Page 5 of Queen of Barrakesch
Vilma walked away and Imani preceded Wasim down the hall. On either side were tan walls displaying paintings and photographs of ambassadors who’d lived there before her. “Your visit has really surprised me. I assumed you’d be spending time with your family.” She glanced at him over her shoulder.
His gaze shifted from somewhere below her waistline to her eyes, and a moment of acknowledgement passed between them that heated her cheeks. The loose-fitting black abaya hid her body well, yet she felt unclothed before him. Jittery. Off. He’d always made her feel that way, and she fought those sensations by teasing and joking with him often. But in the past nine months, those sensation had become more pronounced—ever since their unexpected interaction the night of the polo match in Estoria last year.
“I was with my family and friends yesterday in the desert,” he answered smoothly, seemingly unperturbed that she’d caught him looking where he had no business.
“Racing?”
“Yes.”
“And did you win?” Imani opened the door to her office.
“I always win.” He followed behind her and left the door open, per the custom when an unmarried woman and man were alone together.
“Such confidence.”
Wasim chuckled and placed the folder on the table in the sitting area. He sat on the cream sofa and stretched an arm across its back, looking perfectly relaxed.
His commanding presence filled a room decorated in neutral colors with splashes of gold and silver. The pillows on the sofa were cream-colored and covered with gold and silver zigzagged lines. The rest of the office was bright and airy, with large windows on each side that she sometimes opened to let in cool air when the weather was pleasant. She did that now, pushing a window outward behind her desk and opening the French doors that led onto the patio.
Imani picked up her reading glasses from the desk—one of several she kept in various rooms around the house so she wouldn’t have to remember to carry them with her at all times.
She walked over to where Wasim sat, feeling his eyes on her every movement. Annoyingly, her heart raced a little. Ever since she had met him through her cousin, Prince Kofi, Wasim had affected her. They had a playful relationship—teasing, flirting, even linking arms or the occasional touch—but outside of Barrakesch. Inside the country, that type of touching was forbidden in public between unmarried members of the opposite sex.
Wasim always shifted easily into the customs once they returned to Barrakesch, but for her, the transition was much harder. It frustrated her that she couldn’t touch him, and that frustration highlighted the fact that her feelings were entering dangerous territory. Part of her wondered what would happen if she took his flirtations seriously and disclosed her feelings. Would he—no point in letting her thoughts go there. They were friends, nothing more. He was next in line to the throne of his country, and she would be leaving Barrakesch very soon.
Imani sat across from Wasim in a thick-cushioned armchair covered in cream and gold fabric and picked up the folder. She perused the document, the words he crossed out, and the comments in the margins. This was her biggest project to date, and one that she was especially proud of. To think, she would be a key player in taking her country’s economy to the next level.
Zamibia had discovered oil off its shores in the Atlantic Ocean, and with help from Barrakesch, who had much more experience in offshore drilling than they did, intended to take advantage of this new means of income for their country.
Imani had been instrumental in arranging an exploratory agreement between the two countries, and she was now working on the final negotiations where they would create a joint venture to extract the oil. When the details were finalized, King Khalid—Wasim’s father—and King Babatunde—her uncle in Zamibia—would sign the agreement.
Billions would pour into Zamibia and remain in the country to boost the economy. She’d already worked on a budget that used a small percentage of that revenue to fund her causes, all geared toward female empowerment through education and entrepreneurship.
Imani tossed the folder on the table. “Looks good so far. I expect to have the final analysis from the environmental commission soon, and then we’ll be able to iron out a final deal.” She could barely contain the excitement in her voice.
Wasim smiled. “I think that’s cause for a celebration, don’t you?”
“Before everything is finalized?”
“Absolutely. We’re nearing the home stretch.”
Imani cocked her head to the side. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know…stewed lamb?”
She giggled and shook her head. “Did you just invite yourself to dinner, Prince Wasim?”
“Yes, and you better say yes.”
Though he was joking, his voice held an undertone of authority that spiked heat in her blood. “Well, with a command like that, how could I refuse?”
3
Once again, Imani’s chef had outdone himself, and the hearty meal of stewed lamb over rice served with roasted vegetables was quickly consumed on the patio outside her home office.
She had a glass of wine with the meal, which she couldn’t do in restaurants or anywhere else in the country because of the restrictions against the public consumption of alcohol. Wasim didn’t consume alcohol at all, and instead had a glass ofjellabin front of him—a drink made of grape molasses and rose water and garnished with pine nuts on top.
During the course of the meal, they discussed the oil drilling project in more detail and touched briefly on other government issues.
