Bound By The Sultan′s Baby
Bound By The Sultan's Baby
CAROL MARINELLI
A scandalous royal consequence!One night with innocent wedding planner Gabi was not enough for Sultan Alim al-Lehan, but duty called him home. Memories of their forbidden pleasure prove impossible to forget—especially when he discovers Gabi has just returned from maternity leave!The baby must be his...and if Gabi won’t tell him then Alim will seduce the truth out of her! Commanding that she arrange his wedding—even if he’s not yet picked a wife—is the ideal ruse. Alim wants her in his bed—but as the Sultan’s mistress or his bride?
A scandalous royal consequence!
One night with innocent wedding planner Gabi was not enough for Sultan Alim al-Lehan, but duty called him home. Memories of their forbidden pleasure prove impossible to forget—especially when he discovers Gabi has just returned from maternity leave!
The baby must be his, but if Gabi won’t tell him, Alim will seduce the truth out of her! Commanding that she arrange his wedding, even if he’s not yet picked a wife, is the ideal ruse. Alim wants her in his bed, but must decide—as a sultan’s mistress or bride!i
Gabi heard the door open and turned, assuming it was one of the staff to clear the remnants of the wedding away.
Instead it was Alim.
‘I was just...’ Gabi started. Just what? Thinking about you.
She was one burning blush as he walked across the room, and she didn’t know where to go or what to do with herself as he approached the old gramophone.
And then she shivered.
Not because it was cold, for the air was perfectly warm. Instead she shivered in silent delight as she heard the slight scratch of the needle hitting the vinyl. The sounds of old were given life again and etched for ever on her heart as he turned around and walked towards her.
without a word, he offered her this dance. And, without a word, she accepted.
‘Listen…’ He spoke into her ear and his low voice offered a delicious warning. ‘I am trouble.’
‘I know that.’
‘If you like me, then I am doubly so.’
‘I know all of that,’ Gabi said.
The trouble was, right now—here in his arms—Gabi didn’t care about trouble. So she lifted her face to his.
Billionaires & One-Night Heirs (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
Secret babies they are determined to claim!
Raul, Alim and Bastiano—three billionaires renowned the world over for their charisma and commanding ways.
Lydia, Gabi and Sophie—three innocents who cannot resist their seductive appeal.
And when sizzling nights lead to nine-month consequences there is no other option—these billionaires will claim their heirs!
The Innocent’s Secret Baby
Bound by the Sultan’s Baby
Available now
Sicilian’s Baby of Shame
Coming soon!
You won’t want to miss this addictive new trilogy from Carol Marinelli!
Bound by the Sultan’s Baby
Carol Marinelli
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!
Books by Carol Marinelli
Mills & Boon Modern Romance
Billionaires & One-Night Heirs
The Innocent’s Secret Baby
One Night With Consequences
The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest
Irresistible Russian Tycoons
The Price of His Redemption
The Cost of the Forbidden
Billionaire Without a Past
Return of the Untamed Billionaire
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
Their Secret Royal Baby
Paddington Children’s Hospital
Their One Night Baby
The London Primary Hospital
Playboy on Her Christmas List
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/) for more titles.
Contents
Cover (#ubb563a57-76d3-5a5f-80cb-5999dcf206b1)
Back Cover Text (#u30d8024c-8e37-5eaa-9a2c-b59e8ec2c820)
Introduction (#u11d061fa-192c-5c08-9dbd-7cae7a5380a5)
Billionaires & One-Night Heirs (#ua1775d07-faa0-5b4c-82fc-c29a16f50460)
Title Page (#u4e4029b7-b0a2-50c2-8b49-51edef80fc36)
About the Author (#uf778efa9-9ab0-5dc6-b2e5-35baf930b72c)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1ac3df31-4ca7-5783-9412-074c823f158e)
CHAPTER TWO (#uf11ac7c9-2a47-5d72-90c3-968809d06f35)
CHAPTER THREE (#u7da37ffd-3f1d-5b8a-bc48-02aba81c0bb7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
GABI DERAMO HAD never been a bridesmaid, let alone a bride.
However, weddings were her life and she thought about them during most of the minutes of her day.
From way back she had lived and breathed weddings.
Gabi was a dreamer.
As a little girl, her dolls would regularly be lined up in a bridal procession. Once, to her mother’s fury, Gabi had poured two whole bags of sugar and one of flour over them to create a winter wedding effect.
‘Essere nerre nuvole,’ her mother, Carmel, had scolded, telling her that she lived in the clouds.
What Gabi didn’t tell her was that at each wedding she made with her dolls, she pretended it was her mother. As if somehow she could conjure her father’s presence and make it so that he had not left a pregnant Carmel to struggle alone.
And while Gabi had never been so much as kissed, as an assistant wedding planner she had played her part in many a romantic escape.
She dreamt of the same most nights.
And she dreamt of Alim.
Now Gabi sat, flicking through the to-do list on her tablet and curling her long black hair around her finger, trying to work out how on earth she could possibly organise, from scratch, an extremely rushed but very exclusive winter wedding in Rome.
Mona, the bride-to-be, stepped out of the changing area on her third attempt at trying on a gown not of Gabi’s choice.
It didn’t suit Mona in the least—the antique lace made her olive skin look sallow and the heavy fabric did nothing to accentuate her delicate frame.
‘What do you think?’ Mona asked Gabi as she turned around to look in the mirror and examined herself from behind.
Gabi knew from experience how to deal with a bride who stood in completely the wrong choice of gown. ‘What do you think, Mona?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mona sighed. ‘I quite like it.’
‘Then it isn’t the gown for you,’ Gabi said. ‘Because you have to love it.’
Mona had resisted the boutique owner’s guidance and had completely dismissed Gabi’s suggestion for a bright, white, column gown with subtle embroidery. In fact, Mona hadn’t even tried it on.
Gabi’s suggestions were dismissed rather a lot.
She was curvy and dressed in the severe, shapeless dark suit that her boss, Bernadetta, insisted she wear, so brides-to-be tended to assume that Gabi had no clue where fashion was concerned.
Oh, but she did.
Not for herself, of course, but Gabi could pick out the right wedding gown for a bride at fifty paces.
And they needed this to be sorted today!
Bernadetta was on leave and so it had fallen to Gabi to sort.
It always did.
The bigger the budget, the trickier the brief, the more likely it was to have been put into the ‘Too Hard’ basket and left for Gabi to pick up.
They were in the lull between Christmas and New Year. The wedding boutique was, in fact, closed today, but Gabi had many contacts and had called in a favour from Rosa, the owner, who had opened up just for them.
Rosa would not push them out, but they had to meet Marianna, the functions co-ordinator, at the Grande Lucia at four.
‘Why don’t you try Gabi’s suggestion?’ Fleur, the mother of the groom, said.
It was a little odd.
Usually this trip would be taken with the mother of the bride or her sister or friends, but it would seem that it was Fleur who had first and last say in things.
Fleur was also English, which meant that, in order to be polite, Gabi and Mona did not speak in Italian.
Yes, it was proving to be a long, tiring day.
And they would be back tomorrow with the bridesmaids!
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Mona agreed to try on Gabi’s suggestion and then disappeared with the dresser.
As Rosa hung up the failed gown she saw that Gabi was looking at another dress.
Silver-grey, it was elegant and simple and in a larger size, and when Gabi held it up she saw the luxurious fall of the fabric. Rosa was a talented seamstress indeed.
‘It would fit you,’ Rosa said.
‘I doubt it.’ Gabi sighed wistfully. ‘It’s beautiful, though.’
‘The order was cancelled,’ Rosa said. ‘Why don’t you go and try it on? It would look stunning, I am sure.’
‘Not while I’m working.’ Gabi shook her head. ‘Anyway, even if it did fit, when would I get a chance to wear it?’ Her question went unanswered as the curtains parted and a smiling Mona walked out.
‘Oh, Mona!’ Gabi breathed.
The dress was perfect.
It showed off Mona’s slender figure, and the bright white was indeed the perfect shade against her olive skin.
‘If only she had listened to you in the first place,’ Fleur muttered. ‘We are going to be late for the hotel.’
‘It’s all taken care of,’ Gabi assured her, checking her list on her tablet. ‘We’re right on schedule.’
Ahead of it, in fact, because now that the dress had been chosen, everything else, Gabi knew, would fall more easily into place.
Measurements had already been taken but fitting dates could not yet be made. Gabi assured Rosa she would call her just as soon as they had finalised the wedding date.
They climbed back into the car and were driven through the wet streets of Rome towards the Grande Lucia but, again, Mona wasn’t happy. ‘I went to a wedding at the Grande Lucia a few years ago and it was so...’ Mona faltered for a moment as she struggled with a word to describe it. ‘Tired-looking.’
‘Not now it isn’t.’ Gabi shook her head. ‘It’s under new management, well, Alim has been...’ It was Gabi who now faltered but she quickly recovered. ‘Alim has been the owner for a couple of years and there have been considerable renovations; the hotel is looking magnificent.’
Even saying his name made her stumble a little and blush.
Gabi saw Alim only occasionally but she thought about him a lot.
Their paths rarely crossed but if Gabi was organising a wedding at the Grande Lucia and Alim happened to be in residence at the time then her heart would get a rare treat, and she was secretly hoping for one today.
‘Let’s just see how you feel once you’ve actually seen the Grande Lucia for yourself,’ Gabi suggested. ‘Remember, though, that it’s terribly hard to get a booking there, especially at such short notice.’
‘Fleur doesn’t seem to think it will be a problem,’ Mona said with a distinct edge to her voice, and Gabi watched as she shot a look towards the mother of the groom. From all Gabi had gleaned, Fleur had agreed to finance the wedding on the condition that it was held there.
‘It won’t be,’ Fleur responded.
Gabi wasn’t so sure.
Marianna, the co-ordinator, was rather inflexible at the best of times and they wanted this wedding to be held in just over two weeks!
They made good time as the streets were comparatively empty. The rush of Christmas was over and even the Colosseum was closed to visitors.
Gabi stifled a yawn, wishing that she could put up her own Do not disturb sign to the world for a while.
She had hoped to spend the Christmas break going over the plans for starting her own business. Instead, she had again been called in to work through her leave. She was tired.
Almost too tired to keep alive the dream of one day owning her own business.
She had started working for Matrimoni di Bernadetta when she was eighteen and had hoped that it would provide the experience she needed to one day go it alone.
Six years later, at the age of twenty-four, that prospect seemed no brighter.
Bernadetta had made very sure of that—there was barely time to think, let alone act on her own dreams.
Still, she truly loved her job.
Gabi looked up as the gorgeous old building came into view and they soon pulled up at the entrance.
The car door was opened for them by the doorman, Ronaldo.
‘Ben tornato,’ Ronaldo said, and Gabi realised that it was Fleur and not she he was welcoming back.
Fleur must be a guest. And a favoured one too from the attention that Ronaldo gave her.
As Gabi got out there was a flutter of excitement at the thought that she might soon see Alim.
He was always polite, even if he was somewhat aloof. She didn’t take it personally. Alim was the same with everyone and maintained a certain distance. There was just an air of mystery to him that had Gabi entranced. An entire floor of the Grande Lucia served as Alim’s residence when he was in Rome, and so, through the hotel industry grapevine, Gabi knew more than a little of his reputation. He loved beautiful women and dated as many of them as he could—though one night with him was all they would ever get.
Breakfast was definitely not included in this particular package. In fact, according to Sophie, a friend of Gabi’s and a maid at the Grande Lucia, cold and callous were the most frequent words used to describe him by his lovers after they had been discarded.
That didn’t seem right to Gabi for she always felt warm in his gaze, and when it came to business, his professionalism was never in doubt.
Still, Sophie had told her, for all the tears there were perks for, rumour had it the reward for time spent in Alim’s arms came in the shape of a diamond.
It sounded crass.
Until you saw Alim.
He was completely out of her league, of course, and that was not her being self-effacing. He veered towards slender blondes of the supermodel kind, and women who definitely knew the ropes in the bedroom.
Apparently he had no inclination to teach.
Gabi didn’t mind in the least that Alim was utterly unattainable, for it made it safe for her to dream of him.
There was no sign that he was there when she walked through the brass revolving doors and into the magnificent foyer of the Grande Lucia.
It was almost perfection.
Stunning crimson carpet and silk walls were elegant—even sensual, perhaps—and worked well against the dark wooden furnishings. The space was vast and the ceilings high, yet there was an intimate feel from the moment you walked in, alongside the lovely buzz of a busy hotel.
As a centrepiece, there was a huge, crimson floral display.
Yes, almost perfect.
Gabi had an eye for detail and this arrangement irked her. It never varied, or moved with the times. Instead, there was a perpetual display of deep red roses and carnations and it had become a slight bone of contention when Gabi had negotiated on behalf of her brides.
