Shorts

Caroline and the Prince

And how does a girl like me end up like this?

Well.... Let’s see, it all started when my high school sweetheart, football playing, hunk of the month, executive husband decided to get his slut of a secretary pregnant instead of me! The divorce was swift and nasty, I got a very nice settlement out of it. But I lost everything else.  I hadn't had a job in the 3 years we were married because HIS wife wouldn't work. HIS wife would do lady things just like his mother. And more fool me I did. I played the society bride, charity lunches, cocktails on the terrace with the ladies of the tennis club. Manicures and hair stylists. Yoga lessons and exclusive country club. And a house that made Tara look bijou.

And suddenly, nothing. A little condo on the nice executive part of town while he's in the hills playing happy families.

And as it turns out I don't have any friends either, because they were all friends with his family’s status and money. Once it was clear that I was no longer a member of the family I was no longer a member of their circle.

I need an out! I need a job!

WANTED: Personal Assistant. 18-24, must be able to travel, will require relocation, immediate start. email XXXXXXX

So, I did. I trimmed my age down a fraction, I look good for nearly 30 thanks to the yoga and the swimming and the tennis club and the personal trainer. I attached a basic CV, explained that as I have no ties to the community, I am happy to travel and relocate. And I waited for a reply.

Dear Madam,

Thank you for your application for the post of Personal Assistant. We would like to invite you to a Zoom interview:  Mr Fazil will be asking questions on behalf of the client.

And the details.

So, I dress up a bit, put on a face full of make-up, do my hair and make sure enough of the condo is in the background to look posh.

Mr Fazil is a handsome guy with light skin and dark hair. We discuss everything from the divorce, my education level, my father's passing from cancer and my mother's death just 6 months later from a broken heart. Looking back, I must have sounded perfect, no friends, no family, no one to really care if they never heard from me again. Plus, I was good looking and over all I was eager to jet off into the unknown. The perfect mark for him. But for some reason I guessed they didn't want someone with nous and brains, so I played the bimbo. Nor did I tell him that thanks to my farther being a military attaché we had travelled the world while I grew up. I speak, English, French, Spanish and Arabic fluently, Some of the African languages enough, Italian and German ok and perhaps enough of most other languages to get a coffee and a train ticket. You’d think I'd want him to know this as a personal assistant but he never asked and I didn't want to scare him off offering me the post - i***t!

When I received information a week or two later asking if I would be happy to take a trial 6 months in the post I was thrilled. They would send a private jet to collect me, all I needed was my passport and my suitcase. The condo lease was nearly up anyway. It had come fully furnished and apart from my wardrobe I had added almost nothing to the place. I packed up my smartest designer clothes and shoes, booked a cab and was at the private airfield early the day of the departure.

The jet was amazing, more like a flying luxury lounge than a plane. The crew were all beautiful girls and had such perfect makeup and clothes. My eyes must have shone with innocent happiness. Mr Fazil himself was there, offering me his personal assurance that whatever I had heard about travelling to some parts of the world I was not to worry. I would be well guarded. The jet would take 6 hours to make the flight, I chatted to Mr Fazil, read a book and when my lunch was served, I enjoyed a beautiful 3 course meal. The mineral water served tasted salty, like the seltzer taste of soda water rather than the crisp taste of mineral. But maybe that was the altitude or something. I quickly fell asleep happy in the knowledge that I would soon be exploring a whole new world.

The pain when I woke was excruciating. In fact, it was so bad I didn't want to try to open my eyes, I knew that would make it much, much worse. Everything hurt, my whole body hurt, my teeth and nose felt like I'd had my whole face smashed in. Even my hair hurt. My eyes burned inside my head and when I tried to crack one eye open, I realised it was bandaged up. I couldn't see anything. Around me were the swish of medical equipment and the rhythmic beep of a pulse machine. I could feel the drips and IV's entering both arms. What happened?? did the plane crash??? I tried to swallow but my throat was so dry it physically hurt to try.

Voices approach, they are speaking Arabic: "I assume everything went well?" Mr Fazil?? Went well? Is he ok?? did he not get hurt in the crash? I'm about to try to call out to him when the second voice answers:

"Yes, everything went well: A mini face lift, nose job, new teeth veneers, a shape and lift as well as a size up on her boobs, tummy tuck and lipo on thighs and bum, along with corrective laser eye. You won't recognise her!" Laughter "And she's on a high dose of morphine at the moment, add in some oxy later and she'll be hooked!"

Who are they talking about? Did they mean me? Have they done plastic surgery on me? Why?? Ugh!! Everything hurts..... Wait.... Morphine? Oxy? Hooked?? They want me to be a junkie? I think for a minute, Everything of the last few weeks swirls around in my head.  OH f**k!!! I'm not here for a personal assistant job. Personal maybe - job no. I have a deeply sick feeling that I'm in really big trouble with no one to help me out here. I sink back down into my bandages. If I'm right I'll never see my passport again and I'm going to have to 'work' to pay back the surgery costs. I don't want to think what work they have in mind. But you can bet your bottom dollar I'm certainly not the first to fall for this trick. I want to cry but my eyes hurt too much.  The only thing I can think of is that I do not have a good reaction to opiate painkillers, morphine, codeine etc have a bad reaction in me, they do not take away the pain but make me very sick and crash my blood pressure. I ought to wear an alert to say I'm intolerant to it but vanity has always prevented me. They don't know. Well I'm pretty sure I won't get hooked but fingers crossed they don't dose me up enough to find out.

After a week the swelling and pain have gone down. I let everyone think I believe it was a plane crash, or maybe a car crash after the plane trip. I'm not sure and they just nod and smile and tell me how well I'm doing. There are no mirrors anywhere and the rooms don't have windows. I pretend not to notice. I also pretend that the minimal amount of morphine or oxy is enough to zone me out, my zombie impression is coming along nicely. Once they were late with the drugs and I started acting fractious, looking around, asking the nurses when is med time? I honestly hope they fell for it. It's big smiles all-round after that and Mr Fazil comes the next day to tell me how well I look and how happy my new boss will be now I am well again. I have totally lost track of time here; I can only measure it by the meal times and keeping a count in my head of when the drugs should arrive.

I can't wait to get out of here. I need to escape and get to the embassy - any embassy will do to start with. They will be able to help me.

And true to my luck the next day a woman arrives, she silently lasers my legs and arms free of hair, then she waxes my eyebrows and face, adds in false lashes and tints my brows, my hair is dyed much lighter than my usual dark gold and my feet and hands are fully pedicured and manicured, my nails are painted a dusky pink. I sit quiet and complacent though it all, acting stoned again. I've seen enough society women on their 'little helpers' to know the glazed look. Thank god it hasn't got into them to use anything harder to control me. When the woman is finished, she starts to dress me. I play along letting her, make-up and perfume, hair styled and the most beautiful shalwar kameez trouser suit in a soft rose and gold colour. The shoes are medium height gold stilettos. I wobble a little, it’s been a while since I was in heals and these are a little loose. Thankfully it just makes them think I'm more out of it than I am. 

Mr Fazil enters the room and gives me a careful inspection. He seems pleased with the results and summons in two huge men in black suits. My eyes grow huge as I realise, they are carrying guns under their jackets. Mr Fazil smiles and pats my hand "Just security guards. I said you would be well guarded in this country. Now be a good girl and do exactly what I tell you to, this is a very important client and I want to do more business with him in the future, and you are the way to do it. If you are good, I'll make sure that you get your meds on time. So, be good eh?" I nod looking down all the time. Mr Fazil issues me with a list of commands, don't look up, don't speak, don't fidget. Just stand still and do everything they ask. I nod again.

My situation is getting worse. The 2 heavies escort Mr Fazil and I to a black saloon car waiting by the door. The one guard opens the back door and gestures to me to get in. I do. Mr Fazil sits in the front and the 2 guards sit either side on me in the back.  The car glides off.

The Oxy in my system is not making me very well, usually I can pretend to fall asleep and either ride out the nausea or wait until the 'hospital' door was shut and vomit it out into the tiny sink. But not today. They gave me a slightly higher dose and I haven't been alone since to get rid of it. My stomach is rolling and my mouth is watering, ready to be sick. This is the last thing Mr Fazil will want and I dread to think what he will do if I suddenly throw up in the posh car. I swallow a lot, hoping to keep the nausea and vomit bubbling up my throat from coming out. The smell of the leather seats and the cologne from the men in the car is making my head hurt and my sickness worse.

After what feels like hours but most certainly was only a few minutes the vehicle eventually glides up to a huge set of gates. They are massive and solid, no dainty bars you can look through here, these gates are not symbolic property markers. These are heavy duty enclosure gates and they mean business. Once a guard has checked with the driver and Mr Fazil, the gates open. Inside is a huge white villa, surrounded by green, trees, grass, shrubs. I almost expect a parrot to fly past or a tiger to be lounging around it is that verdant. The car stops in front of an impressive set of steps and the doors open. Although the air is hot it is fresher than the stuffiness of the car and I take a big gulp as an automatic reflex. Only one guard seems to have noticed and he just looks away. I gulp another lung full of fresh air before Mr Fazil and the guards shepherd me up the steps and into the cool of the big house.

Mr Fazil and I are shown into a big drawing room very much in the English colonial style. I expect the British Raj to walk in any second, all pith helmets and white suits. Mr Fazil again hisses the instructions and I guess after one look at my pale face decides I'm doped enough to be a good girl. I stare at the beautiful, rich red and gold rug under my feet. I sway a little for good measure, just in case Mr Fazil is watching.

