Protecting His Princess. C.J. Miller
marketplace was flooded with hundreds, if not thousands, of people. The CIA had told Laila to assume she was always being watched. It left her with an eerie feeling. She hadn’t considered that Mikhail would place surveillance devices in the guest rooms. If she did anything wrong, anything out of place, it could be reported to her oldest brother and put her status with Mikhail in jeopardy. Laila didn’t believe her brother held much regard for her, but at the best, he was indifferent. Earning his displeasure risked the operation.
Harris slipped on his dark sunglasses. For someone who looked foreign, he blended remarkably well.
“How are you enjoying yourself so far?” Laila asked him. Though he wasn’t visiting for pleasure, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, she wanted Harris to have something good to say about her country. Wanted him to see the beauty around them. Most of what he knew about the country might be negative, but the emir’s possible relationship with a terrorist didn’t describe the country as a whole.
“Things are going well so far. How are you feeling?” he asked. He glanced at her and then returned to looking around the crowd, strolling slowly through the cobblestone streets. They skirted around a fenced-in area containing herd animals.
The driver stayed close behind them. Laila wished he would give them space or at least pretend as if he wasn’t hanging on to every word they spoke to each other.
Her nerves were wound, but overall, she was fine. “It’s nice to be home. I’ve missed my mom and my family. I love my life in America, but when I’m there, I’m aware I’m a foreigner.”
Harris nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean. Whenever I travel abroad, it’s not only how I look that makes me stand out from the locals. It’s not knowing the customs and culture. I feel like I make insulting mistakes.” With the exception of a brief time in her room, he hadn’t dropped his German accent for a moment since they’d arrived. How did he stay perfectly in character? She felt as if she needed to check every word that left her mouth to be sure she wasn’t blowing their cover.
“Do you have anything you’re looking for specifically? I can take you to the best shops with the nicest wares. I know an antique dealer who sells some unique pieces.” Was he eyeing something in particular for his mission?
“I read that the marketplace is the perfect location to shop for perfumes and carpets. My family might like a few local specialties as gifts. And of course, I’ll need something for your mother.”
It would make a good impression that Harris had gotten her mother a gift. “My mother is a practical woman. She won’t expect anything elaborate.” Anything too elaborate and Mikhail would take possession of it. She and Harris had discussed purchasing a gift for her mother before leaving the United States. If she and Harris were to become engaged, a gift of equal measure to Laila’s social status would be expected from him to her family. Since their relationship was a sham, Laila didn’t think putting the CIA through an additional expense made sense. By the time it became important for Harris to give Laila’s family a lavish gift, the ruse would be up. For now, a thoughtful trinket was best.
“I’ll let you give me guidance on what to get your mom. In my country, flowers and wine are appropriate. I’m guessing there’s another protocol here.” A man walking in the opposite direction bumped her, and her shoulder brushed Harris’s.
Harris reached to steady her, his hands on her for only a moment, but it was heated enough to sear her to the core. “Are you all right?” he asked, shooting an annoyed look in the direction of the man who’d jolted her.
Laila wished she had brought a hand fan. It was too hot. The souk was crowded, and without the wind blowing, it was stuffy and confining. She wouldn’t focus on how it felt to touch Harris. “I’m fine. I’m thinking my mom might like a small piece of artwork, like a statue or a landscape painting. One of her hobbies is painting scenery. Or maybe a set of worry beads.” Her father had several worry beads he’d gotten at important dates in his life, among them when he’d become emir, when he’d married Laila’s mother and when each of his three children was born. To continue the tradition and have Harris present her mother with a set to mark the occasion of their meeting would have significance to her mother.
In the event her mother grew to like Harris, she would be disappointed when she learned Harris and Laila’s relationship was fake. Perhaps the worry beads and her mother forming any connection to Harris were a mistake. Before she could make another suggestion, Harris answered.
“That sounds great. We can also look for something for my mother and two sisters-in-law. I’ve heard the perfumes here are the best. I think they would get a thrill out of a special perfume.”
Laila had known the stakes before she’d agreed to this. Being in Qamsar was harder than she’d imagined. She reassured herself that her deception was only required for a short time, and she was doing the right thing for her country and her family.
Harris was talking like a tourist. She had assumed he had a secondary motivation for coming to the souk. Maybe she’d been wrong. She’d been anticipating a cloak-and-dagger routine. “I know a shop that sells amazing scents. I’ll let you know when we get there.”
They were beckoned to a jewelry stall. “You wish to buy something for your beautiful lady?” the vendor asked, holding out a few necklaces for Harris to see.
Harris turned to her. “See anything you like?”
He wanted to buy her something? It wasn’t necessary. Or was this part of the role he was playing: rich German heir? Would the girlfriend of such a man decline the gift, or would she be so accustomed to being spoiled that accepting would be natural?
Laila was overthinking. She wasn’t pretending to be anyone. She was herself. “You don’t need to buy me anything, Harris. But thank you.”
“I have beautiful gold bracelets. They would look lovely on your lady,” the vendor pressed.
“She’s already lovely,” Harris said.
The compliment tickled her insides. The vendor held a gold bangle bracelet with silver threading in the shape of ivy wrapping around the gold.
Laila gasped. It was a beautiful piece. “This reminds me of a ring that belonged to my great-great-grandmother. This has the same ivy pattern set against the gold.”
“If we can work out a price, I’ll take it,” Harris said.
Laila whirled to him in surprise. “You don’t need to buy that.”
Harris negotiated with the vendor and smiled when they struck a deal. He turned and presented it to Laila. “I saw how you looked at it. You can wear it to your brother’s wedding. It’s my special gift to you.”
She slipped the bracelet over her hand onto her wrist and secured the safety clasp. “Thank you. This is nice of you and unexpected.” It was the first piece of jewelry, or any gift she had received from a man she wasn’t related to. “You didn’t have to buy this.”
Harris lifted a brow at her. “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. Is there a place where you’d like to stop for a few moments to get something to eat? I’d like to look around on my own. You can stay with the driver.”
Laila glanced at the driver standing a step away, watching Laila with annoyance in his eyes. Was he irritated he had been sent to babysit her, or did he have some personal problem with her?
“Maybe we should stay together,” Laila said. Was Harris safe alone?
“Perhaps I should take you to see your mother first, and then return?” he asked.
Stash her somewhere first? Was what he needed to do that dangerous? What if something happened to him? How would anyone know? He could disappear in the country and never be heard from again.
“I’d like to stay together,” she said. She should go along with whatever he said. It had been the plan when leaving the United States, but now she was worried about him.
Harris