Marianna came to greet them and took the trio for coffee at one of several intimate lounges just off the foyer.
There they went through a few details and though Marianna was delighted to announce that there was an opening in just over two weeks, she was not going to make it easy for the bride.
‘I do need to verify dates with the owner,’ Marianna said. ‘We’re expecting some VIP guests at the hotel in January so security will be particularly tight. I’m not sure we’ll be able to accommodate you then. Alim has asked to be informed before any dates are locked in...’ She paused and looked up. ‘Oh, there he—’
Marianna halted, causing Gabi to glance up. Alim had just entered the foyer with the requisite stunning blonde.
Gabi guessed, and rightly so, that Alim did not like to be disturbed with minor details every time he made an appearance so Marianna did not alert Mona and Fleur to his presence.
Yet such was his charisma, both women looked over.
And while Marianna might be doing her best not to disrupt Alim’s day, Gabi’s had just been turned on its head.
In the nicest of ways.
He wore a slim dark coat and there was such an air of magnificence about him that he simply turned heads.
Not just for his dark looks—there was more to him than that—but they were rather wonderful to dwell on. His hair was black and glossy and swept back. He stood tall and his posture was so upright he always made Gabi want to pull back her own shoulders.
There was a shift that ran through her body whenever he was near, an awareness that made it difficult to focus on anything other than him, for all else seemed to move to the periphery of her consciousness to allow Alim centre stage.
‘Quanti ospiti?’
Marianna’s voice was coming from a distance and as she asked how many guests for the wedding, it was Mona who answered instead of Gabi.
For Alim had looked over and met her gaze.
He was beautiful.
Always.
Effortlessly elegant, supremely polite, he was the calm, still water to Gabi’s fizz.
She was a dreamer, which meant that though he was out of her league, he was not out of bounds to her thoughts; innocent in body she may be, but not so in her mind.
And as for those eyes, they were a dark grey with silver flecks that spoke silently of the night.
His gaze was a dangerous thing to be held in, Gabi knew, and she was trapped in it now. There was a fire crackling in the grate and there was heat low, low in her stomach and rising to her neck.
She wanted to excuse herself from the conversation and walk over in response to his silent command. She wanted work to be gone, for his lover to disappear, and for Alim to lower her down onto a silken bed.
Just that.
‘Gabi...’ Marianna intruded.
‘Alim,’ his lover called.
But he was making his way over.
‘Va tuto bene?’
He asked if everything was okay, and though his Italian was excellent, it was laced in his own rich accent and rendered Gabi incapable of response, for she had not expected him to come over.
It was Marianna who responded and told him the preferred date for the wedding.
‘That would be fine.’ Alim nodded to Marianna and to the other guests and then he looked directly at Gabi; she found herself staring at his mouth as he spoke, for it was just a little safer than to stare into his eyes. ‘How are you, Gabi?’
‘I am well.’
‘That is good.’
He turned and walked away and she held her breath.
It was nothing—just an exchange so tiny that the others had not even noticed its significance, yet Gabi would survive on it for weeks.
He knew her name.
‘Perhaps you could take Mona to see the ballroom while I discuss details with Fleur,’ Marianna suggested.
Details being money.
‘Of course.’
Gabi stood and smoothed her skirt.
Oh, she loathed the black suit with a gold logo and the heavy, cowl-necked cream top. It was the perfect outfit for a funeral director, not a wedding planner.
If it were her own business she would wear a willow-green check with a hint of pink. Gabi had already chosen the fabric.
And she would not wear the black high heels that Bernadetta insisted on, for she felt too tall and bulky as she walked through the foyer alongside the future bride.
And then she saw Alim and Ms Blonde stepping into his private elevator, and Gabi scowled at his departing back, for she envied the intimate experience they were about to share. Ms Blonde was coiling herself around him and whispering into his ear.
Thank God for gated elevators.
They were excellent for regaining self-control, for they slammed shut on the couple and as the world came back from the peripheries Gabi recalled that there was a wedding to be arranged.
There were large double doors to the ballroom and Gabi opened them both so that Mona could get the full effect as she stepped in.
It truly was stunning.
Huge crystal chandeliers first drew the eye, but it was a feast in all directions.
‘Molto bello...’ Mona breathed, and it was a relief to slip back into speaking Italian. ‘The ballroom is nothing like I remember it.’
‘Alim, the owner, had it completely refurbished. The floor was sanded back, the chandeliers repaired. The Grande Lucia is once again the place for a wedding.’
‘I know it is,’ Mona admitted. ‘It is actually where James and I met. I was here for my grandparents’ anniversary. James was here, visiting...’ Mona stopped herself from voicing whatever it was she had been about to say. ‘I just don’t like it that Fleur is calling all the shots just because her...’ Mona clapped her lips together. Clearly she didn’t want to say too much.
Gabi, curious by nature, wished that she would.
Fleur was being very elusive.
From the draft guest list, the groom’s side seemed incredibly sparse. Just a best man from Scotland would be flying in and that was all. There was no mention of James’s father.
Gabi wondered if Fleur was widowed.
But Gabi wasn’t there to wonder and her mind turned, as it always did, into making this the very best of weddings.
‘Imagine dancing under those lights at night,’ Mona said.
‘There is nothing more beautiful,’ Gabi assured her, and then pointed up to a small gallery that ran the length of the westerly wall and imagined the select audience watching the proceedings in days long gone.
‘The photographer can get some amazing overhead shots of the dance floor from up there. A photographer I... I mean Matrimoni di Bernadetta regularly uses does the most marvellous time-lapse shots from the gallery. They are stunning.’
She could see that Mona was starting to get excited.
‘When you say you were here for your grandparents’ anniversary,’ Gabi probed, because the thought of time-lapse photos had got her thinking...
‘My grandparents were married here,’ Mona told her. ‘Sometimes they take out the record they danced to on their wedding night.’
‘Really?’
‘I even recognise the floor from their wedding photos. It’s like stepping back in time.’
Yes, even the ballroom floor was stunning—a parquet of mahogany, oak and redwood, all highly polished to reveal a subtle floral mosaic.
‘Your grandparents still dance to their wedding song...’
Mona nodded and Gabi could see that she was already sold on the venue.
There would be a string quartet, but Mona loved Gabi’s suggestion that she and James dance their first dance to the same record that her grandparents had.
And a wedding, a very beautiful one, was finally starting to be born.
It was a rather more glowing bride-to-be who returned to the lounge area and now chatted happily with Fleur and Marianna about plans.
And it was a bemused Gabi who looked up and saw Ms Blonde angrily striding through the foyer; she didn’t know why, but she would bet her life’s savings that Alim had uncoiled her, unwilling, from his arms.
Then later, much later, when plans were starting to be put more firmly in place, Gabi called Rosa with the official dates.
‘I’m already working on the dress,’ Rosa said. ‘She’s cutting it terribly fine to wear one of my gowns, even ready-to-wear.’
And, after a long, tiring day taking care of others, Gabi did something for herself.
She was all glowing and happy from that tiny exchange with Alim. Of course his lover’s departure could have nothing to do with her, but Gabi was a dreamer, and already her mind was turning things around.
‘Can I come and try on the silver dress?’ she asked.
It was wonderful to dream of Alim.
CHAPTER TWO (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
IT TRULY WAS a beautiful wedding.
Not that Gabi had a second to enjoy it.
Resplendent in his kilt, the best man was being actively pursued by the matron of honour and doing his best to get away. Fleur was tense and asking that they hurry. The little flower girls were teary and cold as they stood in the snow for photos and Gabi felt like a bedraggled shepherdess as she juggled umbrellas for the bridal party and tried to herd the guests.
She was wearing boots, but that was the only concession to the cold.
Finally they were all in cars and heading off for the reception as Gabi ensured that the choir had been paid.
Bernadetta sat in her car, smoking, as Gabi shivered her way down the church steps.
And then it happened.
Gabi slipped on the ice and bumped down the last three stairs in the most ungainly fashion imaginable.
Not that anyone came over to help.
She sat for a moment, trying to catch her breath and assess the damage.
From the feel of things her bottom was bruised.
Pulling herself to a stand, Gabi saw that her skirt was filthy and sodden and, removing her jacket, she saw that it had split along the back seam.
To make things just a little bit more miserable than they already were, Bernadetta was furious, especially that Gabi had no change of clothes.
‘Why haven’t you got a spare suit with you?’ she demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be a planner after all.’
Because you only give me two suits, Gabi wanted to answer, but she knew it wouldn’t help. ‘It’s at the dry-cleaner’s.’
And, of course, Bernadetta spitefully pointed out that no one else had one that would fit Gabi.
‘Go home and get changed,’ she hissed. ‘Wear something...’ And she took her hands and sort of exasperatedly pushed them together, as if Gabi was supposed to produce something that might contract her size.
And Bernadetta didn’t add, as she always did to her other staff, Don’t outshine the bride.
Gabi, it was assumed, hadn’t a hope of that.
Oh, she wanted to resign, so very much.
Gabi was close to tears as she arrived back at her tiny flat and, of course, there was nothing in her wardrobe she could possibly wear.
Well, there was one thing.
The silver-grey dress made by Rosa’s magical hands, though Bernadetta would consider her grossly overdressed.
Yet it was a very simple design...
Gabi undressed and saw that, yes, she indeed had a bruise on her bottom and on the left of her thigh.
In fact, she ached and was cold to the bone.
A quick shower warmed her up and Gabi was, by the time she stepped out of it, actually a lot more relaxed for the brief reprieve.
Wedding days were always so full on and it was actually nice to take a short break.
When she had her own business, Gabi decided, she would organise a rota so that all of her staff were able to take some time between the formal service and the reception. Perhaps there could be a change of outfit for them too...
Gabi halted.
She was back to hoping and dreaming that one day she might be working for herself.
How, though, when Bernadetta had her securely locked in?
Still there wasn’t time to dwell on it now.
The dress had been a gift from Rosa but, feeling guilty simply accepting it, Gabi had splurged on the right bra to go with it and, of course, matching silver knickers, which she quickly put on before wriggling into the dress.
Rosa really was a magician with fabric—the dress was cut on the bias and fell beautifully over her curves.
And it deserved more effort than her usual lack.
Sitting at her small dressing table, Gabi twisted her hair and piled it up on her head, rather than leaving it down. She put on some lip-gloss and mascara and then worried that it might be too much because usually she didn’t bother with such things.
Yet she didn’t wipe them off.
Instead, she dressed to look her best.
Tonight she didn’t want to be the dowdy funeral director version of Gabi, or the clumsy, fall-down-the-stairs, eternally rushed wedding planner she appeared at times.
It was a split-second decision, a choice that she made.
Gabi looked in the mirror. This was the person she would be if she worked for herself and was orchestrating a high-class function tonight.
This was actually the closest she had ever looked to the woman she was inside.
Gabi arrived back at the hotel, her stunning dress hidden by a coat and wearing boots with her pretty shoes held in a bag. Security was tight and Ronaldo, the doorman, even though he knew her well, apologised but said that she had to show ID. ‘There are VIP’s staying at the hotel,’ he explained as he stamped his feet against the cold.
‘There often are,’ Gabi said.
‘Royalty,’ Ronaldo grumbled, because royalty in residence meant a whole lot of extra work!
‘Who?’
‘Gabi,’ Ronaldo warned, for he was under strict instruction, but then smiled as he chose to reveal—it was just to Gabi after all! ‘The Sultan of Sultans and his daughter.’
‘Wow!’
Oh, she hoped for a glimpse of them—it sounded amazing!
Gabi handed over her coat at Reception and pursed her lips when she saw the large crimson floral display in the foyer.
The Grande Lucia was a wonderful hotel but it was like turning the Titanic to effect change at times.
Nervous, a little shy, and doing her best not to show it, Gabi returned to the wedding and walked straight into Bernadetta’s spiteful reproach.
‘If the bride had wanted a Christmas tree arrangement in the corner, I would have charged her for one,’ Bernadetta hissed, and Gabi felt her tiny drop of confidence in her newfound self drain away.
‘We need to check that the gramophone has been properly set up,’ Bernadetta told her. ‘And we need to find the key to the gallery for the photographer.’
‘We’ being Gabi.
She hit the ballroom floor running, or rather working away to make the night go as smoothly as possible for the happy couple.
Indeed, they looked happy.
Mona’s dress was sublime and her groom was handsome and relaxed and...
Gabi frowned.
James reminded her of someone, but she could not place him.
Or was it just the fact that he was tall and blond, like his mother, that made him stand out a touch more amongst the many Italian guests?
There was no time to dwell on it, though, and no time to acknowledge the ache of disappointment that Alim was nowhere to be seen.
And she admitted it to herself then, as she let the photographer up to the gallery and walked back through the foyer.
The dress, the pretty heels, the hair and the make-up...
In part they had been on the off chance that Alim might see her.
