Taylor - RASHID: HER RUTHLESS BOSS 50 Loving States, Hawaii

Princess! Princess! Over here, Princess!

I dont realize the men standing with cameras at the ballrooms entrance are calling out to me until a man with a Jahwar Times lanyard scuttles over to me and my nine-year-old son, Albie, and asks in heavily accented English, Are you Princess Jones of the reality show, Her Majesty?

Albie snorts. And I resist the temptation to look over both shoulders like Im in an 80s movie. I cant believe the photographer from the Jahwar Times mistook me for the other bridesmaid in my bosses wedding, the former reality star turned lawyer, Princess Jones (though she insists everyone call her Prin these days).

Ive been feeling out of place at the reception for my employers destination wedding, ever since we arrived in the three-story ballroom a few minutes ago. The festivities are taking place in the much more conservative United Arab Kingdoms emirate, Jahwar, which happens to be ruled by one of the grooms best friends from boarding school. Unfortunately, I had misinterpreted the instruction to dress modestly for the reception after the wedding.

So while Im wearing a simple blue jersey long-sleeved maxi dress Id gotten on sale at TJ Maxx, pretty much every other woman in the glittering ballroom is wearing elegant, floor-sweeping gowns. Even the guy with the camera is dressed better than me in a well-tailored suit. Like attending luxurious weddings at the King of Jahwars outrageously opulent palace is something he did every day.

Well, its definitely not something I do every day. Sorry, Im not Prin. Im Mika, I tell the photographer. Holts and Sylvies nanny.

A nanny The photog squints at me from under his slicked-back hair, suspicion simmering in his eyes. So you are related to the nanny Holt Calson, the CEO of Cal-Mart, has decided to marry, he concludes.

Another snort from Albie and I find myself smothering a laugh of my own as I let him know, No, were not related. Shes the former nanny and Im the current one. Total background. Nobody important, I promise you.

He squints again. Just the nanny? Not Princess Jones...?

I think hes trying to figure out if Im lying and purposely making him miss his chance to photograph the only television-famous American attending this wedding.

Seriously, Im just a nanny, I assure him. Nothing to see here. You should totally move on to somebody way more important than me.

As if cosigning my not important at all claim, a flurry of Arabic suddenly burst from the ballrooms entrance, and all the other photographers gather around a couple entering with their daughter.

I dont speak Arabic, but I do understand one word the photogs are calling out. Sheikha...I think that means princess I tell Albie.

I wouldnt be surprised if one or more of the family being photographed were royalty. The father is tall and lean, and the mother is elegant and thin. Theyre dressed way more appropriately than Albie and me for the wedding, but stand out just the same. Her in an intricately embroidered sari with a hajib, him in a long collarless suit coat. Theyre both classically beautiful in ways anyone on both sides of the globe could agree equals super good looking. Her features are flower petal delicate and come together in a way that makes her seem to glow with ethereal beauty. He has kind, intelligent brown eyes, strong cheekbones, and a strong jawline underneath a well-trimmed beard. He looks like a Hollywood movie icon with a brown overlay.

And the little girl standing between them with a happy smile as the cameras flash? Shes an amalgamation of them both. Cute as a button in a miniature version of her mothers sari. Her hair is dark and wavy like her fathers, and hints of her mothers ethereal beauty are already hanging out around her huge eyes, which are wide like her mothers, but also sharp like her fathers.

Shes perfect. Just like her parents. And just the opposite of me and Albie.

Ive become used to living in the background. I prefer it that way after what happened in Hawaii. But watching that beautiful family, taking a break from their perfect lives to pose in their perfect clothes for the frantically clicking cameras, I cant help but wonder what that would be like. To actually belong at a wedding like this one. To live in the foreground of life as opposed to in the back where most people cant see you. To be that beautiful and perfect.

Mom, are we going back to the game room or what? Im bored and you promised wed only have to stay here for fifteen minutes after dropping Wes and Ender off!

Albies voice pulls me out of my uncharacteristic moment of feeling sorry for myself.

Hes squirming in the suit I bought him from that same TJ Maxx and tugging on his tie. The very picture of discomfort.

I know exactly how he feels. Being here with all these beautiful people dressed to the nines, makes me feel itchy and squirmy too.

You know what, youre right. Lets go, I say to Albie, leading him toward the ballroom entrance. Maybe I can teach you how to play pool like youve been asking.

Albie cheers, smiling for the first time since Holt and Sylvies relatively boring wedding day began. His happy response makes my outlook ten times brighter.

Who cares if I feel a little lonely sometimes? Ive got a great son and a great job far away from Hawaii. Were safe and thats all I really need.

Albie and our security are my food and water. The rest...romantic love...more children...all the stuff I sometimes find myself yearning for towards the end of long days or when I see preternaturally beautiful couples posing for the cameras? Well, thats just dessert isnt it? A cup of halo-halo. Something I want but know I cant afford to eat.

Still, as I leave with Albie, I cant help but look back at that beautiful, perfect family. The photographers have left and the girl is tugging on the fathers hand to get his attention. He bends down to her eye level to speak with her. I cant hear what shes saying. Even if I did, it wouldnt matter. I dont speak Arabic.

But whatever it is, he smiles and nods yes.

RASHID

My wife stops smiling as soon as the photographers disappear. And I know exactly why.

As the newly ascended King of Jahwar, my cousin Zahir, always has two guards posted both inside and outside the doors of whatever room hes in during public events. However, there is only one guard standing outside the ballroom and two inside the party, scanning for any possible threats.

Mahirah looks at the ballroom entrance with its conspicuously missing guard, then back at me, a storm in her eyes.

And even though it took me several extra minutes to dress for the wedding, due to having to wash that guards blood off my hands and from underneath my fingernails, I keep my face neutral as I stare back at my wife. My beautiful, angry, and duplicitous wife.

In the end, Mahirah breaks off our stare down, by turning on our daughter. You have crumbs on your sari. Filthy child! I knew we should not have allowed you to attend this wedding with us!

Aishas face falls. Children are usually not permitted to attend weddings in the UAK, so she was thrilled when Zahir invited her to this one. Shed been talking about getting to attend a Western-style wedding all week and had preened in the mirror for nearly an hour, at the sight of herself dressed in a sari, just like her beautiful mother.