Sweet Revenge

eyes focused and hardened. “I swear I’ll make it all up to you.”
    She had never taken a meal with her father. Because she had the resilience of an eight-year-old, Adrianne found it easy to skip over the words that had been spoken the night before and look forward to her first day in Paris.
    If she was disappointed that they would take their meal in the suite, she said nothing. She liked her new blue dress and matching coat too well to complain. In an hour she would truly begin her week in Paris.
    “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this interview, Your Highness.” The reporter, already charmed by Abdu, took her seat at the table. Adrianne kept her hands folded in her lap and tried not to stare.
    The reporter had very long, very straight hair the color of ripe peaches. Her fingernails were painted red, as was her mouth. Her dress was of the same shade, cut snug, and itsskirt skimmed her thighs as she crossed her legs. She spoke English with a rolling French accent. To Adrianne, she was as exotic as a jungle bird and just as fascinating.
    “It is our pleasure, Mademoiselle Grandeau.” Abdu signaled for coffee. A servant jumped to obey.
    “I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris.”
    “I always enjoy Paris.” Abdu smiled in a way Adrianne had never seen. He suddenly looked approachable. Then his eyes passed over her as though her chair were empty. “My wife and I are looking forward to participating in the ball this evening.”
    “Parisian society is looking forward to greeting you and your beautiful wife.” Mademoiselle Grandeau turned to Phoebe. “Your fans are thrilled, Your Highness. They’ve felt you deserted them for love.”
    The coffee burned bitter in Phoebe’s throat as she smiled. She would have traded every jewel she owned for a whiskey. “Anyone who has ever been in love would understand that there is no sacrifice and no risk too great.”
    “Might I ask you if you have any regrets about giving up your thriving career in films?”
    Phoebe looked at Adrianne and her eyes softened. “How can I have regrets when I have so much?”
    “It is like a fairy tale, is it not? The beautiful woman swept off by the desert sheikh to a mysterious and exotic land. A land,” Mademoiselle Grandeau added, “which becomes wealthier every day because of oil. How do you feel,” she asked Abdu, “about the Westerners pouring into your country?”
    “Jaquir is a small country which welcomes the advances that oil brings. However, as king, it is my responsibility to preserve our culture while opening doors for progress.”
    “Obviously you have an affection for the West, as you fell in love and married an American. Is it true, Your Highness, that you have another wife?”
    He lifted a crystal glass of juice. His expression seemed blandly amused, but his fingers gripped tightly. He despised being questioned by a woman. “In my religion, a man is permitted four wives as long as he can treat each of them equally.”
    “With the women’s movement growing stronger in theUnited States and Europe, do you believe this clash of cultures will cause problems for the countries which come to the Middle East to build?”
    “We are different, mademoiselle, in dress, in beliefs. The people of Jaquir would be equally shocked that a woman in your country is permitted to become intimate with a man before marriage. This difference will not deter financial interest on either side.”
    “No.” Mademoiselle Grandeau wasn’t there to argue politics. Her readers wanted to know if Phoebe Spring was still beautiful. If her marriage was still romantic. She cut into her crepe and smiled at Adrianne. The child was striking, with the king’s sultry black eyes and Phoebe’s full, sculpted mouth. Though the coloring spoke of her bedouin ancestors, she had the stamp of her mother. The features were smaller, finer, than those of the woman who had once been called the Amazon queen of films. The purity of bone structure, the stunning profile, and the clear-eyed vulnerability were there.
    “Princess Adrianne, how do you feel knowing your mother was considered the most beautiful woman to grace the screen?”
    She fumbled. The hard, brief glance from her father had her straightening. “I am proud of her. My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world.”
    Mademoiselle Grandeau laughed and took another bite of crepe. “It would be hard to find anyone to disagree with you. Perhaps one day you’ll follow her footsteps to