* * *
Alim was, in fact, in the building, but for once his presence was low key.
‘I hate that we can’t be at the wedding,’ Yasmin moaned for the hundredth time, and pushed her dessert aside unfinished.
Alim said nothing in response.
He was very used to his sister’s histrionics.
‘We are shooed away like vermin,’ Yasmin snarled, and threw down her napkin.
‘Hardly vermin,’ Alim drawled, refusing to be drawn in—they were sitting in the private area of the sumptuous restaurant at the Grande Lucia after all.
Their father did not join them for it would only draw attention, and that was everything Alim was doing his best to avoid.
At least for tonight.
The staff at the Grande Lucia were very used to esteemed guests but, Alim knew, they were starting to comprehend that Oman, the Sultan of Sultans, was in fact Alim’s father.
Alim did not use his title in the workplace—Sultan Alim al-Lehan of Zethlehan.
Neither did he use it in his personal life, for it was a risqué personal life indeed. Diamonds paid for silence and there was the slick machine of the palace PR to wash indiscretions away.
Oman’s main indiscretion was the reason they were here in the dining room tonight.
Close to the wedding but not present.
Tonight, when the happy couple headed to the bridal suite, Fleur, the groom’s mother, would head to her own sumptuous suite of rooms.
Violetta, who dealt with palace PR and external arrangements, had taken over the arrangements of the guest rooms from Marianna.
Alim did not need to know, though of course he did, that Fleur’s suite adjoined his father’s.
Fleur was Oman’s mistress of long standing.
She had borne the Sultan of Sultans his first son.
James had had a seemingly privileged life. He had been schooled at Windsor, had attended university in Scotland, and had a trust fund that would make most people’s eyes water.
But his father’s name did not appear on his birth certificate and he bore no title. To the people of Zethlehan he simply did not exist.
Yet he was Alim, Kaleb and Yasmin’s half-brother, and they loved him so.
Kaleb, who was younger than Alim, would instead see the happy couple in Paris, where he currently lived.
The three of them together would turn heads indeed but subtlety was the aim on this night.
Yasmin, who lived a very sheltered life in Zethlehan, had pleaded to be a part of the proceedings.
Those fervent pleas from Yasmin had been declined by their father and so Alim had stepped in and offered to do what he could to enable Yasmin to observe the wedding from a distance.
Alim had arranged it so that he and Yasmin had been taking refreshments in the lounge when the bridal party had arrived back from the church, so that Yasmin could see the dress and everything.
Yasmin had enjoyed it immensely. ‘What on earth is he wearing?’ she asked about the best man.
‘A kilt,’ Alim explained. ‘He’s from Scotland.’
‘Oh, it’s so exciting,’ Yasmin breathed.
A glimpse of the bridal party wasn’t enough for her, though.
And though Alim had arranged that they eat the same meal and drink the same wines as the bridal party, it was a somewhat muted celebration.
The speeches would be wrapping up now, Alim explained, and he actually ached that he was not able to hear them.
‘I want to see them dance.’ Yasmin pouted.
She was very used to getting her own way.
But not in this, Alim promised.
There were volumes of intricate and ancient laws and, until he himself ruled, Alim had no choice but to adhere to them.
Alim loved his country fiercely, and respected many of the traditions, yet from childhood he had seen the need for change.
For now, though, he tried to placate his young sister.
‘You will see James and Mona tomorrow for breakfast; you can congratulate them then.’
‘It’s not the same, though!’ Yasmin refused to be mollified. ‘Why can’t I slip into the ballroom for just a few moments and see them? You shall, Alim.’
‘I shall only because I own the hotel and I often check in on functions. You would be noticed.’
Yasmin, like her brothers, had her share of the al-Lehan good looks and her entrance would be noted.
It would not take much for people to work things out.
Even so, Alim could not bear to see his sister unhappy—he knew how much Yasmin had been looking forward to such a rare occasion as a trip overseas.
‘Listen,’ Alim said. ‘There is a viewing gallery in the ballroom.’ He watched Yasmin’s eyes widen. ‘The photographer will be there now, setting up for photos, but after he comes down, you could watch things from there for a short while. I can give you a master key and you can go in a separate entrance from him and wait.’
‘Yes!’ Her eyes shone with excitement.
‘Just for a little while,’ Alim warned. ‘The photographer will be back towards the end of the celebrations so keep an eye on him for when he leaves to come back up.’
‘I shall.’
He gave her the key and further instructions and pretended not to notice that she swiped a bottle of champagne as they walked from the dining room.
Yasmin was very protected and afforded none of the freedom that Alim and Kaleb had been.
She deserved a little fun during her time in Rome, Alim thought.
So he led her to the stairwell and warned her again to stay low and to be quiet.
‘Thank you, Alim!’
‘Don’t make trouble! Watch for a little while and then go to bed.’
Alone now, it was Alim who wanted to see his brother on this his wedding day.
And he also wanted to speak with Gabi.
Alim was a very astute businessman and he recognised Gabi’s talent. He had worked very hard to bring the hotel up to standard but was aware that there was still much to be done. Marianna was very set in her ways and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Gabi to be a part of his team.
Alim did not use the main entrance to the ballroom, for he wished to be discreet. Instead, he walked out through a courtyard and breathed in the cold air.
It was snowing and he stood for a moment listening to the applause as the speeches ended. The master of ceremonies was telling the guests that there had been another couple who had married here some sixty years ago and was leading into the first dance for the newlyweds.
Holding the wedding here and all that entailed had been the least he could do for his half-brother.
The staff might discover his royal status perhaps, but that was a small price to pay for being able to be somewhat involved in this day.
He wondered how his father felt, upstairs in the Royal Suite, as his eldest son married downstairs.
Alim walked in through the French windows and looked over at Fleur, who sat, a part of the bridal party yet somehow remote.
Alim held nothing against her—in fact, he felt for her. She had been a good mother to James and had never caused any problems for his family.
He, himself, was causing problems for a certain someone, though.
His entrance, however unobtrusive, could not have come at a worse time for Gabi.
Of all the moments that Alim could have chosen to check on proceedings, Gabi would have preferred that it was not this particular one.
Often he arrived with an entourage, but on this night he had slipped quietly into the ballroom just as the happy couple were about to take to the floor.
And that was the problem.
An old-fashioned gramophone had been set up and a microphone discreetly placed over it so that in this delicious old ballroom history would tonight be repeated.
Of course, there was a back-up recording to hand should the needle skid across the vinyl or start to jump, or should the assistant wedding planner’s hand be shaking so much just at the sight of Alim.
He made her a quivering wreck simply by his presence.
He came in from the cold and, though impossible from this distance, she felt as if the cool air followed him in, for she shivered.
Do not look over, Gabi told herself. Just ignore that he has come in.
Under Bernadetta’s less-than-reassuring glare, Gabi placed the needle on the vinyl and the sounds of yesteryear crackled into life. It was not the bride and groom who took to the dance floor—it was the bride’s grandparents.
Tenderly, the elderly man held his wife and it was the perfect pastiche as the younger couple joined them.
It was an incredibly moving passing of the baton and just so utterly romantic to watch the elderly couple and the newlyweds dance side by side that it brought a tear to Gabi’s eyes.
Oh, it made all the sleepless nights worth it, just for this.
She glanced up and saw that the photographer was snapping away.
They would be beautiful photos indeed.
Gabi went through her list on her tablet and saw that for now she was up to date.
Everything really had gone seamlessly.
‘Another Matrimoni di Bernadetta success,’ Bernadetta said, and Gabi’s jaw gritted as her boss came and stood by her side. ‘I hope that I can trust you to take it from here.’
Bernadetta made it sound as if she was bestowing a great favour when in truth she was skiving off early and leaving it all to Gabi.
All of it had been left to Gabi.
Bernadetta had flown back from her vacation just this morning and had spent most of the day staying warm in her luxurious car.
Gabi stood there, biting back tears as Bernadetta waltzed off, though of course she took time to network. Bernadetta knew very well which side her bread was buttered on, and was sweet and charming to anyone who might assist her ascent. She walked up to Alim, and Gabi saw her put her hands up in false modesty as she no doubt accepted congratulations from Alim for another hugely successful wedding.
And Gabi stood there, dreaming of one day going it alone.
Just dreaming of the day when she could call a night such as this her success and be the one Alim congratulated.
And that was how he saw her.
Lost in a dream.
Alim walked towards her and as she turned and looked towards him he smiled. She felt that she shone.
Criticism and fault were gone when she was held in his gaze.
No man had ever made her feel like that, no man had ever made her feel as if there was nothing, but nothing, that she needed to change.
He did that with just one look.
‘I was wondering...’ Alim said in that smoky voice of his, and so lost in her dream was Gabi that she put down the tablet she held and stepped towards him on instinct.
‘I’d love to.’
And then she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
Of course his arms were not waiting for her. Gabi had thought, stupidly thought, that he was asking her to dance, but instead, as he sidestepped, it was just a cringe-inducing faux pas.
Of all the embarrassing moments she had lived through, this was Gabi’s worst.
‘We’re working, Gabi,’ Alim said politely.
But no matter how skilfully he deflected or made light of her gaffe, not even he could save her from her shame as he told her the real reason that he had approached.
Of course he hadn’t been about to ask her for this dance.
‘I was wondering,’ Alim repeated, ‘if I might have a word.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
OH, THE SHAME!
Gabi wanted the dance floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Instead, she stood there as Alim gestured with his head, indicating that they move out from the ballroom.
When Alim asked to speak with someone, they tended to say yes, even if they would have preferred to run.
‘The bride might need me.’ Gabi floundered for an excuse. ‘Bernadetta just left.’
‘I know that.’
Alim had a word with one of the staff as they made their way out and told them where they could be found. ‘If anyone is looking for you, you will be told.’
She retrieved her tablet and he led them out of the ballroom to a table and chairs, and as she took a seat he put up his hand to halt a waiter as he approached.
This was business.
Yet her navy eyes were shining with embarrassed tears and there was a mottle to her chest from the mother of all burning blushes.
Poor thing, Alim thought.
He was terribly used to women liking him, even if it was a more sophisticated sandpit where he usually played.
Gabi would know that.
Surely?
* * *
‘The wedding and the celebrations have gone very well,’ Alim said.
‘Matrimoni di Bernadetta put a lot of effort into it,’ Gabi duly responded.
‘I think we both know,’ Alim said, ‘that Bernadetta put precisely zero effort into this wedding.’
Gabi blinked at his forthrightness.
‘Bernadetta isn’t here,’ Alim interrupted, ‘so speak to me, Gabi.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I might be able to help. I appreciate hard work, I like to see talent rewarded.’
‘I am well rewarded.’
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
The pay, they both knew, was terrible.
‘I know that the gramophone was your idea,’ Alim told her.
‘How could you know that?’
‘I know the groom. That is why I had to drop in and check that everything was going well.’
‘Oh.’
‘And he told me how impressed they were with you.’
Actually, the information hadn’t been that forthcoming, James hadn’t raced to tell Alim how wonderful the assistant wedding planner was.
Alim had specifically asked.
His success had come, not by accident, or by acquired wealth or by flouting his title. He kept his royal status as private as he could, and while his impossible wealth had been a starting point, it was his attention to detail that caused his ventures to thrive.
Alim did not merely accept findings, he dug deeper. And while he knew that Matrimoni di Bernadetta was amongst the top tier of wedding planners, he was very aware of the mechanics of the business.
Bernadetta had chosen well!
‘Tell me.’
He could tell she was nervous.
‘Why did you choose this career?’ he asked.
‘Because I love weddings.’
‘Even now?’ Alim asked. ‘Even after...?’ He asked a question. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-four and, yes, I still love weddings. I always have, since I was a little girl.’
‘And you’ve worked for Bernadetta for how long?’
‘Six years,’ Gabi said. ‘Before that I worked for a local seamstress. And when I was at school...’ She halted, not wanting to bore him.
‘Go on.’
‘I worked for a local florist. I used to work through Friday night to have the bouquets ready for weddings. I would get up to go to the markets before school...’
This was the passion Alim wanted in his staff.
‘I was very lucky that Bernadetta took me on.’
‘Why is that?’ he asked.
‘Well, I had no qualifications. My mother needed me to work so I left school at sixteen and Matromoni di Bernadetta has a good reputation.’
‘So how did you get an interview?’
‘I wrote to her,’ Gabi admitted. ‘Many times. After a year she finally agreed to give me an interview, though she warned me the competition was extremely tough. I had my friend Rosa make me a suit and I...’ Gabi gave a tight shrug. ‘I asked for a trial.’
‘I see.’
‘Bernadetta showed me a brief she had for a very important wedding and asked for my ideas.’ Gabi gave him a smile. ‘You’ve heard of fake it till you make it...’
‘Fake what?’ Alim asked.