After a few minutes of Mr Fazil getting twitchy and starting to pace, the big wooden doors at the other end of the room open and a man walks in. "Fazil! My old friend!" The two men embrace and clap each other on the back "How are you? Is this the girl?" they both turn to me; the man walks over I am staring down at the floor as instructed. He put a finger under my chin and lifts my head. I force my eyes to un-focus a little and glaze over while he inspects my face. Every bit of my ex-mother in law's boring party training comes flooding back. I manage to withstand the scrutiny and the smell of onion on his breath. His face is so close to me. "You are correct she is exactly what we need!" Fazil smiles happily, he licks his lips, and the two men switch to Arabic "Can she understand us?" Fazil assures him the dumb American princess doll cannot understand Arabic. Wrong!! I listen very hard while staying very still, staring at the carpet patterns.  "I agree to your price, what do we need to feed her? Oxy? Excellent. No, she is not for this house, she is a gift, His highness the Prince is required to set up a household and I believe she will offer a very good start. Your little girl will look an excellent gift and no matter what he thinks a public gift from me cannot be ignored. I will take her there this afternoon. Does she need another dose? No? excellent. Yes, Fazil! We will do more business soon but I must go now I have an appointment with the Prince!"

A gift to a prince. Well it could be worse a brothel with no choice in who or what comes through the door would be a million times worse. I guess this house is a high-end brothel. I do not want to come back here. Not that I really want to go anywhere right now. Another wave of nausea washes up my throat and I practically gulp it back down. I don't think I can keep it under control for much longer. 

The new man and the guards again escort me back to the front door, a different car is waiting, the first is gone. Fazil, presumably, will have to catch a cab. Again, we sit in the limo and again the smell of the leather seats, the men's aftershave and the onion acid smell make me want to heave. There are black spots starting around the edge of my vision. I blink them rapidly away. Not good.

Another hellish 10 minutes and we arrive at another set of gates. These are very impressive, as solid as those before but more ornate, the guard that checks has a gun, an obvious one. Once the limo enters the courtyard it makes a sweeping stop in front of another huge house. This one is modelled on a more Spanish style; it reminds me of the Spanish Quarter houses in New Orleans but this is on a truly huge scale. The man gets out, the guards get out, I get out. Again, I am almost gulping in fresh air but this time I am trying really hard to be subtle about it. I am still looking at the ground when a strong hand grips my upper arm. The man leans in and with his rancid onion breath he hisses "You will do everything you are told to do. Or I will throw you into the cheapest brothel in the slums and when you are begging to die, I will cut you into pieces very very slowly, do you understand?" I gulp and nod, still not looking up. Now I really am going to be sick!

The man, still gripping my arm, marches me up the steps to the huge doors, now standing open. A major-domo is standing by the door smiling politely. Footmen or servants also stand nearby awaiting instructions. We are guided into another huge drawing room, this one is much more luxuriously decorated, the cream and gold walls are decorated with huge portraits of birds and animals. All exquisitely framed in ornate gold frames. Each one must have been over 7-foot-tall, and maybe over 4 foot wide. The delicate tables have beautiful vases and bowls full of peonies and roses. The wooden floor has no rug to hide it and the furniture makes me think of the Chippendale designs the women of my old life used to have.  

After a long wait the doors open again and more people come in. I am now so close to being sick and passing out I can hardly see. The black spots have clouded my vision and the world is slowly going dim and dark. I can feel my skin prickly with cold sweat. I sway again, no faking it this time. And I glance about for a place to be sick. Nothing instantly presents itself.

The men are speaking Arabic "My Prince, I have brought you a gift to start your household, no home can be complete without a garden and the heart of a garden needs a flower to make it beautiful. I offer you just such a comfort flower.  She will be everything you need and when you no longer have a position for her, I will be happy to offer her a place in my house." I gulp again. I have to move and grip the back of the nearest item of furniture. I watch the toes of a smart pair of Oxford Brogues walk into what is left of my vision. A finger lifts my chin and I find myself staring into the face of the most handsome man I have ever seen. He is like a god stood before me, if I wasn't about to throw up, I would have opened my mouth with amazement. His eyes roam over my face, take in my glassed eyes, my convulsive swallow and the prickles of cold sweat. I whisper in my head "Please don't reject me. I don't want to go back there! I'll die!" His eyes flare. I take a long blink trying to clear the blackness now almost overtaking my vision. I can no longer hear the room; all I can hear is the buzzing from inside my ears. I'm going to throw up and pass out.

"Out! All of you!" I'm suddenly plonked onto a settle and a china bowl is in my lap. I give in and throw up. It's mostly water, I haven't had a lot to eat today. And somehow there is one pink pill there as well. I keep coughing and gagging, and then the blackness takes over. The last think I am aware of is strong hands holding my hair back from my face and enclosing me as I pitch forward.

"Well?" The question in Arabic slowly sinks into my brain. His voice is just as commanding as it was before, when he ordered everyone out of the room. I feel that his voice is imprinted into my brain. I would know his voice anywhere, even from just one word.

"It's Oxy sir, I believe it's used as a painkiller, it can also be used to dope people and make them more amenable and is highly addictive. Whether she took it voluntarily I do not know. Perhaps you can ask her? She should wake up soon." The response, also in Arabic, comes from a different voice.

I groan a little to let them know I am awake. The Prince is standing with a doctor in a white coat, well I assume a doctor, the white coat looks like a doctor coat. The room is again furnished in delicate furniture of cream and gold, the bed I am laid on has a canopy above it and is a stunningly carved, dark wood 4 poster. The cotton and silk feel of the covers beneath me just add to the whole feeling of luxury, again there are huge paintings of birds on the walls. The Prince walks to the bed and kneels beside it, his face level with mine. He has a bottle of water in his hand.  His eyes rove over my face. "Did you take the pills? Do you need them?" I shake my head; I explain they made me have them to keep me quiet. I told him I tried only to take the minimum so as not to get addicted, I said usually I can get rid of them after they leave me 'passed out' but today no one left me and they made me take twice the usual dose. I'm really sorry I was sick in the vase.

I feel on the verge of crying. In fact, the sickness and the faint have left me with tear tracks on my face. I must look a mess; I doubt that makeup from earlier was waterproof. The doctor hands me a sealed bottle of water, and I struggle to sit up on the bed, the world spins for a moment and I feel the Prince support me while I wobble. His firm hands give me a hot tingle where they touch the fabric on my back.  Eventually I am propped up on the beautiful pillows and I manage to undo the cap of the water bottle, I’m shaking so much I nearly couldn't grip enough to turn the top. I sip the water; it is cool and pure tasting. I can feel my head starting to clear already, as I sip the water the Prince moves across the room to a beautiful delicate round balloon backed chair and sits down, his chin in his hands, watching me. The doctor takes my pulse, my temperature and shines a light in my eyes.

"She needs to rest" he says. No one disagrees with him.

The doctor and the Prince leave, and a couple of servants enter the room, they quickly open another guilt and white door and reveal a huge bathroom, the bath is the size of a small swimming pool and as per the rest of the house so far, the bathroom is decorated in cream and gold, even the marble is cream with gold ribbons streaking though it. About 3 taps run hot water into the vast tub and the servants lay out thick cream fluffy towels and as many different soap and shower bottles as a Maceys counter. After fainting earlier, I am reluctant to have a bath, the heat could make me pass out again, but the servant assures me in stilted English I will not be allowed to be alone. Marvellous, wash in front of strangers but don't drown. I guess it’s a compromise I can live with today, I feel so exhausted that it is beyond me to complain. I slowly strip out of the now cold and sweaty clothes and discard them in a heap on the floor. Naked I test the water of the bath; someone has added some salts and the bath smells of lavender and fruits. The bath is that big it actually has steps down into it. The water reaches my waist when I stand on the bottom. I can literally swim a couple of strokes from one end to the other, I lazily breast stroke down the bath. Turn after 2 full strokes and swim back to the steps end. Ducking down I totally submerge my head. I probably stayed down a bit long because the servant was looking over the edge into the water when I came up for air. I look up into the concerned eyes of the woman, we both giggle as a reflex. I apologise and promise not to do it again. While I scour the make-up from my face with at least 6 different grades of facial scrub and wash my hair at least twice with different smelling shampoos I tell the girl about how much I love to swim. How I used to swim for hours every day and how much I have missed it. And even as rich as I used to be in America, I never had a bath like this. I feel like a mermaid.

Once I have removed all traces of make-up, my hair and body have been washed clean and my hair deep conditioned I finally get out of the water. Wrapped in a huge fluffy towel I look at myself in the mirror. Fazil's surgeon was right. I don't recognise myself at all. They have made me look at least 10 years younger. I inspect my body for scars, I can find non, not a single mark I do not recognise. Only my eyes are the same. I smile into them, happy to know I am still in there somewhere. The servant puts a couple of brands of face oil and face cream in front of me. I recognise the Elizabeth Arden one, it was the brand I always used at home and give me a comforting smell to my skin that I need right now.

Walking back into the bedroom there are silk pyjamas laid out on the bed, oddly enough they are a rich teal green colour, I was expecting cream and gold.

There is a tray with 2 silver, bell shaped, dish toppers on it. I lift them both to see what is inside one is a bowl containing fruit and the second a plate with an omelette on it. I tuck in, suddenly ravenously hungry and almost instantly exhausted. There is a small dressing table in the room with a delicate stool, but there is no way I am sitting at that! I head back to the bathroom to remove the hair towel and find a comb and a hair twizzle. A French braid later and I am totally exhausted. I curl up in the bed and fall asleep. Probably the first proper sleep since the plane.

