Sweet Revenge

the embarrassing. Red garter belts and black lace, white satin and transparent silk. Over the babble of voices gowns were tried on and exclaimed over. There were questions about flowers, about gifts, about the honeymoon. It might have been amusing, even touching, Adrianne thought, except for the headache that was drumming behind her eyes. Perhaps the wedding would be a farce, a temporary measure, even a convenience, but the preparation was very real.
    She watched her young sister being basted into a dress suitable for a woman twice her age. “No.” Adrianne waved a hand at the woman who was pinning the hem. “That won’t do for her.”
    Yasmin took a handful of the wide skirt. “I like it. Keri and the others are wearing it.”
    “It makes you look like a child playing grown-up.” At Yasmin’s rebellious expression, Adrianne gestured to Dagmar. “I want something special for my sister, something more suitable.”
    “Your father instructed that the wedding party have identical dresses.”
    Adrianne’s eyes met the dressmaker’s in the long mirror. “I’m telling you that my sister won’t wear this. I want something softer, more—” She caught herself before she saidyouthful. “More contemporary. In rose perhaps, so she’ll stand out among the others.”
    Yasmin’s eyes lit up. “In red.”
    “Rose,” Adrianne repeated.
    Because she agreed, and because she was more likely to receive further business from Adrianne than from the king, Dagmar decided to cooperate. “There is perhaps something in the salon I could send for.”
    “Then do so. Bill this to me as well.” She touched a hand to Yasmin’s cheek. “You’ll look beautiful. Special. Like a rose among ferns.”
    “I look beautiful in this.”
    Adrianne turned so that they both faced the mirrors. “More beautiful. It’s a tradition for one member of the wedding party, the maid of honor, to wear a gown of a different style or a different color than the rest, so she’ll be noticed.”
    Yasmin considered and approved. She would accept the veil happily when the time came, but whenever possible, she preferred to be noticed. “In silk?”
    She had once been a young girl who had yearned for a silk dress. “In silk, then.”
    Satisfied, Yasmin studied their reflections. “When I marry I will wear a dress like yours.”
    “You may wear this one if you like.”
    Yasmin’s brows shot up. “Wear a dress already worn?”
    “It’s another tradition to wear the wedding dress of your mother, or your sister or your friend.”
    While she considered, Yasmin ran a finger down the satin of Adrianne’s skirt. It was an odd custom, she thought, but one—if the dress was right—worth thinking about. “I wouldn’t wear my mother’s dress. It could not be as beautiful as this. She was a second wife. Why don’t you wear your mother’s dress?”
    “I don’t have it. I have a picture. Sometime you will visit me in America and I’ll show you.”
    “Visit you?” She waved away impatiently, and imperiously, Adrianne thought, a cup of tea offered by a servant. “When?”
    “When it’s permitted.”
    “We will eat in a restaurant?”
    “If you like.”
    For a moment Yasmin looked like any young girl being offered a treat. “Some women in Jaquir eat in restaurants, but my father does not permit it for the family.”
    Adrianne took her hand. “We’ll eat in restaurants every night.”
    Philip saw little of the king, but he was treated well. Like a visiting diplomat, he thought, after his thorough guided tour of the palace. He was taken into every room, excluding the women’s quarters, while the crown prince gave him a long, often tedious history of Jaquir. While he listened, Philip took mental notes on windows, doorways, entrances, and exits. He watched guards and servants come and go with an eye to the timing and routine.
    He asked questions. The book Adrianne had given him had briefed him well enough to know what comments or inquiries would be taken as criticism. So he didn’t ask about the women hidden behind garden walls and latticed windows—for their own good. He didn’t ask about the slave markets that were still in effect, though conducted in secret. Or the beheadings, which were not.
    They lunched on caviar and quail eggs in a room that boasted its own rippling pool. Bright-feathered birds trilled in cages hung from the ceiling. Art and literature were discussed. The camel whippings in the suqs were not. Rahman joined them