Desert Rose

Shopping

It had been a couple of days of wedding planning before we finally secured an appointment at a bridal boutique. I met Aunty Anjali at the bottom of the grand staircase, where she was fussing with her reflection in the mirror, tugging at her headscarf to hide the rebellious wisps of hair that refused to stay tucked away.

I had gone for an old‑school Hollywood look — a black silk scarf wrapped around my head like Audrey Hepburn, paired with oversized aviator sunglasses. Together, we were heading to Riyadh to visit Pronovias, the boutique Fatima had circled in red marker and decorated with hearts in her notes. It wasn’t Kleinfeld’s, but it would have to do.

“This place is very elegant,” Anjali murmured as we stepped inside, running her hand along the dark oak counter. “Maybe… too elegant.”

She worried I’d end up with a boring wedding dress. We’d been debating styles for days, unable to agree.

A woman with a warm smile approached us. “Good morning, ladies. My name is Nadia, and I’ll be helping you today. The Sheikh rented out the boutique for the entire day, so I’m certain you’ll both walk out with a dress you adore.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Nadia,” I said. “I know this is short notice.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she replied. “Since it’s just us girls, why don’t you remove your headscarves? It will help you visualize how you’ll look on your wedding day. I’ll bring us some refreshments.”

We settled onto a settee and helped each other unwind our scarves. Nadia returned with a tray of champagne flutes filled with pale golden liquid, flecked with apple slices and mint.

I took a sip and blinked. Definitely not champagne.

Nadia laughed at our expressions. “You’re drinking Saudi champagne — apple juice, sparkling water, and mint.”

“I love it,” Anjali said. “Like a gentler kombucha.”

“It’s refreshing,” I agreed, savoring the cool fizz.

Nadia leaned forward. “Now that we’re comfortable, let’s begin. What type of wedding dress do you have in mind?”

I hesitated. “I’m stuck between two choices. Something sweet and princessy… safe, traditional. Or one of those sexier mermaid gowns. That’s the kind of dress I’ve always imagined myself in.”

Anjali clapped her hands. “Obviously, you know which one I vote for. Zahra, you’ve got it — flaunt it. It’s so your style.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure Amir’s family will love that,” I said sarcastically.

“It’s your big day,” she insisted. “You’re already giving up so much. Wear the dress you want.”

Nadia smiled. “Both styles are lovely. I know exactly which two gowns will be perfect.”

She led me to the dressing room and helped me into the first gown — a full princess ballgown of heavy French satin, sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline and a seed‑pearl bodice. A ribbon belt tied into a bow cinched my waist.

“So, how do you feel?” Nadia asked.

I studied my reflection. The gown was beautiful, and I think I looked acceptable in it, but I felt nothing.

Behind me, Anjali yawned loudly.

“It’s comfortable,” I said weakly.

“Boring,” she countered.

I shot her a look. “I guess I didn’t need sunglasses when I have you to throw shade all day.”

“You don’t want to Meghan Markle your wedding dress, do you?” she teased.

I gasped. “Her dress was elegant! Royal!”

“Royally boring,” she muttered, loud enough for us all to hear.

Nadia stepped in smoothly. “How would you rate it out of ten?”

“Seven or eight,” I admitted.

“You’re not leaving here until you rate a dress a ten,” she said firmly, smiling.

I laughed. “No, ma’am.”

“Then let’s try dress number two.”

She helped me out of the gown and into the next. This one fit like a glove. I stepped before the mirror, twirled, and felt my eyes mist.

The mermaid gown hugged my curves, its bodice overlaid with gold German lace. Off‑the‑shoulder sleeves mirrored the lace pattern that trailed into the gown’s train. A gold‑embellished belt tied the look together.

“This is… really beautiful,” I whispered.

And it was. I felt glamorous, confident — almost like the version of myself I’d always imagined walking down the aisle. But something tugged at me. A hesitation I couldn’t name.

Anjali tilted her head. “You like it, but you don’t love it.”

I sighed. “I don’t know. It’s a nine. Maybe a nine‑and‑a‑half. But it doesn’t feel like the dress.”

Nadia’s eyes lit up with an idea. “I mean no offense to the two of you, but you are of Indian descent, correct?”

“No offense taken. But yes, we’re both from Goa, India.” I advise, wondering where she might be going with this.

“If you’ll allow me… I have a third option. One of my regular clients is a huge Bollywood fan. Because of her, I keep a small collection of saris and lehengas on hand. Would you be open to trying something different?”

My heart fluttered. “A lehenga? Here?”

Anjali clasped her hands. “Yes! Zahra, that would be stunning.”

Nadia disappeared into the back and returned carrying a breathtaking red lehenga embroidered with intricate gold thread. The skirt shimmered with every movement, and the matching choli was adorned with delicate beadwork. A sheer dupatta completed the ensemble.

My breath caught. “It’s beautiful.”

“Try it,” Nadia urged.

She helped me into the outfit, adjusting the dupatta over my shoulder. When I stepped in front of the mirror, the world seemed to still.

The red glowed against my skin. The gold embroidery caught the light like fire. I felt regal, powerful, rooted — like every woman in my family stood behind me.

Anjali covered her mouth. “Zahra… you look like a queen.”

Emotion swelled in my chest. “This is it,” I whispered. “Ten out of ten.”

Nadia smiled warmly. “Then we’ve found your dress.”

She smiled. “This dress was meant for you. Now, let’s find something for your maid of honor.”

Even though Anjali initially showed some interest in the lehengas, she decided to be less traditional. She eventually chose a pastel blue one‑shoulder cocktail dress, loose and flowing, adorned with diagonal silk flowers. She looked every inch the ethereal flower child turned into woman that she was.

It was a successful trip.

“Lunch in town?” she suggested.

“No, we should head back to the palace,” I said. “We still have to call the venue, finalize the guest list, and start seating arrangements. Sensitive family dynamics that we need to avoid…”

She sighed. “Fine, let’s go.”

When we returned, the palace buzzed with unusual activity. I flagged down a servant.

“Is everything okay? Everyone seems busier than usual.”

“The Sheikh received a visitor today,” he explained. “We’re preparing an elaborate dinner in their honor. He asked that you see them as soon as you returned.”

Anjali groaned. “I’m getting lunch in the kitchens and then a nap. You go have fun with Amir and the mysterious visitor.”

I asked the servant to guide me to Amir’s study. Laughter spilled from behind the door, two male voices booming before quieting again.

I knocked lightly. “Amir, I’m back from wedding dress shopping…”

Stepping inside, I froze.

Sitting comfortably in a burgundy leather wing‑back chair was my cousin — Bodhi Cardozo.