The next morning, I am woken by someone moving quietly around the room, perhaps I wasn't as safe as I had thought. I crack open my eyes and watch them through my lashes. The servants from yesterday are back, they are trying so hard to be quiet I haven't the heart to say I am awake. They are putting bags in the wardrobes. Each wardrobe looks like a cream and gold version of the one in Beauty and the Beast. There are 3 in the room and as they hang more dress bags and pile more shoe boxes up, I wonder what is going on. Obviously, the Prince was not expecting me as a 'gift' and put me in a spare room when I was unwell. The owner of the room maybe returning. Or perhaps it is a storage room. More likely. I make a little snuffle sigh noise to warn them I am waking up and flumph over in the bed, When I open my eyes a few moments later, no one is in the room. It's like there was never anyone there at all.

I feel so much better, with no drugs in my system and a good night's sleep I feel properly well again, and hungry. I get out of bed, it’s so high I nearly fall out of it. I consider lifting the mattress to see if there was a pea under it. Wonder of wonders there are brand new towels in the bathroom, I debate another bath, but given that it uses so much water decides a shower would be much more economical. Mind you the shower stall is about the size of my old condo bathroom itself. The shower head is huge, bigger than a dinner plate, the spray is like a massage. There is a row of buttons beside the shower 'Rainforest' 'Waterfall' 'Seashore' I tentatively press the Rainforest button. The lights in the shower fade to green the spray seems to smell of green plants, hibiscus flowers and vanilla. There is a faint sound of birds chirping from somewhere inside the shower!! This is amazing!!  After scrubbing myself with maybe 3 of the 6 scrubs and a vanilla scented wash. My re cleansed face, hair and body emerge from the Rainforest and I wrap up in a set of gold trimmed cream fluffy towels. I scrub my veneer teeth. Feels so wrong and looks so different but I guess I will get used to looking at the new me in the mirror. There is an outfit laid out on my magically made bed ready for me, every item I could wish for and in the correct size, today's colour is forest green with garnet ear drops and a gold and garnet necklace in the shape of a pomegranate. And a range of perfumes have arrived on the dresser, along with most of a make-up counter. A spritz of Clinique Happy and a light colour of soft brown eye shadow, A few strokes of mascara and a slick of Clinique lip gloss in dark rose and I guess I’m ready to do whatever. I look around the room. Whatever am I going to do now I am ready to do it? Well no tv, no book case, there is another 2 doors I haven't opened perhaps that way will offer me something. I pick the first door, a bigger one, it opens to a little garden, a perfect fish pond, vines draped over a portico, their leaves brushing the paving slabs. There is a beautiful fig tree and under it a little lounger and small table. 

I cannot contain myself, I practically run, barefoot, out into the courtyard garden. I wonder around the pond, dipping my fingers into the water for the koi to come up and nibble on. I peak under the vines and discover a shaded walk-way with cushioned benches and rattan chairs. I'm grinning like a loon when I emerge from the hidden space.

And walk smack into a human wall.

Well it felt like a wall. A hand shoots out to steady me as I tangle up my feet and almost fall over. I look up into the laughing eyes and raised eyebrows of The Prince. Oops! I bite both my lips together because for some reason I cannot get rid of the smile on my face.

"What are you doing out here? I was looking for you!" Now it's my turn to raise my eyebrows. I gulp.

"I-I- ER.... I'm sorry I was bored and didn't know what to do so I opened a door." I look around and find the smile is back "Isn't it beautiful??" He looks up, and then looks around critically. "You like it?" I nod. He smiles. "Then you can keep it. If you wish to make any changes just let someone know. And your room?" I nod again. And find myself telling him about the huge bath, and the swimming, and the shower with a Rainforest inside it. And then I hear myself! Prattling away to a Prince about his spare bathroom, I'm sure his own room has such luxury, probably much bigger and better ones. I verbally screech to a halt. My face falls and I peek up at him, he looks amused.

"Breakfast" he says, then he grins "And possibly a chance for you to breath in?"

I drop my eyes, freeze and try not to fidget, I really hope he isn't angry. I was told by both Fazil and the man to stay quiet and not look up, here I am exploring and chattering away like a child. I trail behind the Prince back into the building, through my room and out into a long hallway. Down a huge set of stairs and into a massive dining room. It looks like it’s ready for a royal banquet. I sink quietly into the seat a footman pulls out for me, there is fruit, yogurt, pancakes, and tea and coffee, more kinds of fruit juice than I can identify and a huge bowl of rice? I peer at the rice as unobtrusively as possible. It smells of curry and something fishy, kedgeree? I have only ever heard of this before, not exactly a great American breakfast staple.

The prince helps himself to a big spoon full, I’ve heard its rude to do anything other than what a royal person does so I take a smaller spoon full. It’s delicious, the curry flavoured fish and rice is wonderful. I’m just not sure it should be served at breakfast. I finish the kedgeree on my plate and then look wistfully at the fruit and yogurt. The Prince rolls his eyes and a servant removes the plate I had been using, a shallow bowl is placed in front of me, I smile up at the servant. Surprise surprise, the plates are all cream with gold trim. I’m starting to notice a theme in this building. The Yogurt is thick, you could almost eat it with a fork, there is fresh fruit and a glorious rich golden honey, just perfect to drizzle over. The coffee is very thick and dark, like Turkish coffee, the coffee cups are tiny, before I can reach for the pot a servant pours some into my tiny cup and I add a dash of honey to that too. The Prince is watching me with a very amused look on his face. I look down at my plate, finish my coffee and carefully place the tiny coffee cup back in the saucer. Keeping my eyes down I fold my hands in my lap. Knitting my fingers together to keep them still.

The Prince waves away the servants, the room seems empty with just the 2 of us. It is such a huge room. Really there should be about 50 people in here to make it have a purpose. Only us 2 makes me feel a little lost.

“Did you like your breakfast?” He asks I nod, “Yes thank you” He’s laughing at me. Not out loud but his smile is there in his eyes and the twist of his lips. “Can I have more coffee?” He nods and leans forward, he pours me a new cup of coffee, I add honey and sip it appreciatively. I think this is the best coffee I have ever tasted.

After watching me long enough to make me very nervous that I have yogurt on my nose or something, the Prince stands up. There is suddenly a flurry of servants all round us.

“WE need to talk!” he says to me and just turns and walks towards the big doors to the room. I gulp. Here is where he rejects me and the man fetches me back. I really do not want this to happen. Perhaps the Prince will help me? I trail along behind him as beautifully attired matched footmen open the doors in perfect unison and the prince strides across the beautiful hallway and its glorious wood floor to another huge set of doors. 2 more matched footmen, identical to the ones still behind me; I did peek back to check they hadn’t somehow materialised in front of us; open the new doors and I see a huge library. This is like my dream room, it is floor to ceiling books, not just posh leather covered matched sets of books, forever to be un-read, like the snobby cows in America had to try and look cultured but real books; new books, old books, kids’ books, paperbacks of popular authors and all sorts. History, geography, historical politics, modern biographies, adventure stories, Clive Cussler, Kathy Reichs, Kris Kuzneski, Ann Rice, Charlene Harris (I don’t see Stephanie Mayer but I suspect she’s here somewhere) I spot Thor Heyerdal as well as AA Milne. The books are in Arabic, English, French, Spanish and more. There seems to be just about every book and most languages are covered. My jaw drops open and I turn around and around looking up and down the shelves. There are even ladders on rails around the room.

Eventually I end up facing the Prince. He is standing behind a huge teak wood desk, it has intricate carvings of birds, inlaid with mother of pearl to highlight the wing feathers or those on the tail, the leaves around them are detailed in jade, the water below ripples in lapis. His desk chair is a beautiful oxblood red leather with dark wood and brass studs. He just points to a chair by his desk, a footman glides over and places it smack-bang, dead centre, facing the Prince. I sit reluctantly. Here we go!

“What did you mean yesterday that you would die?” Ohhhhh I didn’t think it! I actually said it? Whoops. Oh well. I close my eyes and ask whichever god looks over this kingdom to help. Taking a deep breath, I look over the huge acreage of teak desk and start.

“What do you know about the white slave trade?” His eyes bug. He tilts his head sideways and forwards as if to say Excuse me? His eyebrows have gone so far up his head I don’t think they exist anymore and he blinks a couple of times. “Did you know the man who brought me here?” he nods slowly and his eyebrows lower, his jaw sets and his eyes squint at me. He’s still bloody beautiful. Even scowling. He slowly rubs the perfect stubble along his jaw.

“I do know him, sort of. He is the second son of a minister. I was at school with his elder brother, my best friend. He was always trying to join in games with us. Why?”

“Well, apparently he commissioned a man names Fazil to entice a white woman from America over to offer you as a gift, if you accept the gift, he claims bragging rights as a purveyor of fine white girls to the higher classes. You accepted – ish – so now he kinda has royal approval. He runs a very posh brothel, and I suspect some not so posh ones.” The prince now has his eyes closed. His head is making almost imperceptible nods as he processes what I am saying.

“And you were the girl?” I nod. He puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together. Then he puts his perfect lips to his fingers and thinks. I wait. The books seem to absorb the silence. It takes supreme willpower not to fidget in the quiet room.

Eventually – and I mean after the beautiful ornate mantle clock has chimed a quarter chime, he opens a draw and lifts out a mobile phone. It is pure onyx black. I was expecting white after the rest of the house, but black looks better. He presses 1 tap to the screen and puts it back in the draw. Moments later a man arrives. He must be as tall as the Prince, maybe 6’6 and maybe about that square. He is massive. His thick black hair is short but tuffty and his beard thick and a few inches long. Its slightly curly. His eyes are dark brown and he looks very competent. Dressed in black combat trousers and a black cotton shirt this guy screams army or personal body guard a mile out.

