Page 3 of Prince of Her Heart
Suppressing a sigh, she turned back to her mother with a weak smile.“Momma, it’s wonderful to see you—but why didn’t you call?I could’ve made reservations at your favorite place.”
Bethany, Tabitha’s personal assistant, popped in with her usual energy and a grin that was far too smug to be innocent.“Ramzi sent me a message a month ago,” she chirped.“He asked me to make reservations for you and your mother at Luxe for twelve-thirty.”
Tilda and Bethany beamed at her as if they’d won a contest.Tabitha gave them both a tight smile and sighed, her shoulders slumping.“So everyone remembered my birthday but me.”
Tilda reached into her oversized bag with the dramatic flair of a game show host.“Happy Birthday!”she declared, setting a bottle of wine—wrapped in cheerful red tissue and a gift bag—on the edge of the desk like it was a sacred offering.
Tabitha braced herself.Last year’s “star-fruit” wine had nearly ended her ability to taste for a week.
She peeled the paper back and froze.The label read:Genuine Southern-Style Pickle Wine.
Pickle.Wine.
Was it brined?Fermented with dill?Carbonated into a monstrosity of some sort of…?
Her face didn’t twitch.She considered that a victory.
“Thanks, Momma,” she said sweetly, sliding the bottle back into the bag before her curiosity turned into nausea.She stood and hugged her mother, letting affection outweigh taste.“You’re the best.”
Straightening, she turned to Bethany.“And thank you for making those Luxe reservations.That’s perfect.”
“I know,” Bethany replied, already halfway to the door.“Better get moving if you want to make it on time.You know how Tom gets.”
Tabitha laughed lightly.Tom, the infamous maître d, was a stickler for punctuality—unless Ramzi was the one walking in late.Ramzi could show up at closing time, and Tom would personally reopen the kitchen.
“You’re right,” Tabitha replied, brushing her fingers over her silk blouse and smoothing her skirt.She forced a smile.It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother.She just hated birthdays.The whole ordeal always left her vaguely sad and overexposed.
Bethany caught her expression, smirked knowingly, and vanished with a cheerful wave.
Tabitha turned to her mother.“Give me a minute, Mom.Let me grab my purse.”
She moved around the desk, but something on her computer screen caught her eye.A notification.From Ramzi.
She barely had time to read the first line before—
“Leave your phone,” Tilda ordered with sudden authority.“It’s your birthday, not a board meeting.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes and tucked her cell phone into the side pocket of her Ralph Lauren tote.“You know I can’t do that, Mom,” she murmured, scanning the stack of papers on her desk one last time to make sure nothing urgent was being neglected.
Tilda grunted.“I know you’ll be on that thing the entire lunch if you bring it.”
Tabitha ignored the jab and reached for her blazer.“I’ll ignore anything that isn’t urgent,” she promised, looping her arm through her mother’s as they stepped out of the office.Though they were both on the shorter side, Tabitha—at five-foot-five—felt like a giant beside her mother’s silver curls and shuffling step.The three inch heels had her towering over her mother’s five feet, two inch height in her sensible, beige flats.
Even as they moved down the hallway, Tilda was still grumbling.“That phone’s going to be the death of your manners,” she said, clutching her oversized tote like it held ancient wisdom instead of a backup bottle of pickle wine.“You don’t need to check it every five seconds.”
Tabitha kissed her cheek.“Thank you for coming into the city today, Mom.”
Ten minutes later, they were seated at Luxe—white linen tablecloth, polished silverware, and the maître d’s spine as straight as a bayonet.Tom hovered nearby, eyes sharp, posture stiff, monitoring the staff like a general preparing for battle.Of course, his extra vigilance had less to do with Tabitha herself and everything to do with the authority and stature of her boss.
Ramzi.
Tom wouldn’t dare risk mediocre service knowing the Crown Prince of Uftar occasionally dined here.If Ramzi so much as hinted at disappointment, Tom would personally retrain the kitchen staff.Or exile them.
“Thank you, Tom,” Tabitha said with a polite nod, hoping he’d take the hint and disappear.
Her mother chuckled and opened her menu.“It’s nice to know someone’s looking out for my baby girl.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes again at the phrase.Twenty-eight years old.High six-figure salary.A house in her own name, a luxury car in the garage, and a job that required her to anticipate the next moves of a man who could trigger a global stock fluctuation with a half-sentence.But sure.“Baby girl”.
