Page 34 of Prince of Her Heart
“Don’t make a spectacle of yourself, dear,” she said with an exasperated sigh.“There’s already more than enough gossip flying around town.”
Ramzi exhaled heavily against her neck, and Tabitha couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.
Still, she pressed one last kiss to the hollow of his throat—just for show, she told herself—and stepped back.With a quick smile, she turned and headed up the walkway.
Halfway to the door, she glanced back.
Ramzi was still standing where she’d left him, watching her.
And for some reason, that felt really, really good.
Chapter 14
“Momma, there was no need to—”
“Is that man really a prince?”her mother interrupted, already waiting in the foyer with her arms folded tightly across her ample bosom like a general about to demand answers from a wayward soldier.
“What?”Tabitha gasped, glancing around like the walls might suddenly sprout ears.“Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over town, Tabitha.”Her mother’s scowl darkened with suspicion and a touch of maternal anxiety.“Is it true?Is he a royal prince?Someone said he was.”
Tabitha closed her eyes and groaned.Of course it was out.She and Ramzi should’ve anticipated this.A reverse image search would’ve taken all of ten seconds.There were hundreds of photos of Ramzi online, many of them official, sharp-jawed and regal.Crown Prince Ramzi of Uftar, photographed at galas, shaking hands with prime ministers, or looking entirely too good in military dress uniforms.The man wasn’t exactly anonymous.
“Yes,” she whispered, reluctant to confirm it.“It’s true.”
When she opened her eyes again, her mother’s fierce expression had softened into something else entirely—concern.The maternal kind that scraped a little too close to Tabitha’s carefully guarded heart.
“Does that mean he’s just playing with you?”she asked gently.“Is this just… a game to him?”Then her eyes widened in horror.“Oh no—Tabitha.Are you hismistress?”
Tabitha laughed, startled and more than a little amused.Especially considering that before today, she hadn’t even kissed the man.“No!Momma, no.I’m definitely not his mistress.”
To prove it, she lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers, the diamond glinting beneath the foyer light.“Mistresses don’t get rings,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted.
Then she stepped forward, putting her hands on her mother’s shoulders.“And men don’t usually meet the parents of their mistresses either.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes, weighing that logic like a scale.After a beat, she sighed and gave Tabitha’s arm a pat.“You’re right,” she admitted.“You’re a good girl.You wouldn’t put yourself in a bad situation.”
Tabitha had barely exhaled in relief when her mother added, “However, there have been rumors about the… uh…displaysyou and Ramzi have been giving.The neighbors are talking about those moments.It needs to stop, dear.”
“Yes, Momma,” Tabitha replied automatically as she turned toward the stairs.“We’ll be better tomorrow.”
Her mother gave a noncommittal “hmph,” and Tabitha bit back a grin as she climbed.She didn’t dare let her mother see her smile—not when she was still clutching her imaginary pearls over imaginary public indecency.
Once inside her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, smiling for real this time.
So.The secret was out.
Was it a problem that Ramzi was royalty?Probably not.In fact, it was likely to become her mother’s new favorite brag.Oh, your daughter’s dating a dentist?That’s lovely.Mine’s engaged to a prince.
Tabitha rolled her eyes at the thought.She hated that kind of social one-upmanship, but she’d seen it everywhere.Big cities, corporate boardrooms, PTA meetings, church parking lots—it was universal.Humans had a deep, compulsive need to rank themselves, to find out where they stood in the pecking order.Maslow probably had a pyramid just for suburban gossip.
Still, there was something about seeing it so plainly, in a small town, that irritated her more than it should’ve.
With a sigh, she crossed the small room, the carpet soft under her feet.Her bedroom hadn’t changed since elementary school—twin bed, battered dresser, tiny closet that barely held her sundresses.It was cozy, but not exactly grand.Ramzi had once hosted a summit with four heads of state in his palace dining room.She doubted he’d ever seen a room this size and called it a bedroom.
Then again, her townhouse in Philly wasn’t much grander.A primary suite, two guest rooms, and a kitchen that doubled as a laundry station.She had a two car garage and a family room that was barely ever used because she worked long hours.
Still thinking about Ramzi—and needing to apologize for letting his identity leak—Tabitha walked over to her window.She unlocked it and pushed it open.She couldn’t leave the house via the front, or back, door.The floorboards and stairs were too old.Their creaking would immediately wake up her mother, even with the ear plugs.So she did what she’d done too many times over the years.