The prince points to a chair like mine and the man draws it up to the edge of the desk. So far, I don’t think he has actually looked directly at me but I know he has and has fully assessed both my place in the room and my body language.

“Mo, this is….” The Prince pauses. It has just dawned on us both he actually doesn’t know my name.

“Caroline Feltz ne Williams” I say quickly and smoothly holding my hand out for the guard to shake. “It’s nice to meet you Mr Mo.” Mo shakes my hand carefully; my whole hand disappears inside his huge paw. “Um is English Ok? I ask realising so far, we have spoken nothing else, I switch to Arabic, “I can change if it is easier for you?” Now both of them have done the upward eyebrow into hairline thing. “No Ms Feltz,” Mo says “I was born in The Lozells, Birmingham, England, My English is just fine, but thank you.” He sounds like a Peaky Blinder from the tv show, a totally incongruous voice to his image.

The Prince asks me to start from the beginning so that Mo can hear – so I do. Only this time I start right back at the beginning, Dad’s career, spending a year or two in each country. Dad’s insistence we speak only the native language in each place. His diagnosis when I was 17 and my parent’s decision to send me to an exclusive American school to get a ‘proper’ education. Meeting the captain of the football team on my first day. Being asked out by him moments later. The guy guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. How his friends were my friends. Graduation and then college. A degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics from an Ivy League. A couple of years while he worked is way up his Dad’s business. Married at 24, society bride and trophy wife, charity dinners and fundraisers, my father and mother passing away within 6 months. The pregnant secretary and the divorce. The no friends of my own and the condo. The job advert, interview and offer, the flight, the pain and the operations, the pills, the threat from Fazil and then the other man, his house and additional threats. Until I got to the throwing up in the Ming vase and the passing out on the parquet floor.

We all sit in silence. I twist my fingers into my lap. I don’t look up. Mo takes a huge breath and lets it out in a very very long sigh. “Ooph!” he says. Looking at the Prince he talks about needing evidence and how to prove what I have said. Going against the minister’s second son will not be easy. I tentatively raise my hand like I’m in class.

They have my laptop and phone but both have complex passwords. My email account might still be ok – I can see if the job emails are still there? Again, the desk draw is opened and a sleek tablet is handed over – it is unlocked for me already. I log into the email site and yes, my emails are still there. I open the chain and hand them to Mo to read. He nods as he reads through them. “I’m going to forward these to myself. You will keep the originals.” He taps the screen and then hands back the tablet. I hand it directly back to the Prince. I can hide nothing if I want them to help me and however many other poor girls those 2 have captured. The prince just drops the tablet in to the desk draw. He lifts out a manilla folder, he hands it to me, “Read it out loud, In Arabic and English” he instructs. The documents are in French and detail the visit of the new French President and her wife to the country. I read the dossier detailing the visit first in Arabic then English. He hands me a document written in Arabic “Now this in French please” he says. It is a letter from a minister with a petition relating to an educational grant for a school in a district I have never heard of and so stumble over the name. “Now this one in English please” it is a newspaper, several articles headline detailing current events. “Now write it out again in all 3 languages. I get handed a pen and a pad of paper. I dutifully copy out the newspaper article in English, French and Arabic. Then for good measure I add German and Spanish and I start it in Thai but end up screwing my eyes up trying to remember all the words. I apologise and say I need a dictionary for that.

The Prince is looking through the pages of the different languages. Eventually he points to one of the German ones and says I used the wrong one here. And, as he cannot read Thai, he doesn’t know if I am correct there but will take my word it could do with some refreshing.

“Will you accept a job as translator for the forthcoming French delegation?” He asks. I nod happily. Mo is dispatched to summon the Prince’s personal assistant and to start working on whatever he needs to do to help the girls and shut down Fazil and the minister’s son, background intel to check I speak the truth, I guess.

I am dismissed once the assistant, a nice man called Mr Abdul, arrives, he has been informed of my new role and that any documents requiring translation are to be handed to me. I will, of course, be undergoing a full background security check before anything starts. I snag a couple of books and head back to my room and my beautiful little garden.

The next week passes in a blur, Mr Abdul arranges for deportment lessons as is fitting for a member of the royal household, a personal assistant is assigned to me, to help with my clothing as well as any day to day stuff. A hairdresser arrived one morning and turned my hair back from blond to light brown, almost an exact match to how it should be. I begin to look more like me. I cannot change some of the plastic surgery but I begin to recognise myself in the mirror so it’s a start. There are the occasional documents I am asked to review before they are sent out but on the whole, there is absolutely no requirement for me to translate anything. Once the staff realised however that I spoke Arabic they were much happier to chat with me. I spend most of my days with a stack of books out under my fig tree reading adventure stories and feeding the fish. The personal maids tut over my tan. The only time I see the Prince is at breakfast, he makes a point of fetching me each morning in order to escort me to the huge dining room and presumably laugh at me as I eat yogurt and sip coffee. He never says very much and I try not to chatter too much.

The servants have also realised that unless I absolutely have to, I would rather not wear shoes. For the first few days someone would be trailing around behind me with a set of heals, then it became slippers, now they don’t lay them out but I have been given a beautiful set of ankle charms, they are a triangle mesh of silver that hook over my middle toe and clasp round my ankle, the ankle straps have tiny silver bells on them. I love them and wear them every day. I guess at least the jingle noise lets everyone know where I am. It is like I can create my own personal music I am entranced and adore them. At breakfast every day the Prince eyes my feet with an amused look. I have to be careful not to get tan lines on my feet or the personal maids will be upset.

The day before the French delegation arrives, I am summoned to the Prince’s study. Mo is sitting in a chair already and he stands as I am shown into the room. Abdul and the Prince enter the room behind me and we all settle into our respective chairs.

Mo starts with a report on his investigations. It turns out that as far as anyone can find, the minister has no idea that his son is running an extensive brothel business. Every surface indication is that he is a very successful real estate man and property empire manager. The portfolio of houses is, however, a front for the sordid s*x trade. Each house seems to be rented legitimately by a keeper and then is run by them. However, a series of shell companies and off shore registered businesses show that in the end it all comes back to the second son. His name is Rashid Mohammed Kahlil. Mr Fazil was a bit easier to find, his real name was actually Fazal Adaba, a known crook but as no one had been able to pin anything on him he was just considered generally shady but mostly harmless. An opinion we all now disagree with. Up until Mo started looking into the affairs of the 2 men no one had connected them and very little information had been gathered. But now they were both under tight surveillance and Mo was quick to assure me that should either of them even look like they were going to talk to a woman let alone drug her and abuse her, someone very large and very well armed would make sure this didn’t happen. But ideally, they wanted to keep them under surveillance and gather evidence.  I did ask about my chances of getting my passport and possessions back. Mo said they would see what they could do and that was the best I was going to get. No point in arguing and I could apply for a new passport from the embassy. My picture would need updating now anyway.

The arrival of the French President, Madame Bonnet, and her wife was a huge event. Not only because their relationship was something being discussed openly in the souks and markets but because it was seen as a big thing across the globe. This was their first official visit; they were to tour the country over 5 days before flying back to France. The morning of the first day I woke early, showered, this time I selected the Seashore option, and dressed in the luxurious light blue and gold outfit. I put on a beautiful pair of gold, ballroom dance style, T-bar, mid heal, shoes, hair and makeup perfected with the guidance of another ‘personal assistant’ to make sure that my hair covering is both modest and staying firmly in place and slowly walk down to the main corridor to the library.

Inside the Prince is in full regalia and is on his little black mobile phone. He waves me in and looks me up and down approvingly. When he looks down at my feet and sees the shoes he smiles.

The ride out to meet the arriving plane is the first time I have been outside the building and in a car since I arrived here. I am sat in the back of the limo with the Prince, Mr Abdul, Mo and another heavily armed but smartly dressed security guard. The limo is sandwiched between two huge 4x4 monster cars, both stuffed to the gills in men wearing either police or army uniforms. All look very smart and all are armed to the teeth. The smell of the leather reminds me of the sickness and the fear. I start feeling the bile rising and take a deep breath. Mr Abdul, Mo and the Prince all watch nervously. The Prince hands me a bottle of water to sip and much to my surprise he gently holds my hand, resting our entwined fingers on his thigh. As the limo slows by the private airport building, he gives my hand a quick squeeze and lets go.

I tail behind everyone into the executive airport. It is actually outside the normal airport buildings and away from the public areas. The press has gathered there in huge numbers, most of the world is watching how the new French leader will be treated and how her official wife will be handled. Mr Abdul leans towards me and checks I know my part; I am official translator even though everyone speaks French very well and I am to engage Madame Bonnet (the wife) and ensure that she is comfortable in all things and has someone to guide her in her native language at all times. I am really looking forward to this role and am very happy to be able to have a place at such a huge event. It is also very unnerving to have the world watching your every move, I think I will have a lot in common with Madame.

The day goes very well, we all bow to each other and shake hands, I am introduced as translator and it is explained my role is to assist when something becomes too complicated to think in another language. I chat away to Madame and everyone stands for photos with the world’s press. I stand at the side with Mo, seems like the best place but there are plenty of pictures with the meeting party both formally and informally. In my role as translator I must be at the side of the delegation at all times so I get to sit in the first limo and join in everything that takes place. Like Mo I ensure that I am always there and ready but also in the background. At one-point, later in the afternoon, Madam President glances round at me, I step forward, head bowed, her request is simple but she didn’t know how to approach it, she needs the bathroom. I nod and quickly explain to the men, the ladies need to withdraw temporarily after such a long day and the three of us are whisked out of the state rooms and discreetly shown to the facilities.