‘I pretended that I knew what I was doing.’
‘But you did know what you were doing,’ Alim said, and Gabi swallowed. ‘You had already worked for a seamstress and a florist...’
‘Yes, but...’
‘And what happened with the ideas you gave her for this very important wedding?’
‘She incorporated some of them.’
‘So what part were you faking?’
Gabi frowned. ‘I’ve learnt an awful lot working for Bernadetta.’
‘Of course,’ Alim agreed. ‘She is at the top of her game. I have no hesitation recommending her. Still, I know that lately most of the credit should fall to you. Have you ever thought about moving out on your own?’
Her blush had all but faded and now it returned, though not to her chest. He watched as her cheeks darkened and her jaw tightened and Gabi was angry indeed, Alim knew.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Alim...’ Gabi shook her head. She was loyal, even if it was misplaced, and she had also got into trouble for dreaming out loud before.
‘Talk to me,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I may be able to help.’
‘Bernadetta found out that I one day hoped to go out on my own, and she reminded me of a clause in my contract.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I can’t use any of the firms that she does for six months after leaving. I’d have to make new contacts.’
‘But you already use only the best.’
‘Yes.’ Gabi nodded, glad that he immediately got it. She had spent hours trying to explain it to her mother, who’d said she should just be glad to have a job. It was so nice to discuss it with Alim! ‘Those contacts weren’t all Bernadetta’s to start off with.’ Gabi had held it in for so long that it was a relief to vent some of her frustration. ‘The bride tonight is wearing Rosa’s creation. It was her lounge floor that I used to cut fabric on.’
‘Tell me,’ he urged.
So Gabi did.
‘When I first worked for Bernadetta we had a bride to dress and she had only one arm. So many of the designers shunned her, they did not want her wearing one of their creations. I was furious so I suggested that Bernadetta try Rosa. She scoffed at the idea at first but in the end agreed to give her a try—Rosa made the bride a princess on her day. It was a very high-profile wedding and so in came the orders. Now Rosa works in the best street in Rome. Rosa is my contact but of course I did not think to get that in writing at the time.’
Alim watched as Gabi slumped a little in her seat.
Defeated.
And then he fought not to smile as her hand went to her hair and she coiled a strand around her finger.
For after a moment’s pause she rose again.
Now she had started to air her grievances, Gabi found that she could not stop. ‘The flowers today, the gardenias—it was the florist’s idea to replicate the grandmother’s bouquet.’ Alim noted that Gabi did not take credit where it was not due and he liked that. ‘The florist, Angela, is the woman I worked with when I was at school. We used to work in a tiny store, now she is known as one of the finest bridal florists in Rome.’
‘So the best contacts are off limits,’ Alim said, and Gabi nodded.
‘For six months after I leave—and I doubt I could hold off for that long. That is assuming anyone will hire me as their wedding planner. I doubt Bernadetta will give a good reference.’
‘She’ll bad-mouth you.’
He said it as fact.
He was right.
Alim had thought he had the solution.
Right now, he could be wrapping the conversation up with the offer that Gabi come and work for him.
It was rather more complicated now, though, and not just because she liked him. Alim was very used to that.
It was that he liked her.
He acknowledged it then. Just a little, he assured himself.
But, yes, for two years the hotel had seemed warmer when Gabi was here. For two years he had smiled to himself as she clipped across the foyer in those awful heels, or muttered a swear word now and then under her breath.
He had never allowed himself to acknowledge her beauty but he could not deny it now.
She looked stunning.
Her hair was falling from its confines, her dress shimmered over her curves and how the hell had he not swept her into his arms to dance? Alim pondered. But the answer, though he denied it, was becoming clearer the longer they spoke—he had been resisting her for a long time.
The other week his mood had not been great.
Christmas was always busy in the hotel industry but it wasn’t just that that had accounted for his dark mood.
Issues back home were becoming more pressing.
But it wasn’t that either.
There had been a vague air of discontent that he could not place, though admittedly he had avoided seeking its source.
Alim had not wanted to give voice to it.
So he hadn’t.
Outside work he had been his usual reprobate self, but some time between Christmas and New Year he had walked into the foyer of the Grande Lucia and seen that Fleur had taken him up on his suggestion that they use Matrimoni di Bernadetta to plan the wedding. They hadn’t held a wedding here in a very long while and Alim had found that he missed Gabi’s presence. The air felt different when she was around.
He fought to bring his thoughts back to work.
‘What would you do differently from Bernadetta?’
Gabi frowned, for it felt like an interview, but she answered his question.
‘I’d ditch the black suit.’
‘You already have.’ His eyes did not leave hers as he said it but he let her know that the change from her usual attire had been noted.
Oh, it had.
It no longer felt like an interview.
Their minds actually fought not to flirt—Gabi because she did not want to make a fool of herself again, and Alim because he kept work at work.
‘There was a wardrobe malfunction back at the church,’ Gabi carefully answered.
‘Malfunction?’
‘I fell,’ Gabi said. ‘Thankfully it was after the bridal party had left, but I tore my suit.’
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘A bit.’
He wanted to peel off her dress and examine her bruises; he wanted to bring her now to his lap.
But still his eyes never left hers and the conversation remained polite.
‘So you would ditch the black suit in favour of what?
‘I’ve seen this fabric, it’s a willow-green and pink check, more a tartan. It sounds terrible but...’
‘No,’ Alim said. ‘It sounds different. Do you have a picture?’
Of course she did, and she took only a moment to bring it up on her tablet and hand it to Alim.
He looked at the picture of the fabric she had chosen. It was more subtle than she had described and, yes, it would be the perfect choice.
‘What would you change here at the Grande Lucia?’ he asked as he handed back the tablet. He expected her to flounder, given that she’d had no time to prepare.
Gabi though knew exactly what the first change would be.
‘There would be a blanket ban on red carnations throughout the hotel.’
She watched the slight twitch of his very beautiful lips. Alim had many areas of expertise but flowers were not amongst them. ‘I don’t tend to get involved with the floral displays,’ he said.
‘I do.’ Gabi smiled. ‘I obsess about such things.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What would you choose?’
‘Sahara roses are always nice, though I think it should vary through the week, and at weekends I would change the theme to tie in with the main function being held.’
‘Would you, now?’
‘You did ask.’
‘Are Sahara roses your favourite flower?’
‘No,’ Gabi said.
‘What is?’
‘Sweet peas.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Marianna would faint at the idea and deny that they are sophisticated enough for the Grande Lucia, but, honestly, when arranged right...’
Her face lit up and he smiled.
Gabi was all fresh ideas and the zing of youth, and coupled with Marianna’s wisdom...
But it was getting harder to think of business.
Very hard.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Alim offered.
‘I’m working.’
And there was a slight ironic smile that dusted his lips as she mirrored his own words from earlier.
‘Gabi...’ Alim said, and then halted.
He needed to think this through before he offered her this role; she had already been dragged over the coals. If she were to work for him, it could get messy. One-night stands were his usual fare and that was why he kept his personal life where it belonged.
In bed.
He wanted the best for his business and yet, rarely for Alim, he found that he wanted what was best for her, so he came up with an alternative.
‘Have you thought of going into partnership with Bernadetta?’
‘Partnership?’ Gabi shot him an incredulous look. ‘She would laugh me out of her office if I suggested it.’
‘And when she had stopped laughing, you would tell her that you’d make a better partner than rival.’
It had never even crossed her mind.
‘Or, if you continue to work for her you set your limits, you tell Bernadetta only what you are prepared to do. What works for you...’
He did not want to lose her though.
Oh, this could get messy, yet the closer he examined it, the more it appealed.
‘There is another option...’
‘Gabi!’ Her name was said again and she turned as one of the waiters came over. ‘The photographer wants to speak with you.’
‘Excuse me,’ Gabi said, and, ever the gentleman, Alim stood as she left.
Alim went back into the ballroom and looked up. He saw the westerly door open and smiled at the thought of Yasmin creeping in.
And then he turned and saw his brother.
There were no halves where love was concerned.
‘Congratulations,’ Alim said.
‘Thank you.’
And that was all he could offer in public.
James’s complexion and hair were lighter but standing side by side it would be hard to miss the similarities. They had to step apart before someone made the connection.
Alim took a call from Violetta and was told that the Sultan of Sultans would like to speak with him.
Things were already tense between Alim and Oman.
Oman resented Alim’s freedom, and was bitter with his lot for Fleur was the love of his life. And, in turn, Alim, though respectful with words, was silently disapproving, for he loved his mother and loathed how she had been treated.
Alim bowed as he entered the Royal Suite and then told his father about the wedding’s progress.
‘Everything is going smoothly,’ Alim informed him, though that knowledge did not make things better for Oman since he could not be there to see his son marry for himself.
‘Where is Yasmin?’ he snapped.
‘We had dinner,’ Alim calmly answered, ‘and she is now in her suite. The reception will finish shortly; you will see James and Mona in the morning.’
No doubt, Alim thought, Fleur would be here soon.
He thought he would now be dismissed but, instead, Oman brought up an argument of old.
One that had never really left them.
‘I want you home.’
Alim was in no mood for this but he did not show his irritation. ‘I was in Zethlehan last month and I shall be back for a formal visit in—’
‘I mean permanently.’ Oman interrupted.
‘That isn’t going to happen.’
They had had this argument many times before.
Alim refused to act as caretaker to his country just so that his father could travel abroad more.
He would not facilitate the shaming of his mother.
Although he was happy for James and Mona and wished he could participate more in the celebration, tonight still felt like a betrayal to his mother.
‘You are thirty-two years old, Alim. Surely it is time that you marry?’
Alim stayed silent but his eyes told his father that he did not need marriage guidance from a man who had a wife and a mistress. Alim never cheated. He was upfront in all his relationships, and there could be no confusion that what he offered was a temporary affair. Arrogant, some might say, but better that than leading someone on.
‘I shall select a bride for you,’ Oman said in threat. ‘Then you shall have no choice but to marry.’
‘We always have choices.’
The advice he had so recently given to Gabi had been tested over and over by Alim—he had long ago set his limits with his father and told him what he was and was not willing to do.
‘To choose a bride without my agreement could only serve to embarrass not just the bride but our country when the groom does not show,’ Alim warned. ‘I will not be pushed into marriage,’
‘Alim, I am not well.’
‘How unwell?’ Alim asked, for he did not trust his father not to exaggerate for gain.
‘I require treatment. I am going to have to stay out of the public eye for six months at least.’
Alim listened as his father went into detail about his health issues and Alim had to concede grudgingly that there was a battle ahead.
‘I will step in,’ Alim responded. ‘You know that.’
It wasn’t the response his father wanted, though, and he pressed his son further. ‘Our people need good news, a wedding would be pleasing for them.’
Alim would not be manipulated and stood up to his father just as he always had. ‘Our people would surely want to see the Sultan of Sultans at such a celebration. A son’s wedding without his father’s presence would send the message that the father did not approve of his son’s choice of bride, and this could surely cause our people anxiety.’ Alim watched his father’s jaw grit. ‘Let us discuss this again when you are well.’
His father would have argued further, but suddenly Alim sensed distraction as he saw Oman glance towards the adjoining door, and he guessed that his father’s lover had just arrived.
‘I shall see you in the morning for breakfast,’ Alim said, and then bowed and left.
As he walked along the corridor, though outwardly calm, inside his mood was dark. No, he could not put off choosing a bride for ever, but he had no desire to live the life that his parents did—he thought of his mother alone tonight in the palace. Always she had put on a brave face and smiled at her children as if things were just fine.
How could they be?
Alim did not want a bride chosen for him by his father.
He wanted...
What?
The maudlin feeling would not shift. Alim reminded himself that his friend Bastiano would be in town next week and that would likely cheer him up. But Bastiano was just another rich playboy, and the casinos and clubs did not hold their usual allure for Alim.
In truth, he was tired of his exhausting private life. The thrill of the chase no longer existed, for after two years in Rome women sought him out.
He walked through the foyer and, sure enough, the last of the guests were leaving.
Alim went up the stairwell and, unlocking the door, he went onto the gallery.
There were no signs of his sister and Alim assumed she was safely in her suite. The photographer had left some equipment so Alim made a mental note to lock the door as he left.
Alim glanced down at the stunning ballroom.
The staff were clearing the glasses and tables away but most of it would wait for the morning.
It was done.
The wedding had been his gift to the couple and Fleur had engineered things so that it was held at the Grande Lucia. Yet he had not taken any significant part in the proceedings.
Yes, it had been a wonderful wedding but for Alim it had been a wretched day and night.
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CAROL MARINELLI
A scandalous royal consequence!One night with innocent wedding planner Gabi was not enough for Sultan Alim al-Lehan, but duty called him home. Memories of their forbidden pleasure prove impossible to forget—especially when he discovers Gabi has just returned from maternity leave!The baby must be his...and if Gabi won’t tell him then Alim will seduce the truth out of her! Commanding that she arrange his wedding—even if he’s not yet picked a wife—is the ideal ruse. Alim wants her in his bed—but as the Sultan’s mistress or his bride?
