escape notice from his employer-but his rage was too pronounced. "This  kind of disrespect is unacceptable. It's no wonder: we should have known  better than to visit a restaurant from Al-Dali!"



He spat the name of her home country like an insult, and it was all that Anita could do to keep her professional composure.



"Ahmed, a little class, please."



Anita's eyes shot to the source of the cool, smooth voice that had  interrupted the man's rant. It was a firm censure, but a kind one.



Anita felt her mouth drop open as she looked up at the man who had issued it.



The Sheikh was a tall man, with an impeccable bespoke suit and a  precisely-trimmed beard. His hair looked tousled, but Anita couldn't  tell whether that was intentionally planned, or whether he was just  naturally blessed with hair that fell in that attractive wavy style.



"I'm sorry," he said. "Ahmed gets a little wound up sometimes. We  certainly do not mean to disrespect your establishment, or your country.  Al-Dali is our closest neighbor, and the moment I heard there was a  restaurant from there in Houston I just couldn't resist the opportunity  to have a meal from so close to home."



He paused, and Anita tried to search for something clever or endearing  to say. But she was too busy looking at his eyes. They seemed kind and  inviting, even as his appearance, his status, and his whole entourage  said reserved and cold.



"We must have neglected to make a reservation in our haste to eat here.  You have my apologies for that. Of course, we would be grateful for a  table wherever or whenever you can fit us in."



Anita nodded dumbly a few times before she found her voice. "Thank you,  sir. Yes, of course. We just need a few minutes to prepare your table."



She swallowed hard and sped away from the hostess' station, hoping like  hell she'd come off half as smooth, calm and collected as he had.





TWO





Royalty!



The full reality of the situation hit Anita as she climbed the stairs. A  real prince! A Sheikh, even! Here, at her family's restaurant!



She had known that a Middle-Eastern royal family was involved in the oil  fields about town. They had had a presence in Houston for a long time,  and had apparently been gaining more and more ground lately. Patrons  would occasionally ask Anita if her family was linked to theirs, and her  answer had always been that they couldn't even be from the same  country-Al-Dali didn't even have a royal family.



As she climbed the stairs to the apartment she and her father shared  above the restaurant, she started wishing she'd done a little more  research. The Sheikh had to be in Houston for business, and it wasn't  that unbelievable that he would be wanting a meal that tasted of home,  but still …



Her train of thought was momentarily interrupted as she scanned the  living room, looking for the box of Christmas decorations that her  father had been meaning to put in the attic for months.



"There it is!" she said aloud when she saw it, and then looked around as  though worried someone could have heard her, talking to herself in the  empty apartment. Royalty had her on edge, it seemed.         

     



 



She tried to tell herself, as she rifled through the box and found a  string of white fairy lights, that she should treat this party no  different from any other. She should make an effort to treat the Sheikh  as normally as possible. That was what younger royals wanted, these  days, right?



And he had seemed so approachable! It wasn't that he had seemed  embarrassed at the awkwardness of his station, and how insistent his  go-between had been. He didn't seem like a man who was even capable of  embarrassment, and yet he had been all smooth apologies. A man like that  surely wouldn't want to be treated like anything other than a regular  customer.



Well, she thought, as she hurried down the stairs and back into the restaurant, she would certainly try.



When she reached the back patio, Anita smiled to herself. The staff  table was a long, rustic affair, in solid wood. She was lucky, she  thought, that since Fadi had made this table, not long after the  restaurant first opened, styles had circled around so much that it was  now once again the height of fashion. The mismatched chairs looked good  around it, too, and the plants filled in the empty space between the  table, which the busboys were even now hurriedly setting, and the  wrought-iron barriers that separated the patio seating from the alley  around it.



The busboys had taken some initiative and broken out a few of the tea  lights they kept in the back, forming a flickering line of flames down  the center of the table. Anita made a mental note to tell her father  they'd done well tonight.