In the evening there has been planned a banquet dinner, the dress that has been planned for me looks like a Disney princess, in fact the pale blue colour reminds me of the Cinderella dress of the movie. The bodice is beautiful and the tulle and net skirt is perfect robin’s egg blue. My jewellery is silver and diamonds and the shoes also are silver, again not skyscraper heals but the lower dance show design. Much more comfortable for long days and nights on your feet. The banquette and the following ball are wonderful. The next week is a whirlwind of official visits and meetings, all of which the prince insists I attend. Even some of the trade negotiations. Mostly I sit and wait until someone cannot find a correct word or a translation goes off track a bit. However, as everyone is very professional and this has been extremely well planned my services as translator are not really required. I end up spending a lot of time with Madam Bonnet and at one point we end up touring the zoological gardens together with a dozen guards as a semi impromptu visit. Madame is a lovely young lady with a keen interest in pretty much everything, she is a delight to be around, bubbly and vivacious but also with that political knack of making people feel special even if for a second. I enjoy her company and my translation skills are very much appreciated. Plus, it helps me to get out of the boring official stuff. The morning after the zoo visit there is a photo on the front page of the news of Madame, myself and the director of the gardens eating ice-cream and laughing at a small monkey that decided to try and steal Madame’s iced treat. Everyone is very pleased with this image and it’s positive publicity and the Prince requests Abdul get a copy of the image framed properly as a gift to Madame at the end of the week.

The final evening is another dinner and ball, my dress this time is a deep burgundy with gold trimmings, a much more medieval style dress, it has long sleeves and the bodice and skirt are much more slim fitting, the square neckline is almost perfectly designed for the heavy gold and ruby necklace and earring set I find laid out on the dressing table.  The hairdresser makes an elaborate style with my hair, somehow looking loosely piled but actually being rock solid. The curls are teased out and look almost artless. Overall, it took nearly 3 hours. When I am eventually ready, I find my outfit is a direct compliment to the Prince’s. His formal tunic and trousers are exactly the same fabric, colour and trim, he has a beautiful headdress with a gold band that matches the design of my jewellery. It is very obvious that tonight I am a compliment to him and his position.

Another limo ride, another beautiful palace, and more press waiting for the perfect picture. I try to walk behind the Prince but he turns back and takes my hand, he escorts me into the building, behind me I can hear the calls of the journalists. “Who is she?” “Is this the next Princess?” “Please can you tell us why your translator is with you in such an obviously matching outfit tonight?” and finally “Mrs Feltz, how did you meet the Prince? America Today want to know!” I falter my step but the prince swiftly covers my stumble and whispers in my ear “Ignore them!” but they know who I am!! How do they know who I am? I pretend no one is there and we quickly walk into the building with the bulk of Mo blocking everything behind us.

The first person I see as we jointly enter the dining room of the palace is Rashid Kahlil! He walks directly over to us, Holding out both his arms. Much to my surprise, the Prince hugs him warmly. I’m frozen with fear, what is going on? I can’t breathe and I think I’m going to faint again.  “Malik!! My friend!! When did you get back? I hadn’t heard you were back in the country? Why did you not tell me?” the Prince is grinning from ear to ear. He escorts the man back to me. It is only when he is very close, I can see the differences. So slight, that tells me he is not the man who bought me and offered me as a gift. This must be the older brother. I try to force myself to relax from the shock and horror I had felt earlier but my heart is still beating 19 to the dozen! I smile weakly as the introductions are made. “Ms Feltz is acting as my personal translator!” Malik looks over with a huge grin on his face. “I’m so sorry I missed this event but I am here now! I apologise for not making your acquaintance earlier Ms Feltz.” He bows “Let me make it up to you!” I’m charmed, something about him put me at my ease, he is nothing like is oily, onion smelling brother. I am about the say I would be delighted when the Prince makes a deep growl noise. “Or maybe not!” Malik says with a grin. We both look at the Prince who is looking the other way pretending not to pay attention.

“I understand you have been out of the country Mr Kahlil?” I will try my best to be civil although the Prince is now practically fizzing with annoyance beside me. What’s got him so touchy? Does he think his friend has helped cover up Rashid’s business? Malik smiles and guides me away from the Prince as a minister approaches to talk to him. Malik tells me all about the company he runs researching renewable energy, solar and wind but especially with the North Sea the tidal powers that could be harnessed to create clean energy with little cost and never-ending supply. Malik then asks me “What are you doing with Prince Faridaddin?”  I honestly had forgotten the Prince had a first name, Farid means unique and ad-Din means of faith. His name fits him so perfectly he really is unique of faith. “I … Er … It’s a long story” I settle for. I do not think this is the time to start that one. Thankfully the President and her wife approach with several ministers, a look of gentle confusion on Madame President’s face. “Excuse me Mr Kahili I have a job to do!” I swiftly assist in the translation of the conversation; it is apparent that, while the bulk of the conversation was without issue, there was a complex technical situation requiring not just translation but cultural explanations back and forwards. The conversation is fun but fast flowing and I find my head starting to spin with the need to translate full flow conversations so that the nuances do not get lost. I am very grateful when the gong is sounded to announce the meal. The dinner is beautiful French cuisine and some of the local speciality dishes have been added as well. The tastes and combinations are a perfect match.

Madame Bonnet and her wife thank me graciously at the end with a small gift of a beautiful pearl necklace set and a gold and lapis fountain pen. I thank them formally and explain it has been an honour to be allowed to spend time which such wonderful guests. Madame President then gives a lovely speech in French about her visit and how much fun she and her wife have had and how welcome they have been made to feel. I receive a nod from the Minister who has officially overseen the visit along with the Prince and so I translate her lovely speech after she has finished it. There is huge applause and a small orchestra in the next room strike up a polka. People start to flow through to the huge ballroom next door, it is lit with a thousand tiny lights, like little glow worms lighting a grotto. With the courtyard beyond filled with night crickets and the gentle sway of lanterns the place is truly magical. I end up dancing with several men including Malik before the Prince steps in and I dance a slow waltz with him. He dances these proper classical ballroom dances beautifully. I am glad that I took ballroom classes while I was married. Not just the waltz for our wedding. As the night starts to end, I notice Madame Bonnet sitting alone in a corner watching her wife across the room. She looks so proud my heart wants to burst with her pride. However, as she has been my company this week, I cannot have her alone, I excuse myself from my current dance partner, the minister for the interior, and sit down beside Madame. I thank her for allowing me to keep her company this week, thank her for allowing me to join her at the number of trips and visits she and her wife took part in, both public and more private, and said that should they ever be visiting in any capacity I would be delighted to again translate. We have spent a long time together this week but have not had much chance to just talk, we discuss hobbies, favourite books and our love for gardens. I am telling Madame about my courtyard, the fish and the vines along with my beloved fig tree when Malik, the Prince and Madame President join us.

“Careful!” The Prince says “She will tell you about her shower next.” Everyone looks at me and I blush “Shower?” both Madame president and Malik say together.

I end up explaining about the rainforest shower, the aromatherapy and the lights. The bird song and the effects. I make everyone laugh with the story of the first time I pressed Waterfall and practically drowned in the sudden onslaught of high-pressure cold water. But the seaside is my current favourite, the salty tang to the air, the sound of waves and sea birds and the gentle blue colours. I admit there is a mountain mist option but I have not yet been brave enough to try! I fear the room will fill with cold fog and I will never find my way out! With everyone almost crying with laughter and Madam President demanding to know why her state guest quarters do not have such a shower we begin to draw people’s attention. Of course, we have been conversing in French so the obligatory hand gestures have gone along with the conversation. I must have looked as though I was drunkenly conducting an imaginary orchestra. The prince confirms that indeed, every morning I inform him of the wonders of the shower much to his footmen’s amusements and this sets everyone off laughing again. Now both Mesdames’ are demanding a shower before they leave and one to be installed in the Élysée Palace and Malik has actual tears rolling down his face. And obviously this is the moment the official evening photographer captures for posterity, Me with my eyes bright, my cheeks flushed, the Prince his face mock solemn and his eyes twinkling adding to his pure handsomeness, both French women almost doubled over with laughter looking into each other’s eyes and Malik wiping tears from his cheeks, red faced from laughing like a jolly god of mirth, his black curls bouncing as his whole body shakes. I know this picture well, the Prince has it framed on his desk, along with the one of Madame and Myself at the zoo.

The morning after the French party leave, I was expecting a long lay in – I had even promised myself a bath in that huge tub but instead I was woken early by the maid, she looks worried that I will be displeased with her waking me.

“His Highness, the Prince, wishes to speak with you at an early breakfast!” She busies herself laying out clothes after she chivvies me off into the bathroom. No luxury wake-up and bath for me today.  Once I am dressed in my usual elegant attire and with a return of my silver bell anklets rather than shoes, I am led to a different part of the big house, I thought we were having breakfast? A footman opens a large door and shows me into apartments almost the opposite side of the house from mine, these rooms again are huge white and gold rooms, they have the huge mural paintings on the walls, a leopard stalking through jungle foliage takes up almost all of one wall. Through another door into a smaller sitting room and then out through courtyard doors to the most beautiful outdoor space I have seen. It is much like my small courtyard in basic layout but this is huge, where I have a small fish pond this is a swimming pool sized one, my portico and vines are here represented by almost full trees, and huge swathes of flowering plants, honeysuckles and roses rain down filling the air with the most beautiful scent. There are full sized trees offering shade to the garden and sitting beneath one is the Prince and Malik. The Prince is sitting back, one foot bent under the chair the other stretched out under the table, he is reading a broadsheet newspaper, folded for ease, holding it in one hand and in the other a cup of coffee. Malik has a cigarette and coffee in one hand and a breakfast roll in the other, they both look up when I am announced. There are 2 spare seats around the table, each has been set for breakfast.

