After a long moment of stunned silence, Harres guffawed. “Wonders will never cease.”
Shaheen seemed to wrestle with indecision before he nodded to her to accept Amjad’s offer. He still put a protective hand on top of the one she hooked in Amjad’s arm, giving his brother a hard glare. “If you say one more word to upset her…”
“Don’t worry, Shaheen.” Amjad winked at her. “When I called Johara a lioness, I didn’t know the half of it. She can evidently defend herself, and you, against a whole army.”
“I heard you wore black for your wedding.”
Aliyah laughed at Johara’s comment, turned from sorting through the outfits that had been brought in for Johara to pick from. “My choice of the color of mourning and power in Judar was my way of showing Kamal what I thought of being forced into marriage. His, uh, very favorable reaction was an early sign that we are made for each other.” Aliyah stopped, alarmed. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of copying me!”
“Oh, no. I just hope you don’t expect me to wear white.” Johara ran palms down her still flat belly. “It would feel funny when everyone knows we’re getting married because I’m pregnant.”
“You’re getting married because you’re in love.” That was Laylah, already dressed in the outfit she’d attend the ceremony in, a two-piece dream of gleaming satin and ethereal chiffon in gradations of emerald and turquoise, heavily worked in sequins, beads and pearls. “Don’t let the circumstances fool you.”
Johara conveyed her gratitude with a look. Laylah and Aliyah had been with her all morning, defusing her agitation at the upcoming events. Not that she’d ever visualized her and Shaheen’s wedding, since she’d never thought there would be one, but she’d barely slept all night, dreading the stilted, subdued ceremony that would see them married.
Now it was only two hours away. And she still couldn’t bring herself to pick a dress. She shook her head at yet another suggestion of Aliyah’s.
Aliyah sighed as she put the outfit back on the packed rack. “You’re right. None of these are…you.”
“Maybe you should attend the ceremony wearing only your jewels.” Laylah winked at her. “Who needs clothes when she’s adorned in the priceless pieces of the Pride of Zohayd?”
Aliyah exchanged a glance with Johara. Laylah hadn’t been told.
Before more could be said, a knock rapped on the door of Johara’s suite, where she’d insisted on remaining until after the ceremony.
Aliyah rushed to answer the door.
After a moment, she swung around with eyes and smile practically tap-dancing in excitement. “Close your eyes, Johara!”
“What…?” Johara said dazedly, eyes widening instead.
Laylah rushed behind the couch Johara was sitting on and placed her hands over her eyes.
“They’re closed,” she called out to Aliyah.
After moments of hearing the giggles of the two women, Aliyah chirped “Ta-da!” and Laylah removed her hands.
Johara blinked. Then she gaped. And gaped.
Held high in Aliyah’s hand was the most incredible outfit she’d ever seen in her life. And in her line of work, she’d seen the best that human creativity and craftsmanship could offer.
“Now that’s you,” Aliyah announced proudly. “Courtesy of the man who knows you best and values you most, your smitten groom. It has a note attached, too.”
That ended Johara’s paralysis. She zoomed up and pounced on the truly invaluable part of this gift, the thoughtfulness behind it. Her hands trembled and her eyes surged with tears as she saw Shaheen’s elegant, powerful print, almost heard him whisper the words into her ear, against her cheek, her lips, each inch of her.
Lan ustatee abaddan ann oteeki ma yoofi jamalek huqqun, fahal turdeen an ta’khothi nafsi kollaha awadan, ya joharet hayati?
I can never give you what will do your beauty justice, so will you accept taking all of me instead, jewel of my life?
She was useless for an indeterminate time afterward as Aliyah and Laylah surrounded her, sharing her agitated delight.
Then Laylah finally pulled back. “If you don’t want to attend your wedding in only jewels, you better hop into that miracle.”
And miracle was right. One of every gradation of gold and brown that reflected her coloring down to the last hair, amalgamated from finest silk, georgette, chiffon, lace and tulle, flowing into a three-piece outfit that she molded into as if it had been sculpted for her, on her.
Aliyah and Laylah commented that that was the doing of another miracle. A man who knew every inch of his woman, and who could translate that intimate knowledge into such a precise fit.
Burning with embarrassment and joy, Johara rushed to the full-length mirror to inspect herself, unable to even guess how Shaheen had managed to get this outfit, and on such short notice, too.
She’d worn incredible dresses since she’d turned sixteen, but this one wasn’t only her, this was the best her she could be.
The top was corsetlike, accentuating the nip of her waist and the lushness of her breasts, with tiny sleeves and a deep décolleté that showcased the clarity of her complexion and the wonder of each piece of jewelry she wore on her neck and arms.
The jacquard lehenga skirt was gathered to one side, hugging her hips in upward sweeps before falling in tight pleats to the floor. The embroidery and cutwork was on a level she’d never seen before, in sequins, silk thread, pearls and gemstones, all Zohaydan traditional motifs built around the first letter of both her name and Shaheen’s in Arabic, boggling her mind more, since it proved this had been made in the past twenty-four hours specifically for her. The finishing touch was a flowing silk and chiffon dupatta with the same motifs scalloping its edge and that hung from the middle of her head, secured there with a tiara that would have been worth a queen’s ransom had it been authentic.
She stood there as the picture was completed, her pleasure at the beauty of it all dipping then dissipating.
All this for such a sterile ceremony.
“It’s time, Johara.”
She shook off her dejection, rushed to precede Laylah and Aliyah out of the room. No matter what this was, as she’d told Amjad, it was far more than she’d ever dreamed of.
She was marrying Shaheen. She was having his baby.
Those were the true miracles.
Ten
Johara’s tiny procession started to pick up followers as soon as they stepped out of the corridor leading from her quarters.