Princess Sana bint Rashid Al-Hadid had disappeared from public life more than a year ago.
Regina gathered what stories she could about Sana from the princess’s former friends, who more often than not were afraid to speak Sana’s name. When they did talk about her, they said she’d been a party girl, but now she was in prayerful seclusion. Then they would quickly change the subject to anything else.
CIA intelligence was thin on details, too. Princess Sana had written articles and posts denouncing her country’s leadership and calling out its hidden cruelty, especially toward women. Regina never found pictures of a party girl, just someone enjoying life, but she did find one of Sana at a protest only a couple of days before she ‘decided’ to forgo her so-called party girl life.
My kind of girlGina thought as she turned and grabbed the silk trenchcoat she hoped would hide her outfit until she escaped her parents’ watchful eyes. She’d told them she was attending the party—everyone was, insulting not to—but she didn’t want them catching on to her plan. She’d promised to step back and focus instead on her plans to return to the states and pursue a graduate degree in art history.
As if.
But if they saw her in this getup, they’d know she still had the prince on her hook and was playing him for more information.
Regina slipped back out of her heels and walked barefoot down the hallway toward the front door, past her parents’ suites before slipping her shoes back on. She’d made it all the way to the front door, hand on the knob, when her mother’s voice stopped her.
“Going out, Regina?” Such a casual tone.
Caught. Gina fixed a smile on her face, brightened her eyes, and turned. Her mother was already dressed for the occasion herself, in a gold lamé floor-length dress that complimented her golden eyes—a color that Regina had inherited.
“I am. To the prince’s party, just like I told you. It’s on my calendar, same as yours.”
“Aren’t you early?” Her mother pretended to consult a clock on a nearby table. “Your father and I aren’t planning to leave for at least another hour.”
“I’m going to the pre-party,” Gina said smoothly, trying to resist pulling the trenchcoat tighter around her. “Nijah invited me, said it would be a dance party ahead of the main one.”
“Dance party?”
Gina shrugged. “You know Malik likes Western dance parties.” She bit her tongue just before addingRashid won’t be there. Too much. “He wants a chance to have one before the formal party, which will be much more…formal.”
Ugh. She always did this under her mother’s stare. Despite her best attempts, she spilled more than she wanted to, stumbled over her words just to fill the silence.
Her mother nodded. “Nijah invited you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“How long has this pre-party been in the works?”
“Three.”
Another nod. Regina could practically hear the gears turning in her mother’s head, weighing how much of what her daughter told her was true, how much was embellished, and how she could turn the situation to her favor. Regina did everything she could not to touch her hair—one of the things she knew always gave her away. She kept her body still but not too still, held eye contact without staring, and studied her mother for any of her rare tells—looking off to the left, shifting her weight, sucking in her cheeks.
Nothing. Mom was playing it close to the vest tonight.
Regina broke first. “Car’s waiting. May I go now?”
Her mother smiled indulgently. “But of course. You’re twenty-two, not two.”
“Thank you.” Regina turned with relief and grabbed the door handle again.
“Just one little thing.”
Oh no. Regina froze without turning.
“Don’t get…comfortable here, darling.”
Regina’s spine went straight. “Comfortable?”