“Ahh!” the Prince greets me “Come, sit down!” he waves me to an empty seat, the footman instantly serves me coffee, honey and the usual fruit and yogurt. Once I have everything the footman is waved away by the prince. It is now just the 3 of us. “We will await Mo,” he says “he has things to report!” Malik looks confused and I keep my head down pretending my yogurt is the most interesting thing I have ever seen.

When Mo arrives, he too is shown in, sitting down he looks around the group and winks at me. The prince scowls at him for it but Mo either doesn’t see or doesn’t care. Mo starts to report on his men’s observations of Rashid Mohammed Kahlil and Fazal Adaba. Malik stops him, annoyance strong on his face.

“Why are you watching my brother? What has the i***t done now?” The Prince and Mo both look at me. I nod and take a deep breath. Once again, I start at the beginning, I tell Malik my story, then with the Prince’s tablet I show him the images from my old life, the changes made to me by the surgery. The discovery that it was his brother who orchestrated all of this. Mo steps in with the discovery of the houses, brothel businesses and the shell companies. Malik listens without saying anything but his face is getting darker and darker as the story unfolds. Eventually the Prince explains that by accepting me the assumption has been made that he somehow bestowed royal patronage on the whole business and that Rashid was making himself out to be the purveyor of fine flesh to rich men. Fazal being his personal shopper in that respect. Mo offers Malik the files and we all sit in silence as he slowly reads them. Malik closes the file, then picks up his tiny coffee cup and hurls it at a wall. The sound of the tiny delicate cup hitting the brickwork resounds in the silence and makes me jump a little. As soon as the crash sounds the courtyard is filled with people, the body guards race in with guns half drawn, the footmen race in from another direction also ready to do whatever was necessary to protect the Prince. Malik looks like he is chewing a huge wad of gum, his jaw working furiously, his eyes closed and he is breathing so hard through his nose he sounds like a bull. The prince waves away the guards and a footman brings a new cup to replace the broken one. No one seems to expect Malik to apologise, and he slowly calms himself down.

Mo and the Prince explain they are now ready to make arrests and to raid the houses, all girls will be offered treatment for any drug addiction that they have now and will be repatriated to their homes and families. There will be compensation offered as well and then the court case. There doesn’t seem to be a civil action option here but the girls will be offered the choices to give evidence without prejudice of the situation. Embassies will be involved. It will be a huge scandal in the public and global eye and will no doubt ruin the Minister’s family, and Malik. I feel devastated for Malik. It has been in no way his doing or his fault and yet he and his wonderful energy plans will now be destroyed. I reach out and gently put my hand on his forearm “I am sorry” I whisper. He turns his head for the first time since the cup smashed and looks at me, his eyes filled with anger and sorrow “No! I am sorry, this great shame is upon me for what has been done to you and to those girls! Please, I beg your forgiveness!”

The Prince looks up as Abdul enters the courtyard, he holds a sheath of paperwork and a footman arrives with an extra chair. I note the footman does not bring breakfast or coffee stuff. Perhaps Abdul already ate.

Abdul starts shuffling the papers he looks at me “I have taken a message for Ms Caroline from a Mr Jasper Feltz.. He wishes to congratulate her on her new position and asks if she can arrange a meeting with her employer for business purposes?” he pauses looking at me “I hope I did right but said Ms Williams was not in a position to grant audiences!” My jaw has dropped open. My bastard ex thinks I will suddenly forget everything and be happy to help him advance his stupid business?? I’m so angry I want to throw MY little cup at the wall as well grrrrr that moron and his stupid…… aaaghhhh!!!!

“You did correct and Ms Williams will not be taking any calls from anyone named Feltz unless she informs you, she herself is expecting one!” The Prince’s voice smoothly cuts through my anger. Now it is me breathing though my nose and trying to calm down. The cheeky so and so!!

The Prince also looks rather cross, his early breakfast is probably not going to plan, he has had to tell his best friend that his brother is abducting girls and selling them, leading to the smashing of china and now his interpreter is being pestered by her miserable money grabbing ex-husband. I think I need to excuse myself and go sulk somewhere. I move my napkin and make the little movements that indicate I will withdraw from the conversation but the Prince reaches over and catches my hand. He re positions himself within his chair leaning forward and still holding my hand as Abdul and Mo begin outlining the plan to arrest Fazal and Rashid and free the girls. Malik insists his father be present, so it was arranged that Rashid would be asked to attend a breakfast meeting and asked for my passport as the Price intended to travel with his ‘interpreter’ to Europe. Malik and his father would be invited to breakfast beforehand to celebrate Malik’s return home from his business trip. That way they could be present at the meeting as well. While Rashid was in the palace his properties would all be raided and Fazal would be arrested, the girls then taken for medical assessment. Female police agents would be involved to offer reassurance to the girls. Throughout all of this I kept staring at my hand in the Prince’s. His thumb was drawing little circles on the pulse point on my wrist and I was finding it harder and harder to pay attention to what was being said. Chairs scraped and I heard Malik, Abdul and Mo give their goodbyes and leave the courtyard. I still couldn’t look away from my hand, the circles were consuming almost every conscious thought and what wasn’t conscious was rapidly dissolving to mush! When did I become so muddle headed? The Prince shifts his position so he is kneeling in front of me, he takes both my hands in his and looks up into my face. “I am sorry for what I will ask you to do tomorrow, please trust me!” I nod slowly “I know what it will look like but I promise you, I will do nothing to hurt you!” I close my eyes; I feel quite sick and my head is swimming like I have drunk too much alcohol. The prince stands up, raising me to my feet, then he suddenly stoops and swings me up into his arms, he carries me thought he doors into the smaller sitting room but turns left and enters a huge bedroom, he puts one knee on the bed and slowly lowers me down, he leans over me looking deep into my eyes. I can’t breathe, he is so beautiful, like a handsome prince in a fairy tale, his lips, perfect lips, lower towards me and I close my eyes. He presses his lips to my forehead; the electric zing of the touch seems to almost brand me. I almost cannot tell when he lifts his face away, the feeling is still there. I know my cheeks are burning at this simple interaction. I guess it is the fact he has wound my nerves up holding my hand throughout the meeting plans and now putting me on a bed to kiss me. I think my heart will explode, its almost painful inside my chest. I feel the bed rise as he removes his weight. “Sleep” he whispers and leaves. I hear the door close quietly behind him.

What??? He just left?? Do I have yogurt on my face? Why did he do that?? I sulk, turning on my side and hug his pillow. It smells of him. This will do my mental stability no good at all. But I don’t want to get up either. And somehow, despite feeling like I could burn up with embarrassment and lust, I do actually fall asleep. Curled up on his bed. Holding his pillow tightly.

I am woken several hours later by the sound of the door closing quietly. I can smell food and my tummy grumbles in appreciation. I hear the Prince chuckle at the sound.  I’m groggy from a daytime nap and mortally embarrassed by both the situation and my tummy. I sit up on the bed, and look around, the Prince has a tray in his hands, he smiles lazily, raising one eyebrow then both as a question. “Feeling better?” I nod. I want to apologise for being so spaced out earlier but he immediately turns and puts the tray down on a little table. The tray holds a deep blue bowl in a very plain design, it smells like chicken broth and something I cannot identify. I sniff the air and my tummy grumbles again. Turning back the Prince holds out a hand to help guide me off the bed, its not elegant but I scoot across the mattress to him and let him almost lift me off the bed and lead me over to the food. Glancing at the clock it’s already after 4pm. I slept most of the day away.

As expected, the soup and dumplings are delicious and the Prince watches while I eat. Its actually quite unnerving. I have spent a lot of time with him over the last few weeks, the preparations for the French visit and the associated events but I have spent almost no time with him alone since the first meeting when I threw up in the vase. Once I finish eating the Prince takes my hand and gives me a guided tour of his apartments and his courtyard, he even has his own little library/office in there! As we step outside, I can feel the heat starting to prickle my skin. Its so hot everything is wilting slowly, the fish swim in slow lazy circles low down in the water, not even rising to investigate my fingers when I dabble them on the surface, the birds have gone quiet and the foliage smells of that precise hot green smell you get before a storm. The honeysuckle and roses perfume the hot still air and the scent becomes heavy and cloying almost too sickly sweet. I can feel a pressure headache forming and I feel even more tired than I did before. So far, he has yet to let go of my hand. I do not know what has suddenly triggered him to want to do this today but I am so happy and so wrapped up in the feelings he creates in me that I really do not mind at all.

As the night falls the heat seems to get even hotter, I haven’t been away from the Prince since I woke up. He has made sure that any meetings have taken place in the office in his quarters. I have sat on a small chaise reading while he discusses the business, Abdul seems to pay no attention, even almost accepting it. Only once am I asked to translate a document, but I think this was more out of politeness than necessity.

With the heat comes the oppressive stillness of a storm, I haven’t yet experienced a storm out here. I always loved a good storm back home, the daylight bright flashes of lightning and the sky rendering tears of thunder. The echoes going right through you. Counting in elephants like a child to distance the storm.

*flash* One elephant, 2 elephant, 3 elephant *Boom* 3 miles away!

But this storm is not yet here, it is just heat, like being in a sauna but without the steam. That heat that prickles the back of your throat when you breath, that makes your hair feel like it’s going to go crisp. The taste of the hot dust and the smell of the boiled leaves in the courtyard.