A scandalous royal consequence!
One night with innocent wedding planner Gabi was not enough for Sultan Alim al-Lehan, but duty called him home. Memories of their forbidden pleasure prove impossible to forget—especially when he discovers Gabi has just returned from maternity leave!
The baby must be his, but if Gabi won’t tell him, Alim will seduce the truth out of her! Commanding that she arrange his wedding, even if he’s not yet picked a wife, is the ideal ruse. Alim wants her in his bed, but must decide—as a sultan’s mistress or bride!i
Gabi heard the door open and turned, assuming it was one of the staff to clear the remnants of the wedding away.
Instead it was Alim.
‘I was just...’ Gabi started. Just what? Thinking about you.
She was one burning blush as he walked across the room, and she didn’t know where to go or what to do with herself as he approached the old gramophone.
And then she shivered.
Not because it was cold, for the air was perfectly warm. Instead she shivered in silent delight as she heard the slight scratch of the needle hitting the vinyl. The sounds of old were given life again and etched for ever on her heart as he turned around and walked towards her.
without a word, he offered her this dance. And, without a word, she accepted.
‘Listen…’ He spoke into her ear and his low voice offered a delicious warning. ‘I am trouble.’
‘I know that.’
‘If you like me, then I am doubly so.’
‘I know all of that,’ Gabi said.
The trouble was, right now—here in his arms—Gabi didn’t care about trouble. So she lifted her face to his.
Billionaires & One-Night Heirs (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
Secret babies they are determined to claim!
Raul, Alim and Bastiano—three billionaires renowned the world over for their charisma and commanding ways.
Lydia, Gabi and Sophie—three innocents who cannot resist their seductive appeal.
And when sizzling nights lead to nine-month consequences there is no other option—these billionaires will claim their heirs!
The Innocent’s Secret Baby
Bound by the Sultan’s Baby
Available now
Sicilian’s Baby of Shame
Coming soon!
You won’t want to miss this addictive new trilogy from Carol Marinelli!
Bound by the Sultan’s Baby
Carol Marinelli
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!
Books by Carol Marinelli
Mills & Boon Modern Romance
Billionaires & One-Night Heirs
The Innocent’s Secret Baby
One Night With Consequences
The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest
Irresistible Russian Tycoons
The Price of His Redemption
The Cost of the Forbidden
Billionaire Without a Past
Return of the Untamed Billionaire
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
Their Secret Royal Baby
Paddington Children’s Hospital
Their One Night Baby
The London Primary Hospital
Playboy on Her Christmas List
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/) for more titles.
Contents
Cover (#ubb563a57-76d3-5a5f-80cb-5999dcf206b1)
Back Cover Text (#u30d8024c-8e37-5eaa-9a2c-b59e8ec2c820)
Introduction (#u11d061fa-192c-5c08-9dbd-7cae7a5380a5)
Billionaires & One-Night Heirs (#ua1775d07-faa0-5b4c-82fc-c29a16f50460)
Title Page (#u4e4029b7-b0a2-50c2-8b49-51edef80fc36)
About the Author (#uf778efa9-9ab0-5dc6-b2e5-35baf930b72c)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1ac3df31-4ca7-5783-9412-074c823f158e)
CHAPTER TWO (#uf11ac7c9-2a47-5d72-90c3-968809d06f35)
CHAPTER THREE (#u7da37ffd-3f1d-5b8a-bc48-02aba81c0bb7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
GABI DERAMO HAD never been a bridesmaid, let alone a bride.
However, weddings were her life and she thought about them during most of the minutes of her day.
From way back she had lived and breathed weddings.
Gabi was a dreamer.
As a little girl, her dolls would regularly be lined up in a bridal procession. Once, to her mother’s fury, Gabi had poured two whole bags of sugar and one of flour over them to create a winter wedding effect.
‘Essere nerre nuvole,’ her mother, Carmel, had scolded, telling her that she lived in the clouds.
What Gabi didn’t tell her was that at each wedding she made with her dolls, she pretended it was her mother. As if somehow she could conjure her father’s presence and make it so that he had not left a pregnant Carmel to struggle alone.
And while Gabi had never been so much as kissed, as an assistant wedding planner she had played her part in many a romantic escape.
She dreamt of the same most nights.
And she dreamt of Alim.
Now Gabi sat, flicking through the to-do list on her tablet and curling her long black hair around her finger, trying to work out how on earth she could possibly organise, from scratch, an extremely rushed but very exclusive winter wedding in Rome.
Mona, the bride-to-be, stepped out of the changing area on her third attempt at trying on a gown not of Gabi’s choice.
It didn’t suit Mona in the least—the antique lace made her olive skin look sallow and the heavy fabric did nothing to accentuate her delicate frame.
‘What do you think?’ Mona asked Gabi as she turned around to look in the mirror and examined herself from behind.
Gabi knew from experience how to deal with a bride who stood in completely the wrong choice of gown. ‘What do you think, Mona?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mona sighed. ‘I quite like it.’
‘Then it isn’t the gown for you,’ Gabi said. ‘Because you have to love it.’
Mona had resisted the boutique owner’s guidance and had completely dismissed Gabi’s suggestion for a bright, white, column gown with subtle embroidery. In fact, Mona hadn’t even tried it on.
Gabi’s suggestions were dismissed rather a lot.
She was curvy and dressed in the severe, shapeless dark suit that her boss, Bernadetta, insisted she wear, so brides-to-be tended to assume that Gabi had no clue where fashion was concerned.
Oh, but she did.
Not for herself, of course, but Gabi could pick out the right wedding gown for a bride at fifty paces.
And they needed this to be sorted today!
Bernadetta was on leave and so it had fallen to Gabi to sort.
It always did.
The bigger the budget, the trickier the brief, the more likely it was to have been put into the ‘Too Hard’ basket and left for Gabi to pick up.
They were in the lull between Christmas and New Year. The wedding boutique was, in fact, closed today, but Gabi had many contacts and had called in a favour from Rosa, the owner, who had opened up just for them.
Rosa would not push them out, but they had to meet Marianna, the functions co-ordinator, at the Grande Lucia at four.
‘Why don’t you try Gabi’s suggestion?’ Fleur, the mother of the groom, said.
It was a little odd.
Usually this trip would be taken with the mother of the bride or her sister or friends, but it would seem that it was Fleur who had first and last say in things.
Fleur was also English, which meant that, in order to be polite, Gabi and Mona did not speak in Italian.
Yes, it was proving to be a long, tiring day.
And they would be back tomorrow with the bridesmaids!
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Mona agreed to try on Gabi’s suggestion and then disappeared with the dresser.
As Rosa hung up the failed gown she saw that Gabi was looking at another dress.
Silver-grey, it was elegant and simple and in a larger size, and when Gabi held it up she saw the luxurious fall of the fabric. Rosa was a talented seamstress indeed.
‘It would fit you,’ Rosa said.
‘I doubt it.’ Gabi sighed wistfully. ‘It’s beautiful, though.’
‘The order was cancelled,’ Rosa said. ‘Why don’t you go and try it on? It would look stunning, I am sure.’
‘Not while I’m working.’ Gabi shook her head. ‘Anyway, even if it did fit, when would I get a chance to wear it?’ Her question went unanswered as the curtains parted and a smiling Mona walked out.
‘Oh, Mona!’ Gabi breathed.
The dress was perfect.
It showed off Mona’s slender figure, and the bright white was indeed the perfect shade against her olive skin.
‘If only she had listened to you in the first place,’ Fleur muttered. ‘We are going to be late for the hotel.’
‘It’s all taken care of,’ Gabi assured her, checking her list on her tablet. ‘We’re right on schedule.’
Ahead of it, in fact, because now that the dress had been chosen, everything else, Gabi knew, would fall more easily into place.
Measurements had already been taken but fitting dates could not yet be made. Gabi assured Rosa she would call her just as soon as they had finalised the wedding date.
They climbed back into the car and were driven through the wet streets of Rome towards the Grande Lucia but, again, Mona wasn’t happy. ‘I went to a wedding at the Grande Lucia a few years ago and it was so...’ Mona faltered for a moment as she struggled with a word to describe it. ‘Tired-looking.’
‘Not now it isn’t.’ Gabi shook her head. ‘It’s under new management, well, Alim has been...’ It was Gabi who now faltered but she quickly recovered. ‘Alim has been the owner for a couple of years and there have been considerable renovations; the hotel is looking magnificent.’
Even saying his name made her stumble a little and blush.
Gabi saw Alim only occasionally but she thought about him a lot.
Their paths rarely crossed but if Gabi was organising a wedding at the Grande Lucia and Alim happened to be in residence at the time then her heart would get a rare treat, and she was secretly hoping for one today.
‘Let’s just see how you feel once you’ve actually seen the Grande Lucia for yourself,’ Gabi suggested. ‘Remember, though, that it’s terribly hard to get a booking there, especially at such short notice.’
‘Fleur doesn’t seem to think it will be a problem,’ Mona said with a distinct edge to her voice, and Gabi watched as she shot a look towards the mother of the groom. From all Gabi had gleaned, Fleur had agreed to finance the wedding on the condition that it was held there.
‘It won’t be,’ Fleur responded.
Gabi wasn’t so sure.
Marianna, the co-ordinator, was rather inflexible at the best of times and they wanted this wedding to be held in just over two weeks!
They made good time as the streets were comparatively empty. The rush of Christmas was over and even the Colosseum was closed to visitors.
Gabi stifled a yawn, wishing that she could put up her own Do not disturb sign to the world for a while.
She had hoped to spend the Christmas break going over the plans for starting her own business. Instead, she had again been called in to work through her leave. She was tired.
Almost too tired to keep alive the dream of one day owning her own business.
She had started working for Matrimoni di Bernadetta when she was eighteen and had hoped that it would provide the experience she needed to one day go it alone.
Six years later, at the age of twenty-four, that prospect seemed no brighter.
Bernadetta had made very sure of that—there was barely time to think, let alone act on her own dreams.
Still, she truly loved her job.
Gabi looked up as the gorgeous old building came into view and they soon pulled up at the entrance.
The car door was opened for them by the doorman, Ronaldo.
‘Ben tornato,’ Ronaldo said, and Gabi realised that it was Fleur and not she he was welcoming back.
Fleur must be a guest. And a favoured one too from the attention that Ronaldo gave her.
As Gabi got out there was a flutter of excitement at the thought that she might soon see Alim.
He was always polite, even if he was somewhat aloof. She didn’t take it personally. Alim was the same with everyone and maintained a certain distance. There was just an air of mystery to him that had Gabi entranced. An entire floor of the Grande Lucia served as Alim’s residence when he was in Rome, and so, through the hotel industry grapevine, Gabi knew more than a little of his reputation. He loved beautiful women and dated as many of them as he could—though one night with him was all they would ever get.
Breakfast was definitely not included in this particular package. In fact, according to Sophie, a friend of Gabi’s and a maid at the Grande Lucia, cold and callous were the most frequent words used to describe him by his lovers after they had been discarded.
That didn’t seem right to Gabi for she always felt warm in his gaze, and when it came to business, his professionalism was never in doubt.
Still, Sophie had told her, for all the tears there were perks for, rumour had it the reward for time spent in Alim’s arms came in the shape of a diamond.
It sounded crass.
Until you saw Alim.
He was completely out of her league, of course, and that was not her being self-effacing. He veered towards slender blondes of the supermodel kind, and women who definitely knew the ropes in the bedroom.
Apparently he had no inclination to teach.
Gabi didn’t mind in the least that Alim was utterly unattainable, for it made it safe for her to dream of him.
There was no sign that he was there when she walked through the brass revolving doors and into the magnificent foyer of the Grande Lucia.
It was almost perfection.
Stunning crimson carpet and silk walls were elegant—even sensual, perhaps—and worked well against the dark wooden furnishings. The space was vast and the ceilings high, yet there was an intimate feel from the moment you walked in, alongside the lovely buzz of a busy hotel.
As a centrepiece, there was a huge, crimson floral display.
Yes, almost perfect.
Gabi had an eye for detail and this arrangement irked her. It never varied, or moved with the times. Instead, there was a perpetual display of deep red roses and carnations and it had become a slight bone of contention when Gabi had negotiated on behalf of her brides.
Marianna came to greet them and took the trio for coffee at one of several intimate lounges just off the foyer.
There they went through a few details and though Marianna was delighted to announce that there was an opening in just over two weeks, she was not going to make it easy for the bride.
