No waiting.

No effort.

Like an arranged marriage.

A gust of wind whipped across the vast forecourt of the store and Diana grabbed for her hat, clutching it to her head.

Sheikh Zahir had made no move to enter, but was staring up at the storefront and, heart sinking, she realised that she’d got it wrong.

Sadie was right. She wasn’t equipped for this…

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This isn’t what you expected.’

He glanced back at her. ‘I left the decision to you.’

True. And she’d made her best judgement…

‘I thought it would be quicker,’ she explained. ‘It’s certainly easier to park.’ Then, ‘And, to be honest, you don’t quite meet the Knightsbridge dress code.’

‘There’s a dress code?’ He turned to look at her. ‘For shopping?’

‘No bare feet. No sports shoes. No jeans. No backpacks.’ She faltered, realising just how foolish she must sound. As if anyone would turn him away for being inappropriately dressed. ‘Not that you’re carrying a backpack.’

‘But I tick all the rest of your boxes.’

‘I expect it’s different for royalty.’

‘Just as well not to risk it,’ Sheikh Zahir said gently. If he was laughing at her, he was being kind enough not to do it out loud.

On the point of congratulating herself that she wasn’t such a juggins after all, he said, ‘Okay. Let’s do this.’

Let’s. As in ‘let us’. We.

‘You want me to come in with you?’

‘Surely you were told that royalty never carries its own bags?’

Now she was quite sure he was laughing.

‘The rumour is that they don’t carry money either and you should know that I can’t help you there.’ Then, ‘Besides, I really shouldn’t leave the car.’