As the evening wears on I feel more lethargic and my head pounds more and more. Eventually I excuse myself and head back to my rooms, without the maids or anyone attending I strip out of my clothes and head to my shower. I need to cool down, I press the waterfall option and the sudden gush of cold water, the sound of rivers and the smell of crisp air fills the space. I add in the mountain mist button and the air chills even more, the room fills with a thick white mist and I slide down the cool tiles to sit under the water flow, the pressure inside my head eases with the massage like water. I don’t know how long I sat there but I didn’t want to leave, if I thought I could sleep like that I would.

After what feels like hours, I faintly hear the bathroom door snick, I figure one of the maids has entered, probably to tell me off for using so much water. But the next thing I hear is the shower door slide. I call to the maid “I’m ok, just enjoying the cool. I’ll be out in a bit!” a figure is shadowed in the mist of the huge shower. I have been sat on the floor with the water coming straight down onto me, my hair is plastered to my face and shoulders, it’s in rats’ tails down my chest and back. I know any make up I was wearing has probably pooled under my eyes, I must look like a drowned panda. The figure that materialises out of the mist is the Prince, oh gosh. This is not at all what I was expecting. He is wearing white silk pyjama trousers and nothing else. As the water soaks in the silk is rapidly becoming translucent. He stands for a minute looking down at me.

“So, this is the famous waterfall?” I nod he crouches down and looks at me. His head tilts to one side. Then he lowers himself to sit cross legged on the floor, the water splashing down his perfect chest and into his lap. I cannot imagine that for a man a lap full of cold water can be very comfortable.

“Do you want to tell me what is wrong?” I shake my head, then open my mouth and all of my thoughts and fears tumble out. What if they don’t arrest Fazal, what if they don’t find all the girls? What if it ruins Malik and his father? It’s not fair they are innocent! What if someone gets word to the brothels first and they kill the girls? What if the girls are so traumatised that they cannot go home? And then because now I am in huge gulping floods of tears, their tracks burning my eyes and tracing molten lines down my face, what if the prince sends me home once my passport is returned? The deal was only translator for the French, I don’t want to go back there!!  I am now wailing like a child! Eventually I have burned myself out and sit gulping for air and snivelling, fully aware that I have not exactly presented a rational argument for anything and that I have done irrevocable damage to my image in his eyes. Not to mention my self-esteem. The Prince reaches forwards and tugs me over onto his lap, now we are both sitting in the full torrent of water. I am fully naked and he is wearing silk trousers. No matter how cold the water has been his skin is burning hot against me. I can feel how cold I have got when his hand strokes my back. I am so shocked I gulp back the tears and hiccough a few times, the after-cry tremors disrupting my breathing even more that the feel of his skin. 

He puts his chin on my head, and we just sit for a while, he gently rocks me in his arms while the water continues pouring over us and the mist swirls in the shower space. Eventually I calm down, I’m mortally embarrassed by everything, I want to assure him it’s ok. I’m not a blubbering wreck really, I trust Mo to save everyone and while I am worried about Malik and his father, I trust the prince not to punish the innocent. Really, it’s me I’m most upset about. I don’t want to leave here. Ever. I love my life in the palace, I want to keep serving as translator. Not only has it given purpose to my, previously empty, existence. But it allows me to see the Prince, every day. I think the worst thought is not seeing him. Heck I think I’m in love!!

I actually have no idea how to physically get out of this position. In the end I bite the bullet and crawl out of his lap, over to the controls and switch off the shower. The water stops instantly and the mist seems to vacuum away.

I am left naked on the floor of the shower with a very wet Prince. He sighs as he stands up and walks to the shower door, he reaches outside the space and returns with big fluffy towels. Kneeling back down he slowly starts to dry my skin. His eyes have a soft and gentle look, as though he deeply cares about what he is doing and it makes me sad that I have now totally destroyed any respect he may have had for me. My melt down has left me exhausted, headachy, my eyes, I know from experience, will be red and puffy despite all of the cold water I really just want to hide and now the Prince is drying me off like a child!!

After he has rubbed my arms and legs and back, he takes my hair and starts patting it dry. Eventually he wraps me up in the towel and seemingly without any apparent effort he lifts me up bridal style and carries me over to my bed. It’s turned down already so he places me on the sheet, pulling the top sheet over me he lays on the top and turns me over onto my left side into his arms and chest, his strong right bicep is my pillow, his left arm is across my waist. I can hear his heart beating. Slowly I start listening to his deep even breaths, the metronomic rhythm of his heart. I can feel myself relax and my eyes closing. Just as I fall asleep, I swear I felt him gently kiss the top of my head.

Of course, when I wake up, I am alone. And I feel bereft, I miss his warmth even though the day is already heating up my room. Because I want to have the outside door open, I refuse to turn on the air con inside my rooms. I know this is silly but I want the outside more. The sound of birds and the gentle wind in the leaves.

The maid is already hopping up and down trying to both wake me and not appear in a hurry. Today is the day of the arrests, I dash out of bed and race into the shower. No long, self-indulgent, drenching today but I settle for a standard cool shower, scrubbing and washing everything, my hair conditioner I leave in for as long as possible. When I exit the bathroom, teeth cleaned and body dried I find an outfit the like of which I didn’t know even existed!! It’s indecent. It’s a matching pale pink bra and panties set, designed to show practically everything, and an over dress that is gossamer thin. The over dress has a very high neck, long sleeves and a long full skirt. But it is absolutely see-through!! I’m staring at the outfit laid out on the bed with horror. The maid is looking like I’m about to start screaming at her and the Prince’s voice rings through my head. Yesterday he said he was sorry for what he was going to do and I had to trust him. Do I trust him?

I swallow my horror and put on the almost invisible dress. The maid, still looking slightly terrified, puts a sharp centre parting into my hair and then piles it all onto my head. About a million bobby pins hold it in place. Artfully she pales my face and paints extensive cat eye line onto my lids and the lashings of mascara make my eyes feel heavy. A deep rose lipstick completes the look. I do not get my usual anklets but little rose gold slippers, a chain of rose gold is laid along my parting and clipped to a beautifully decorative brow band. Rose gold hoop earrings, rings and bracelets complete the look. I feel sick just looking at myself in the mirror, I’m so pale and with all of the face make up – no matter how artful I just look ill.

Slowly I make my way down to breakfast in the big dining room. As soon as the footman announces me the room falls silent. I don’t look up. I guess this outfit is to make Rashid think that I am still a doped-up concubine. I peek out from under my ten-ton lashes and see Malik’s jaw hanging open. If I wasn’t so embarrassed, I’d giggle! The footman doesn’t show me to my usual seat but to a small low stool beside the Prince’s chair. No coffee cups, no fruit, no yogurt. In fact, as far as I can tell, despite the outfit, I am invisible.

The Prince is sat at the head of the huge table, Malik to his left and the Minister, Malik’s father, to his right. Obviously, Mo is not there, he is leading the raids. Abdul stands to one side of the room and the 2 matched footmen stand by the door. I am beyond mortified that they are seeing me like this but I have to play my part or the sting won’t go down. The Minister has not said a word since I came into the room. Malik is trying his hardest to keep up a flow of conversation but even he is struggling with no receptive audience.

At exactly 9am the little over mantle clock chimes and the footmen announce Rashid and Fazal!!! I really want to look up I want to stare the two vile men in the eye but I cannot I have to keep my head down, pretend to be doped up. Rashid bows to the Prince and his father and then takes a seat at the table. The Prince does not greet him, merely sits in silence. I cannot see if he nods his head or gestures but I can hear no voices.

“How are you getting on with my little flower?” Rashid says, breaking the silence as it grows almost uncomfortably long.

“That reminds me” says the Prince. He snaps his fingers and a footman arrives beside me with a little dish on a tray. On the tray are 3 pink pills. Beside the dish is a tiny cup of coffee. “Take your medication!” the Prince commands. I instantly pick up the little pills. I guess he is willing to risk the side effects for appearance sake. I put one little pill in my mouth and take a sip of coffee.

Instantly the pill dissolves into a sugar-coated chocolate. I relax my shoulders and more happily reach for the other 2 pills, taking each separately and with a sip of coffee. The cup is removed immediately. “Don’t want her getting fat, do we?” The Prince asks no one in particular, Rashid sniggers.

“I saw her with you at the French ball, how did she do?”

I swallow, I had forgotten the pictures in the press of my attendance. But it is Malik who speaks up next “I can’t believe how much I had to keep an eye on her. Thankfully she was perfectly well behaved!”

“I will be taking a trip to Europe in the next few days, I wish my flower to join me for comfort on the long flight” The Prince states. Rashid sniggers unpleasantly. “I need her passport! In fact, I want all of her original belongings! Immediately!”

Rashid makes a gulp noise and I hear him turn in his seat. Fazal takes out a mobile phone and starts to call a number, then apologises, the phone has no signal.

From my low seat beside the Prince I see Malik’s hand in his pocket press something. Fazal apologises, asks to step out of the room, the passport is safe in his house. He can fetch it and return immediately. “Abdul!” the Prince snaps “Have someone go to Mr Fazal’s address – I need that passport! Tell me Fazal – why is her passport with you?” Abdul leaves the room with Fazil almost trying to run after him.

Fazal jibbers, swallows “Er, she stayed with me when she first arrived in the country before she was …. Er…. Moved into the palace with you!”

Malik pressed the thing in his pocket and instantly the Prince’s phone rang “Interesting!” the Prince puts the phone back down. “Mr Fazal those men did not find any female items nor documents at your address. Care to explain?” I can literally hear Fazal swallow.