‘I do need to verify dates with the owner,’ Marianna said. ‘We’re expecting some VIP guests at the hotel in January so security will be particularly tight. I’m not sure we’ll be able to accommodate you then. Alim has asked to be informed before any dates are locked in...’ She paused and looked up. ‘Oh, there he—’
Marianna halted, causing Gabi to glance up. Alim had just entered the foyer with the requisite stunning blonde.
Gabi guessed, and rightly so, that Alim did not like to be disturbed with minor details every time he made an appearance so Marianna did not alert Mona and Fleur to his presence.
Yet such was his charisma, both women looked over.
And while Marianna might be doing her best not to disrupt Alim’s day, Gabi’s had just been turned on its head.
In the nicest of ways.
He wore a slim dark coat and there was such an air of magnificence about him that he simply turned heads.
Not just for his dark looks—there was more to him than that—but they were rather wonderful to dwell on. His hair was black and glossy and swept back. He stood tall and his posture was so upright he always made Gabi want to pull back her own shoulders.
There was a shift that ran through her body whenever he was near, an awareness that made it difficult to focus on anything other than him, for all else seemed to move to the periphery of her consciousness to allow Alim centre stage.
‘Quanti ospiti?’
Marianna’s voice was coming from a distance and as she asked how many guests for the wedding, it was Mona who answered instead of Gabi.
For Alim had looked over and met her gaze.
He was beautiful.
Always.
Effortlessly elegant, supremely polite, he was the calm, still water to Gabi’s fizz.
She was a dreamer, which meant that though he was out of her league, he was not out of bounds to her thoughts; innocent in body she may be, but not so in her mind.
And as for those eyes, they were a dark grey with silver flecks that spoke silently of the night.
His gaze was a dangerous thing to be held in, Gabi knew, and she was trapped in it now. There was a fire crackling in the grate and there was heat low, low in her stomach and rising to her neck.
She wanted to excuse herself from the conversation and walk over in response to his silent command. She wanted work to be gone, for his lover to disappear, and for Alim to lower her down onto a silken bed.
Just that.
‘Gabi...’ Marianna intruded.
‘Alim,’ his lover called.
But he was making his way over.
‘Va tuto bene?’
He asked if everything was okay, and though his Italian was excellent, it was laced in his own rich accent and rendered Gabi incapable of response, for she had not expected him to come over.
It was Marianna who responded and told him the preferred date for the wedding.
‘That would be fine.’ Alim nodded to Marianna and to the other guests and then he looked directly at Gabi; she found herself staring at his mouth as he spoke, for it was just a little safer than to stare into his eyes. ‘How are you, Gabi?’
‘I am well.’
‘That is good.’
He turned and walked away and she held her breath.
It was nothing—just an exchange so tiny that the others had not even noticed its significance, yet Gabi would survive on it for weeks.
He knew her name.
‘Perhaps you could take Mona to see the ballroom while I discuss details with Fleur,’ Marianna suggested.
Details being money.
‘Of course.’
Gabi stood and smoothed her skirt.
Oh, she loathed the black suit with a gold logo and the heavy, cowl-necked cream top. It was the perfect outfit for a funeral director, not a wedding planner.
If it were her own business she would wear a willow-green check with a hint of pink. Gabi had already chosen the fabric.
And she would not wear the black high heels that Bernadetta insisted on, for she felt too tall and bulky as she walked through the foyer alongside the future bride.
And then she saw Alim and Ms Blonde stepping into his private elevator, and Gabi scowled at his departing back, for she envied the intimate experience they were about to share. Ms Blonde was coiling herself around him and whispering into his ear.
Thank God for gated elevators.
They were excellent for regaining self-control, for they slammed shut on the couple and as the world came back from the peripheries Gabi recalled that there was a wedding to be arranged.
There were large double doors to the ballroom and Gabi opened them both so that Mona could get the full effect as she stepped in.
It truly was stunning.
Huge crystal chandeliers first drew the eye, but it was a feast in all directions.
‘Molto bello...’ Mona breathed, and it was a relief to slip back into speaking Italian. ‘The ballroom is nothing like I remember it.’
‘Alim, the owner, had it completely refurbished. The floor was sanded back, the chandeliers repaired. The Grande Lucia is once again the place for a wedding.’
‘I know it is,’ Mona admitted. ‘It is actually where James and I met. I was here for my grandparents’ anniversary. James was here, visiting...’ Mona stopped herself from voicing whatever it was she had been about to say. ‘I just don’t like it that Fleur is calling all the shots just because her...’ Mona clapped her lips together. Clearly she didn’t want to say too much.
Gabi, curious by nature, wished that she would.
Fleur was being very elusive.
From the draft guest list, the groom’s side seemed incredibly sparse. Just a best man from Scotland would be flying in and that was all. There was no mention of James’s father.
Gabi wondered if Fleur was widowed.
But Gabi wasn’t there to wonder and her mind turned, as it always did, into making this the very best of weddings.
‘Imagine dancing under those lights at night,’ Mona said.
‘There is nothing more beautiful,’ Gabi assured her, and then pointed up to a small gallery that ran the length of the westerly wall and imagined the select audience watching the proceedings in days long gone.
‘The photographer can get some amazing overhead shots of the dance floor from up there. A photographer I... I mean Matrimoni di Bernadetta regularly uses does the most marvellous time-lapse shots from the gallery. They are stunning.’
She could see that Mona was starting to get excited.
‘When you say you were here for your grandparents’ anniversary,’ Gabi probed, because the thought of time-lapse photos had got her thinking...
‘My grandparents were married here,’ Mona told her. ‘Sometimes they take out the record they danced to on their wedding night.’
‘Really?’
‘I even recognise the floor from their wedding photos. It’s like stepping back in time.’
Yes, even the ballroom floor was stunning—a parquet of mahogany, oak and redwood, all highly polished to reveal a subtle floral mosaic.
‘Your grandparents still dance to their wedding song...’
Mona nodded and Gabi could see that she was already sold on the venue.
There would be a string quartet, but Mona loved Gabi’s suggestion that she and James dance their first dance to the same record that her grandparents had.
And a wedding, a very beautiful one, was finally starting to be born.
It was a rather more glowing bride-to-be who returned to the lounge area and now chatted happily with Fleur and Marianna about plans.
And it was a bemused Gabi who looked up and saw Ms Blonde angrily striding through the foyer; she didn’t know why, but she would bet her life’s savings that Alim had uncoiled her, unwilling, from his arms.
Then later, much later, when plans were starting to be put more firmly in place, Gabi called Rosa with the official dates.
‘I’m already working on the dress,’ Rosa said. ‘She’s cutting it terribly fine to wear one of my gowns, even ready-to-wear.’
And, after a long, tiring day taking care of others, Gabi did something for herself.
She was all glowing and happy from that tiny exchange with Alim. Of course his lover’s departure could have nothing to do with her, but Gabi was a dreamer, and already her mind was turning things around.
‘Can I come and try on the silver dress?’ she asked.
It was wonderful to dream of Alim.
CHAPTER TWO (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
IT TRULY WAS a beautiful wedding.
Not that Gabi had a second to enjoy it.
Resplendent in his kilt, the best man was being actively pursued by the matron of honour and doing his best to get away. Fleur was tense and asking that they hurry. The little flower girls were teary and cold as they stood in the snow for photos and Gabi felt like a bedraggled shepherdess as she juggled umbrellas for the bridal party and tried to herd the guests.
She was wearing boots, but that was the only concession to the cold.
Finally they were all in cars and heading off for the reception as Gabi ensured that the choir had been paid.
Bernadetta sat in her car, smoking, as Gabi shivered her way down the church steps.
And then it happened.
Gabi slipped on the ice and bumped down the last three stairs in the most ungainly fashion imaginable.
Not that anyone came over to help.
She sat for a moment, trying to catch her breath and assess the damage.
From the feel of things her bottom was bruised.
Pulling herself to a stand, Gabi saw that her skirt was filthy and sodden and, removing her jacket, she saw that it had split along the back seam.
To make things just a little bit more miserable than they already were, Bernadetta was furious, especially that Gabi had no change of clothes.
‘Why haven’t you got a spare suit with you?’ she demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be a planner after all.’
Because you only give me two suits, Gabi wanted to answer, but she knew it wouldn’t help. ‘It’s at the dry-cleaner’s.’
And, of course, Bernadetta spitefully pointed out that no one else had one that would fit Gabi.
‘Go home and get changed,’ she hissed. ‘Wear something...’ And she took her hands and sort of exasperatedly pushed them together, as if Gabi was supposed to produce something that might contract her size.
And Bernadetta didn’t add, as she always did to her other staff, Don’t outshine the bride.
Gabi, it was assumed, hadn’t a hope of that.
Oh, she wanted to resign, so very much.
Gabi was close to tears as she arrived back at her tiny flat and, of course, there was nothing in her wardrobe she could possibly wear.
Well, there was one thing.
The silver-grey dress made by Rosa’s magical hands, though Bernadetta would consider her grossly overdressed.
Yet it was a very simple design...
Gabi undressed and saw that, yes, she indeed had a bruise on her bottom and on the left of her thigh.
In fact, she ached and was cold to the bone.
A quick shower warmed her up and Gabi was, by the time she stepped out of it, actually a lot more relaxed for the brief reprieve.
Wedding days were always so full on and it was actually nice to take a short break.
When she had her own business, Gabi decided, she would organise a rota so that all of her staff were able to take some time between the formal service and the reception. Perhaps there could be a change of outfit for them too...
Gabi halted.
She was back to hoping and dreaming that one day she might be working for herself.
How, though, when Bernadetta had her securely locked in?
Still there wasn’t time to dwell on it now.
The dress had been a gift from Rosa but, feeling guilty simply accepting it, Gabi had splurged on the right bra to go with it and, of course, matching silver knickers, which she quickly put on before wriggling into the dress.
Rosa really was a magician with fabric—the dress was cut on the bias and fell beautifully over her curves.
And it deserved more effort than her usual lack.
Sitting at her small dressing table, Gabi twisted her hair and piled it up on her head, rather than leaving it down. She put on some lip-gloss and mascara and then worried that it might be too much because usually she didn’t bother with such things.
Yet she didn’t wipe them off.
Instead, she dressed to look her best.
Tonight she didn’t want to be the dowdy funeral director version of Gabi, or the clumsy, fall-down-the-stairs, eternally rushed wedding planner she appeared at times.
It was a split-second decision, a choice that she made.
Gabi looked in the mirror. This was the person she would be if she worked for herself and was orchestrating a high-class function tonight.
This was actually the closest she had ever looked to the woman she was inside.
Gabi arrived back at the hotel, her stunning dress hidden by a coat and wearing boots with her pretty shoes held in a bag. Security was tight and Ronaldo, the doorman, even though he knew her well, apologised but said that she had to show ID. ‘There are VIP’s staying at the hotel,’ he explained as he stamped his feet against the cold.
‘There often are,’ Gabi said.
‘Royalty,’ Ronaldo grumbled, because royalty in residence meant a whole lot of extra work!
‘Who?’
‘Gabi,’ Ronaldo warned, for he was under strict instruction, but then smiled as he chose to reveal—it was just to Gabi after all! ‘The Sultan of Sultans and his daughter.’
‘Wow!’
Oh, she hoped for a glimpse of them—it sounded amazing!
Gabi handed over her coat at Reception and pursed her lips when she saw the large crimson floral display in the foyer.
The Grande Lucia was a wonderful hotel but it was like turning the Titanic to effect change at times.
Nervous, a little shy, and doing her best not to show it, Gabi returned to the wedding and walked straight into Bernadetta’s spiteful reproach.
‘If the bride had wanted a Christmas tree arrangement in the corner, I would have charged her for one,’ Bernadetta hissed, and Gabi felt her tiny drop of confidence in her newfound self drain away.
‘We need to check that the gramophone has been properly set up,’ Bernadetta told her. ‘And we need to find the key to the gallery for the photographer.’
‘We’ being Gabi.
She hit the ballroom floor running, or rather working away to make the night go as smoothly as possible for the happy couple.
Indeed, they looked happy.
Mona’s dress was sublime and her groom was handsome and relaxed and...
Gabi frowned.
James reminded her of someone, but she could not place him.
Or was it just the fact that he was tall and blond, like his mother, that made him stand out a touch more amongst the many Italian guests?
There was no time to dwell on it, though, and no time to acknowledge the ache of disappointment that Alim was nowhere to be seen.
And she admitted it to herself then, as she let the photographer up to the gallery and walked back through the foyer.
The dress, the pretty heels, the hair and the make-up...
In part they had been on the off chance that Alim might see her.
* * *
Alim was, in fact, in the building, but for once his presence was low key.
‘I hate that we can’t be at the wedding,’ Yasmin moaned for the hundredth time, and pushed her dessert aside unfinished.
Alim said nothing in response.
He was very used to his sister’s histrionics.
‘We are shooed away like vermin,’ Yasmin snarled, and threw down her napkin.
