The Sheikh & the Bride Who Said No by Susan Mallery Page A

some friction.
    “We’re working on a very tight schedule,” he began as he set his briefcase on the table in front of him and opened the locks with a click.
    She noticed that the silk hankie in his jacket breast pocket perfectly matched his tie. He sounded as if he’d been born in Britain but hadn’t lived there in a number of years. Perhaps he’d moved here with his parents back in the eighteenth century.
    “Prince Murat informed me that the wedding will be in four months,” he said.
    “I’ll be providing you with historical information on previous weddings, along with my list of suggestions on flower choices and the like. Some of my ideas may seem silly to a modern young woman such as yourself, but we have a history here in Bahania . A long and honorable history that needs to be respected.”
    He drew in his breath for what she assumed would be another long speech specifically designed to make her feel like a twelve-year-old who had just spilled fruit punch on a very important houseguest.
    She decided it was time to change the direction of the conversation.
    “There isn’t going to be a wedding,” she said, and had the satisfaction of watching Mr. Peterson freeze in place.
    It was amazing. The man didn’t breathe or move or do anything but sit there, one hand grasping a sheath of papers, another reaching for a pen. At last he blinked.
    “Excuse me?”
    “No wedding,” she said, speaking slowly. “I’m not marrying Murat.”
    “Prince Murat,” he said.
    He was correcting her address of the man who wanted to marry her?
    “Prince or not, there’s no engagement.”
    “I see.”
    She doubted that. “So there’s no point in us having this conversation. I do appreciate that you were willing to stop by though. It was very kind of you.”
    She offered a bright smile in the hopes that the little man would simply stand and leave. But of course her luck wasn’t that good.
    “Prince Murat assures me that—”
    “I know what he told you and what he’s thinking, but he’s wrong. No wedding. N-O on the wedding front. Am I making myself clear?”
    Mr. Peterson obviously hadn’t been expecting a reluctant bride. He fussed with his papers for a few seconds, then picked up his pen. “About the guest list. I was told you come from a large and distinguished family. Do you have any idea how many of them will be attending?”
    Daphne sighed. So Mr. Peterson had decided to simply ignore her claims and move forward.
    “Ms. Snowden?” he prodded. “How many family members.”
    “Not a clue,” she told him cheerfully.
    “Will you be providing me with a guest list of any kind?”
    “Nope.”
    The little man shook his head. “If necessary I can contact your mother.”
    “I’m sure you can.” And her mother would be delighted by the question and the chance to influence the wedding.
    Wasn’t it enough that Murat insisted on this charade? How far was he willing to take it?
    “Excuse me,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I need to put a stop to this right now.”
    She walked toward the door and once she got there, she simply pushed it open.
    The cross bar wasn’t in place, no doubt so Mr. Peterson could leave when he was finished. There were only two guards on duty and neither of them looked as if they’d expected her to come strolling out of the harem. When they saw her, they glanced at each other, as if uncertain about what to do.
    Daphne took advantage of their confusion and started running. She made it halfway down the long hall before she heard footsteps racing after her. Up ahead the elevator beckoned like a beacon of freedom.
    “Be there, be there,” she chanted as she ran. She skidded to a stop in front of the doors and pushed the Up button. Thankfully, the doors immediately slid open.
    She stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor and watched as the doors closed in the faces of the guards.
    Ha! She’d escaped. Probably not for long, but the feel of freedom was heady.
    She