“They must be stored at the bank! For security!”

The Prince doesn’t even shift his posture but I know somehow, without looking, that he has switched target.

“Rashid! Care to explain why you feel the need to give me a concubine? Why you think that a w***e would give you social standing? Why you consort with thieves and peddlers of flesh such as Mr Fazal here? Why do you feel that illegally smuggling doped up young women out of western countries and selling them to the highest bidder is a good business model? And what about the poor women and girls in your brothels? Care to explain why you think that dragging your father and brother down with you would be beneficial? Did you think their position would protect you through all of this?”

Suddenly the doors are thrown open and 6 huge heavily armed men in black march in and snatch up Malik and his Father along with Rashid and Fazal.

The Minister suddenly starts shouting “Is this true? Did you do this? Are you so STUPID?” Malik just hangs limply in the guard’s grip, not resisting or struggling. He doesn’t one look up. In fact, he turns his head fractionally and winks at me slightly. I relax sitting quietly while the Minister is screaming at his second son, Rashid is trying to cook up some pathetic sounding excuses and Fazal is jabbering.

“You have no proof!” Rashid yells at the Prince. Abdul obviously took this as his cue to return to the room with a stack of paperwork, Mo and another man. The room falls silent. 

The man with Mo approaches the table and salutes the Prince “I’m happy to report all addresses associated with these men have been raided and searched. We found no evidence of any wrong doing at the addresses associated with the Minister or Mr Malik. However, we have identified all of the properties and raided them, we found a number of properties used for illegal purposes and one kitted out like a hospital. Everyone associated with the properties’ management has been arrested, the other occupants have been taken to hospital for medical assessment. There is a lot of work to do but I am confident all of the addresses have been identified. We did recover this from one of the buildings.” He hands the Prince an envelope. I look up as the Prince opens it and my passport drops out. I’m so relived. The Prince replaces it in the envelope and puts it on the table.

“Release Malik and the Minister! Take these 2 into custody I want them held without any chance of bail!”

The men wrestle Rashid and Fazal out of the room the Minister and Malik are unhanded and the extra people all leave the room. The Minister is ashy with shock and horror.

“My prince! My Prince I didn’t know. I swear!”

The Prince shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over my shoulders, he takes my hand and stands me up from my little seat.

“I apologise. I wanted you to see this but I needed him to think for a few minutes all was as he thought it should be. Please take this..” He hands me my passport “and please go and change. We will have breakfast properly when you return.

As I leave the room, I can hear the Prince apologise to Malik and his father for having their houses raided.

As soon as I get into my room, I strip off all of the jewellery, the see-through embarrassment of a dress, even the underwear and quickly redress in a green shalwar, my usual bell anklets and carefully put my passport in the little draw of the dressing table. Grabbing the Prince’s jacket, I dash out of the door.

I belt at full speed back along the corridors and down the stairs to the dining room. I don’t want to miss what is going on. Skidding to a halt just before the doors I take a deep breath and compose myself, much to the amusement of the footmen.

Inside the dinning room all hell appears to have broken loose. The minister is shouting into his phone, Malik is shouting at the Prince and the Prince is sitting exactly where I left him at the head of the huge dinning table. He appears to be trying to drink coffee while ignoring the whole room. When I enter Malik stops shouting and the Prince stands up and pulls out my chair.

“Malik why are you shouting at everyone? You knew the plan?” I whisper to him across the table.

Malik’s eyes go wide, “He dressed you up like a doll, he drugged you!” “Who did? Your brother?” I ask

“No!! Farid!” He spits. Malik will not see that I agreed to dress up to fool his brother, I chose to allow myself to be seen in that way. He is still so angry; he sits there fuming – I can almost see little puffs of steam coming out of his ears “And what were those pills then?” I grin, “Chocolate!” I say giggling. Malik eventually starts to laugh. His father is still yelling into the phone but hearing Malik he looks over. The three of us are sat at the table coffee and breakfast served. I want to say something to the Minister. I feel so sorry that his younger son has probably ruined his career and possibly made his social standing very difficult. As the older man slowly sits back at the table, he turns to me, in English he says how sorry he is, he had no idea what his son was up to. He would offer me financial compensation and hoped that I could forgive himself and Malik as innocent persons. I have no issues with knowing that Malik is innocent but deep down I do feel the minister should have known or suspected something – I mean where did he think his son’s ‘gift’ to the prince came from?? The court case will expose any evidence that he knew something. Mo and Abdul along with the police have a lot of work to do but the best thing has happened already, those girls and women will be free of him now and can get the help they need.

After a long day of police interviews, medical inspections on the surgery, comparisons between my most recent photos from America and now, the blood and hair tests for the drugs (long gone from my blood but may show in my hair still) and a million other official investigations I am exhausted.

It doesn’t help that there is most definitely a storm coming. The heat is now so oppressive that not even the state-of-the-art air conditioning in the house is really keeping it at bay. I eat a light supper with the Prince, avoiding any topic of conversation that could be related to the day and then retire to melt in my rooms.

Outside the wind is picking up, the vines are stirring in the courtyard and the air movement is starting to make the room feel less stifling. I shower in freezing cold water and then in my silk pyjamas lay on the bed. I can feel the heat prickling back under my hair.

On the first flash of lightning I open my eyes, the sonic boom that follows close behind lets me know the storm has finally arrived. My open garden door allows a swirl of rain to come in and onto the tiled floor.  The rain steadily gets heavier as the storm settles almost directly overhead.

As a brilliant flash lights the room my door opens and the Prince enters quietly. He stalks across the room and without speaking scoops me up into his arms and turns around. Walking back across the halls to his quarters neither of us speak. The lightning unzips the sky as we go out into his courtyard. This fizzing crackle of the storm has nothing on the sparks I’m feeling as he sets me on my feet and kisses me. I swear I’m stuck my lightning myself as his lips meet mine, his tongue stroking fire as I open my lips to let him in.

Slowly he lifts my arms above my head as he slides my top up and over, hardly breaking the kiss, just long enough to take the top off me. His hands skim my back and slowly down as he slips his fingers below the waist band of my trousers, tracing the top of my buttocks and the dip between them.

Given he only has his silk trousers on, I have free access to his marvellous chest, I trace the outline of his pecs, down his ribs and over the perfect 6 pack of his stomach. Back up and my hands trace his shoulders, his neck and down his back. His skin is warm but the rain is making him a beautiful contrast of warm skin and cool water droplets.

Eventually he leans back and watches me pant for air, sliding his hands down my waist and taking my trousers down over my hips he lets them pool around my ankles and he steps back. Although there are no lights in the courtyard the storm provides a strobe of light allowing me to admire his perfect physique and his huge bulge, big enough to make my eyes widen!

As soon as he steps away he undoes the ribbon at his waist and allows his trousers to pool on the floor, stepping out of them he holds out his hand and nothing in the world could have stopped me taking his hand and letting him lead me down the hidden steps into his pool.

Where I had thought he had a fish pond I was mistaken, the pool in his courtyard was a wild swimming pool, edged with plants and with floating lily flowers the pool was actually tiled. I can feel him close behind me as I turn towards the water in surprise. I am suddenly changed from hot with lust to mischievous. I drop his hand and turn to dive under the water, swimming half way out to the middle of the pool I surface, laughing at the look on his face. He cannot catch me; I duck and dive and even at one-point I swim around his ankles. Each time I surface he looks for me making me laugh out loud. The last time I surface I am too close and he makes a grab around my waist, pulling my back up against his hard chest. I can feel every inch of his naked body, his manhood is settled between my thighs, it seemed almost natural to open my legs a little and let him in. Griping the edge of the pool he moved against and in me. I have never been so aroused, his heat, the water’s cool, the storm and the rain pebbling the surface around us. When his fingers reach around to my front and slide down to find the magic spot and starts to move with his rhythm, I can’t stand it any longer and rolling my head back onto his shoulder I arch my back and break into a million shards of pure happiness.

Gasping and with no ability to think straight I feel him pull out at the last second, leaving me feeling totally bereft of his touch. After taking our time to get our breathing back the prince walks me back out of the pool and right into his bed.

I wake up, face down in the middle of the huge white bed, the Prince is laying on his side looking at me, his head propped up in his hand, his free hand is slowly tracing patterns up and down my spine.

“Good Morning” I smile over at him.

He grins back at me, “Thank you for last night.” I hum in agreement, mummm last night was so good!

He takes a deep breath, a look of uncertainty crosses his perfect face “Please, I know you have your passport now and I promise to never stop you if you want to leave, but will you stay with me? I don’t think I can be without you. You have changed everything. I need you and only you. You truly have become the flower in the centre of the garden of my life!”  

I can’t believe it! Its not the 3 words but I think these are much prettier and I cannot imagine ever being without him. I launch myself over the bed at him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” And so begins a whole new life for me. One with a man who cherishes me, listens to my thoughts and asks my opinions of more than just what is for dinner. My previous life is removed like dust before a broom, swept away in a sweep of happiness.

So now his Royal Highness Prince Faridaddin can now be seen at international events, political gatherings, parties etc and always has his translator at his side. The press know that we are couple and while I have got used to being photographed every time I step out of the house for any reason, I do miss the anonymity that I used to have in public. But I watch the royal families around the world and have tried to emulate the graceful beautiful Queens and Princesses, I work with education charities and those dedicated to girls and the removal of the illegal s*x trade.

Privately, we spend a lot of time together, with him working in his beautiful office and me curled up in a corner working my way through all the books, practising my languages and just enjoying being in his company.  

When his father, The King, questioned him about a suitable match Faridaddin told him:

“I have the most suitable match there could ever be. There will be no other!”