‘Hardly vermin,’ Alim drawled, refusing to be drawn in—they were sitting in the private area of the sumptuous restaurant at the Grande Lucia after all.
Their father did not join them for it would only draw attention, and that was everything Alim was doing his best to avoid.
At least for tonight.
The staff at the Grande Lucia were very used to esteemed guests but, Alim knew, they were starting to comprehend that Oman, the Sultan of Sultans, was in fact Alim’s father.
Alim did not use his title in the workplace—Sultan Alim al-Lehan of Zethlehan.
Neither did he use it in his personal life, for it was a risqué personal life indeed. Diamonds paid for silence and there was the slick machine of the palace PR to wash indiscretions away.
Oman’s main indiscretion was the reason they were here in the dining room tonight.
Close to the wedding but not present.
Tonight, when the happy couple headed to the bridal suite, Fleur, the groom’s mother, would head to her own sumptuous suite of rooms.
Violetta, who dealt with palace PR and external arrangements, had taken over the arrangements of the guest rooms from Marianna.
Alim did not need to know, though of course he did, that Fleur’s suite adjoined his father’s.
Fleur was Oman’s mistress of long standing.
She had borne the Sultan of Sultans his first son.
James had had a seemingly privileged life. He had been schooled at Windsor, had attended university in Scotland, and had a trust fund that would make most people’s eyes water.
But his father’s name did not appear on his birth certificate and he bore no title. To the people of Zethlehan he simply did not exist.
Yet he was Alim, Kaleb and Yasmin’s half-brother, and they loved him so.
Kaleb, who was younger than Alim, would instead see the happy couple in Paris, where he currently lived.
The three of them together would turn heads indeed but subtlety was the aim on this night.
Yasmin, who lived a very sheltered life in Zethlehan, had pleaded to be a part of the proceedings.
Those fervent pleas from Yasmin had been declined by their father and so Alim had stepped in and offered to do what he could to enable Yasmin to observe the wedding from a distance.
Alim had arranged it so that he and Yasmin had been taking refreshments in the lounge when the bridal party had arrived back from the church, so that Yasmin could see the dress and everything.
Yasmin had enjoyed it immensely. ‘What on earth is he wearing?’ she asked about the best man.
‘A kilt,’ Alim explained. ‘He’s from Scotland.’
‘Oh, it’s so exciting,’ Yasmin breathed.
A glimpse of the bridal party wasn’t enough for her, though.
And though Alim had arranged that they eat the same meal and drink the same wines as the bridal party, it was a somewhat muted celebration.
The speeches would be wrapping up now, Alim explained, and he actually ached that he was not able to hear them.
‘I want to see them dance.’ Yasmin pouted.
She was very used to getting her own way.
But not in this, Alim promised.
There were volumes of intricate and ancient laws and, until he himself ruled, Alim had no choice but to adhere to them.
Alim loved his country fiercely, and respected many of the traditions, yet from childhood he had seen the need for change.
For now, though, he tried to placate his young sister.
‘You will see James and Mona tomorrow for breakfast; you can congratulate them then.’
‘It’s not the same, though!’ Yasmin refused to be mollified. ‘Why can’t I slip into the ballroom for just a few moments and see them? You shall, Alim.’
‘I shall only because I own the hotel and I often check in on functions. You would be noticed.’
Yasmin, like her brothers, had her share of the al-Lehan good looks and her entrance would be noted.
It would not take much for people to work things out.
Even so, Alim could not bear to see his sister unhappy—he knew how much Yasmin had been looking forward to such a rare occasion as a trip overseas.
‘Listen,’ Alim said. ‘There is a viewing gallery in the ballroom.’ He watched Yasmin’s eyes widen. ‘The photographer will be there now, setting up for photos, but after he comes down, you could watch things from there for a short while. I can give you a master key and you can go in a separate entrance from him and wait.’
‘Yes!’ Her eyes shone with excitement.
‘Just for a little while,’ Alim warned. ‘The photographer will be back towards the end of the celebrations so keep an eye on him for when he leaves to come back up.’
‘I shall.’
He gave her the key and further instructions and pretended not to notice that she swiped a bottle of champagne as they walked from the dining room.
Yasmin was very protected and afforded none of the freedom that Alim and Kaleb had been.
She deserved a little fun during her time in Rome, Alim thought.
So he led her to the stairwell and warned her again to stay low and to be quiet.
‘Thank you, Alim!’
‘Don’t make trouble! Watch for a little while and then go to bed.’
Alone now, it was Alim who wanted to see his brother on this his wedding day.
And he also wanted to speak with Gabi.
Alim was a very astute businessman and he recognised Gabi’s talent. He had worked very hard to bring the hotel up to standard but was aware that there was still much to be done. Marianna was very set in her ways and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Gabi to be a part of his team.
Alim did not use the main entrance to the ballroom, for he wished to be discreet. Instead, he walked out through a courtyard and breathed in the cold air.
It was snowing and he stood for a moment listening to the applause as the speeches ended. The master of ceremonies was telling the guests that there had been another couple who had married here some sixty years ago and was leading into the first dance for the newlyweds.
Holding the wedding here and all that entailed had been the least he could do for his half-brother.
The staff might discover his royal status perhaps, but that was a small price to pay for being able to be somewhat involved in this day.
He wondered how his father felt, upstairs in the Royal Suite, as his eldest son married downstairs.
Alim walked in through the French windows and looked over at Fleur, who sat, a part of the bridal party yet somehow remote.
Alim held nothing against her—in fact, he felt for her. She had been a good mother to James and had never caused any problems for his family.
He, himself, was causing problems for a certain someone, though.
His entrance, however unobtrusive, could not have come at a worse time for Gabi.
Of all the moments that Alim could have chosen to check on proceedings, Gabi would have preferred that it was not this particular one.
Often he arrived with an entourage, but on this night he had slipped quietly into the ballroom just as the happy couple were about to take to the floor.
And that was the problem.
An old-fashioned gramophone had been set up and a microphone discreetly placed over it so that in this delicious old ballroom history would tonight be repeated.
Of course, there was a back-up recording to hand should the needle skid across the vinyl or start to jump, or should the assistant wedding planner’s hand be shaking so much just at the sight of Alim.
He made her a quivering wreck simply by his presence.
He came in from the cold and, though impossible from this distance, she felt as if the cool air followed him in, for she shivered.
Do not look over, Gabi told herself. Just ignore that he has come in.
Under Bernadetta’s less-than-reassuring glare, Gabi placed the needle on the vinyl and the sounds of yesteryear crackled into life. It was not the bride and groom who took to the dance floor—it was the bride’s grandparents.
Tenderly, the elderly man held his wife and it was the perfect pastiche as the younger couple joined them.
It was an incredibly moving passing of the baton and just so utterly romantic to watch the elderly couple and the newlyweds dance side by side that it brought a tear to Gabi’s eyes.
Oh, it made all the sleepless nights worth it, just for this.
She glanced up and saw that the photographer was snapping away.
They would be beautiful photos indeed.
Gabi went through her list on her tablet and saw that for now she was up to date.
Everything really had gone seamlessly.
‘Another Matrimoni di Bernadetta success,’ Bernadetta said, and Gabi’s jaw gritted as her boss came and stood by her side. ‘I hope that I can trust you to take it from here.’
Bernadetta made it sound as if she was bestowing a great favour when in truth she was skiving off early and leaving it all to Gabi.
All of it had been left to Gabi.
Bernadetta had flown back from her vacation just this morning and had spent most of the day staying warm in her luxurious car.
Gabi stood there, biting back tears as Bernadetta waltzed off, though of course she took time to network. Bernadetta knew very well which side her bread was buttered on, and was sweet and charming to anyone who might assist her ascent. She walked up to Alim, and Gabi saw her put her hands up in false modesty as she no doubt accepted congratulations from Alim for another hugely successful wedding.
And Gabi stood there, dreaming of one day going it alone.
Just dreaming of the day when she could call a night such as this her success and be the one Alim congratulated.
And that was how he saw her.
Lost in a dream.
Alim walked towards her and as she turned and looked towards him he smiled. She felt that she shone.
Criticism and fault were gone when she was held in his gaze.
No man had ever made her feel like that, no man had ever made her feel as if there was nothing, but nothing, that she needed to change.
He did that with just one look.
‘I was wondering...’ Alim said in that smoky voice of his, and so lost in her dream was Gabi that she put down the tablet she held and stepped towards him on instinct.
‘I’d love to.’
And then she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
Of course his arms were not waiting for her. Gabi had thought, stupidly thought, that he was asking her to dance, but instead, as he sidestepped, it was just a cringe-inducing faux pas.
Of all the embarrassing moments she had lived through, this was Gabi’s worst.
‘We’re working, Gabi,’ Alim said politely.
But no matter how skilfully he deflected or made light of her gaffe, not even he could save her from her shame as he told her the real reason that he had approached.
Of course he hadn’t been about to ask her for this dance.
‘I was wondering,’ Alim repeated, ‘if I might have a word.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ub7809d05-b7b8-5b9d-a04e-ca20422a45a6)
OH, THE SHAME!
Gabi wanted the dance floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Instead, she stood there as Alim gestured with his head, indicating that they move out from the ballroom.
When Alim asked to speak with someone, they tended to say yes, even if they would have preferred to run.
‘The bride might need me.’ Gabi floundered for an excuse. ‘Bernadetta just left.’
‘I know that.’
Alim had a word with one of the staff as they made their way out and told them where they could be found. ‘If anyone is looking for you, you will be told.’
She retrieved her tablet and he led them out of the ballroom to a table and chairs, and as she took a seat he put up his hand to halt a waiter as he approached.
This was business.
Yet her navy eyes were shining with embarrassed tears and there was a mottle to her chest from the mother of all burning blushes.
Poor thing, Alim thought.
He was terribly used to women liking him, even if it was a more sophisticated sandpit where he usually played.
Gabi would know that.
Surely?
* * *
‘The wedding and the celebrations have gone very well,’ Alim said.
‘Matrimoni di Bernadetta put a lot of effort into it,’ Gabi duly responded.
‘I think we both know,’ Alim said, ‘that Bernadetta put precisely zero effort into this wedding.’
Gabi blinked at his forthrightness.
‘Bernadetta isn’t here,’ Alim interrupted, ‘so speak to me, Gabi.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I might be able to help. I appreciate hard work, I like to see talent rewarded.’
‘I am well rewarded.’
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
The pay, they both knew, was terrible.
‘I know that the gramophone was your idea,’ Alim told her.
‘How could you know that?’
‘I know the groom. That is why I had to drop in and check that everything was going well.’
‘Oh.’
‘And he told me how impressed they were with you.’
Actually, the information hadn’t been that forthcoming, James hadn’t raced to tell Alim how wonderful the assistant wedding planner was.
Alim had specifically asked.
His success had come, not by accident, or by acquired wealth or by flouting his title. He kept his royal status as private as he could, and while his impossible wealth had been a starting point, it was his attention to detail that caused his ventures to thrive.
Alim did not merely accept findings, he dug deeper. And while he knew that Matrimoni di Bernadetta was amongst the top tier of wedding planners, he was very aware of the mechanics of the business.
Bernadetta had chosen well!
‘Tell me.’
He could tell she was nervous.
‘Why did you choose this career?’ he asked.
‘Because I love weddings.’
‘Even now?’ Alim asked. ‘Even after...?’ He asked a question. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-four and, yes, I still love weddings. I always have, since I was a little girl.’
‘And you’ve worked for Bernadetta for how long?’
‘Six years,’ Gabi said. ‘Before that I worked for a local seamstress. And when I was at school...’ She halted, not wanting to bore him.
‘Go on.’
‘I worked for a local florist. I used to work through Friday night to have the bouquets ready for weddings. I would get up to go to the markets before school...’
This was the passion Alim wanted in his staff.
‘I was very lucky that Bernadetta took me on.’
‘Why is that?’ he asked.
‘Well, I had no qualifications. My mother needed me to work so I left school at sixteen and Matromoni di Bernadetta has a good reputation.’
‘So how did you get an interview?’
‘I wrote to her,’ Gabi admitted. ‘Many times. After a year she finally agreed to give me an interview, though she warned me the competition was extremely tough. I had my friend Rosa make me a suit and I...’ Gabi gave a tight shrug. ‘I asked for a trial.’
‘I see.’
‘Bernadetta showed me a brief she had for a very important wedding and asked for my ideas.’ Gabi gave him a smile. ‘You’ve heard of fake it till you make it...’
‘Fake what?’ Alim asked.
‘I pretended that I knew what I was doing.’
‘But you did know what you were doing,’ Alim said, and Gabi swallowed. ‘You had already worked for a seamstress and a florist...’
‘Yes, but...’
‘And what happened with the ideas you gave her for this very important wedding?’
‘She incorporated some of them.’
‘So what part were you faking?’
Gabi frowned. ‘I’ve learnt an awful lot working for Bernadetta.’
‘Of course,’ Alim agreed. ‘She is at the top of her game. I have no hesitation recommending her. Still, I know that lately most of the credit should fall to you. Have you ever thought about moving out on your own?’
Her blush had all but faded and now it returned, though not to her chest. He watched as her cheeks darkened and her jaw tightened and Gabi was angry indeed, Alim knew.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Alim...’ Gabi shook her head. She was loyal, even if it was misplaced, and she had also got into trouble for dreaming out loud before.
‘Talk to me,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I may be able to help.’
‘Bernadetta found out that I one day hoped to go out on my own, and she reminded me of a clause in my contract.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I can’t use any of the firms that she does for six months after leaving. I’d have to make new contacts.’
‘But you already use only the best.’
‘Yes.’ Gabi nodded, glad that he immediately got it. She had spent hours trying to explain it to her mother, who’d said she should just be glad to have a job. It was so nice to discuss it with Alim! ‘Those contacts weren’t all Bernadetta’s to start off with.’ Gabi had held it in for so long that it was a relief to vent some of her frustration. ‘The bride tonight is wearing Rosa’s creation. It was her lounge floor that I used to cut fabric on.’
‘Tell me,’ he urged.
So Gabi did.
‘When I first worked for Bernadetta we had a bride to dress and she had only one arm. So many of the designers shunned her, they did not want her wearing one of their creations. I was furious so I suggested that Bernadetta try Rosa. She scoffed at the idea at first but in the end agreed to give her a try—Rosa made the bride a princess on her day. It was a very high-profile wedding and so in came the orders. Now Rosa works in the best street in Rome. Rosa is my contact but of course I did not think to get that in writing at the time.’
Alim watched as Gabi slumped a little in her seat.
Defeated.
And then he fought not to smile as her hand went to her hair and she coiled a strand around her finger.
For after a moment’s pause she rose again.
Now she had started to air her grievances, Gabi found that she could not stop. ‘The flowers today, the gardenias—it was the florist’s idea to replicate the grandmother’s bouquet.’ Alim noted that Gabi did not take credit where it was not due and he liked that. ‘The florist, Angela, is the woman I worked with when I was at school. We used to work in a tiny store, now she is known as one of the finest bridal florists in Rome.’
‘So the best contacts are off limits,’ Alim said, and Gabi nodded.
‘For six months after I leave—and I doubt I could hold off for that long. That is assuming anyone will hire me as their wedding planner. I doubt Bernadetta will give a good reference.’
‘She’ll bad-mouth you.’
He said it as fact.
He was right.
Alim had thought he had the solution.
Right now, he could be wrapping the conversation up with the offer that Gabi come and work for him.
It was rather more complicated now, though, and not just because she liked him. Alim was very used to that.
It was that he liked her.
He acknowledged it then. Just a little, he assured himself.
But, yes, for two years the hotel had seemed warmer when Gabi was here. For two years he had smiled to himself as she clipped across the foyer in those awful heels, or muttered a swear word now and then under her breath.
He had never allowed himself to acknowledge her beauty but he could not deny it now.
She looked stunning.
Her hair was falling from its confines, her dress shimmered over her curves and how the hell had he not swept her into his arms to dance? Alim pondered. But the answer, though he denied it, was becoming clearer the longer they spoke—he had been resisting her for a long time.
The other week his mood had not been great.
Christmas was always busy in the hotel industry but it wasn’t just that that had accounted for his dark mood.
Issues back home were becoming more pressing.
But it wasn’t that either.
There had been a vague air of discontent that he could not place, though admittedly he had avoided seeking its source.
Alim had not wanted to give voice to it.
So he hadn’t.
Outside work he had been his usual reprobate self, but some time between Christmas and New Year he had walked into the foyer of the Grande Lucia and seen that Fleur had taken him up on his suggestion that they use Matrimoni di Bernadetta to plan the wedding. They hadn’t held a wedding here in a very long while and Alim had found that he missed Gabi’s presence. The air felt different when she was around.
He fought to bring his thoughts back to work.
‘What would you do differently from Bernadetta?’
Gabi frowned, for it felt like an interview, but she answered his question.
‘I’d ditch the black suit.’
‘You already have.’ His eyes did not leave hers as he said it but he let her know that the change from her usual attire had been noted.
Oh, it had.
It no longer felt like an interview.
Their minds actually fought not to flirt—Gabi because she did not want to make a fool of herself again, and Alim because he kept work at work.
‘There was a wardrobe malfunction back at the church,’ Gabi carefully answered.
‘Malfunction?’
‘I fell,’ Gabi said. ‘Thankfully it was after the bridal party had left, but I tore my suit.’
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘A bit.’
He wanted to peel off her dress and examine her bruises; he wanted to bring her now to his lap.
But still his eyes never left hers and the conversation remained polite.
‘So you would ditch the black suit in favour of what?
‘I’ve seen this fabric, it’s a willow-green and pink check, more a tartan. It sounds terrible but...’
‘No,’ Alim said. ‘It sounds different. Do you have a picture?’
Of course she did, and she took only a moment to bring it up on her tablet and hand it to Alim.
He looked at the picture of the fabric she had chosen. It was more subtle than she had described and, yes, it would be the perfect choice.
‘What would you change here at the Grande Lucia?’ he asked as he handed back the tablet. He expected her to flounder, given that she’d had no time to prepare.
Gabi though knew exactly what the first change would be.
‘There would be a blanket ban on red carnations throughout the hotel.’
She watched the slight twitch of his very beautiful lips. Alim had many areas of expertise but flowers were not amongst them. ‘I don’t tend to get involved with the floral displays,’ he said.
‘I do.’ Gabi smiled. ‘I obsess about such things.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What would you choose?’
‘Sahara roses are always nice, though I think it should vary through the week, and at weekends I would change the theme to tie in with the main function being held.’
‘Would you, now?’
‘You did ask.’
‘Are Sahara roses your favourite flower?’
‘No,’ Gabi said.
‘What is?’
‘Sweet peas.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Marianna would faint at the idea and deny that they are sophisticated enough for the Grande Lucia, but, honestly, when arranged right...’
Her face lit up and he smiled.
Gabi was all fresh ideas and the zing of youth, and coupled with Marianna’s wisdom...
But it was getting harder to think of business.
Very hard.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Alim offered.
‘I’m working.’
And there was a slight ironic smile that dusted his lips as she mirrored his own words from earlier.
‘Gabi...’ Alim said, and then halted.
He needed to think this through before he offered her this role; she had already been dragged over the coals. If she were to work for him, it could get messy. One-night stands were his usual fare and that was why he kept his personal life where it belonged.
In bed.
He wanted the best for his business and yet, rarely for Alim, he found that he wanted what was best for her, so he came up with an alternative.
‘Have you thought of going into partnership with Bernadetta?’
‘Partnership?’ Gabi shot him an incredulous look. ‘She would laugh me out of her office if I suggested it.’
‘And when she had stopped laughing, you would tell her that you’d make a better partner than rival.’
It had never even crossed her mind.
‘Or, if you continue to work for her you set your limits, you tell Bernadetta only what you are prepared to do. What works for you...’
He did not want to lose her though.
Oh, this could get messy, yet the closer he examined it, the more it appealed.
‘There is another option...’
‘Gabi!’ Her name was said again and she turned as one of the waiters came over. ‘The photographer wants to speak with you.’
‘Excuse me,’ Gabi said, and, ever the gentleman, Alim stood as she left.
Alim went back into the ballroom and looked up. He saw the westerly door open and smiled at the thought of Yasmin creeping in.
And then he turned and saw his brother.
There were no halves where love was concerned.
‘Congratulations,’ Alim said.
‘Thank you.’
And that was all he could offer in public.
James’s complexion and hair were lighter but standing side by side it would be hard to miss the similarities. They had to step apart before someone made the connection.
Alim took a call from Violetta and was told that the Sultan of Sultans would like to speak with him.
Things were already tense between Alim and Oman.
Oman resented Alim’s freedom, and was bitter with his lot for Fleur was the love of his life. And, in turn, Alim, though respectful with words, was silently disapproving, for he loved his mother and loathed how she had been treated.
Alim bowed as he entered the Royal Suite and then told his father about the wedding’s progress.
‘Everything is going smoothly,’ Alim informed him, though that knowledge did not make things better for Oman since he could not be there to see his son marry for himself.
‘Where is Yasmin?’ he snapped.
‘We had dinner,’ Alim calmly answered, ‘and she is now in her suite. The reception will finish shortly; you will see James and Mona in the morning.’
No doubt, Alim thought, Fleur would be here soon.
He thought he would now be dismissed but, instead, Oman brought up an argument of old.
One that had never really left them.
‘I want you home.’
Alim was in no mood for this but he did not show his irritation. ‘I was in Zethlehan last month and I shall be back for a formal visit in—’
‘I mean permanently.’ Oman interrupted.
‘That isn’t going to happen.’
They had had this argument many times before.
Alim refused to act as caretaker to his country just so that his father could travel abroad more.
He would not facilitate the shaming of his mother.
Although he was happy for James and Mona and wished he could participate more in the celebration, tonight still felt like a betrayal to his mother.
‘You are thirty-two years old, Alim. Surely it is time that you marry?’
Alim stayed silent but his eyes told his father that he did not need marriage guidance from a man who had a wife and a mistress. Alim never cheated. He was upfront in all his relationships, and there could be no confusion that what he offered was a temporary affair. Arrogant, some might say, but better that than leading someone on.
‘I shall select a bride for you,’ Oman said in threat. ‘Then you shall have no choice but to marry.’
‘We always have choices.’
The advice he had so recently given to Gabi had been tested over and over by Alim—he had long ago set his limits with his father and told him what he was and was not willing to do.
‘To choose a bride without my agreement could only serve to embarrass not just the bride but our country when the groom does not show,’ Alim warned. ‘I will not be pushed into marriage,’
‘Alim, I am not well.’
‘How unwell?’ Alim asked, for he did not trust his father not to exaggerate for gain.
‘I require treatment. I am going to have to stay out of the public eye for six months at least.’
Alim listened as his father went into detail about his health issues and Alim had to concede grudgingly that there was a battle ahead.
‘I will step in,’ Alim responded. ‘You know that.’
It wasn’t the response his father wanted, though, and he pressed his son further. ‘Our people need good news, a wedding would be pleasing for them.’
Alim would not be manipulated and stood up to his father just as he always had. ‘Our people would surely want to see the Sultan of Sultans at such a celebration. A son’s wedding without his father’s presence would send the message that the father did not approve of his son’s choice of bride, and this could surely cause our people anxiety.’ Alim watched his father’s jaw grit. ‘Let us discuss this again when you are well.’
His father would have argued further, but suddenly Alim sensed distraction as he saw Oman glance towards the adjoining door, and he guessed that his father’s lover had just arrived.
‘I shall see you in the morning for breakfast,’ Alim said, and then bowed and left.
As he walked along the corridor, though outwardly calm, inside his mood was dark. No, he could not put off choosing a bride for ever, but he had no desire to live the life that his parents did—he thought of his mother alone tonight in the palace. Always she had put on a brave face and smiled at her children as if things were just fine.
How could they be?
Alim did not want a bride chosen for him by his father.
He wanted...
What?
The maudlin feeling would not shift. Alim reminded himself that his friend Bastiano would be in town next week and that would likely cheer him up. But Bastiano was just another rich playboy, and the casinos and clubs did not hold their usual allure for Alim.
In truth, he was tired of his exhausting private life. The thrill of the chase no longer existed, for after two years in Rome women sought him out.
He walked through the foyer and, sure enough, the last of the guests were leaving.
Alim went up the stairwell and, unlocking the door, he went onto the gallery.
There were no signs of his sister and Alim assumed she was safely in her suite. The photographer had left some equipment so Alim made a mental note to lock the door as he left.
Alim glanced down at the stunning ballroom.
The staff were clearing the glasses and tables away but most of it would wait for the morning.
It was done.
The wedding had been his gift to the couple and Fleur had engineered things so that it was held at the Grande Lucia. Yet he had not taken any significant part in the proceedings.
Yes, it had been a wonderful wedding but for Alim it had been a wretched day and night.
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Carol Marinelli
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Стоимость: 463.26 ₽
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: A scandalous royal consequence!One night with innocent wedding planner Gabi was not enough for Sultan Alim al-Lehan, but duty called him home. Memories of their forbidden pleasure prove impossible to forget—especially when he discovers Gabi has just returned from maternity leave!The baby must be his…and if Gabi won’t tell him then Alim will seduce the truth out of her! Commanding that she arrange his wedding—even if he’s not yet picked a wife—is the ideal ruse. Alim wants her in his bed—but as the Sultan’s mistress or his bride?