wedding was seamless for the family.
‘I don’t want to let down a prospective client,’ Bernadetta said. ‘Gabi, I really haven’t got the energy for debate. It’s a summer wedding to be held at the Grande Lucia; you’re going to be there today anyway.’
‘I don’t have a suit,’ Gabi reminded her boss. ‘Bernadetta...’ Gabi paused. She was about to say no to her, Gabi realised. She had been about to stand up to Bernadetta and not just on the strength of Alim’s offer this morning. Their conversation last night had resonated. She was tired of being pushed around and knew she was worth a whole lot more than the treatment Bernadetta served, but for now Gabi held her tongue.
Her next step required careful thought, and so, instead of standing her ground, Gabi brushed down her skirt and did the best repair job that she could on the torn seam of her jacket and then headed back to the Grande Lucia.
There was a lot of activity in the foyer as huge brass trolleys filled with expensive luggage were being moved out.
‘Gabi!’
She turned and smiled when she saw that it was the photographer. ‘How did things go with you last night?’ Gabi asked.
‘Probably not as well as you,’ he said, and Gabi frowned as he held out one of his cameras. ‘I left this running in the gallery,’ he explained. ‘I set it to take intermittent photos up until midnight.’
Now Gabi started to blush as she realised what might have been captured.
He held out the camera and Gabi could almost not bring herself to look at the screen, terrified what she might see. ‘Not exactly part of the bridal package, though it’s a very beautiful image.’ The photographer said.
Oh, yet another gaffe! Gabi thought, cringing, but she forced herself to look.
And then all the magic of last night returned.
For it had been captured exquisitely.
On the stunning ballroom floor, there, swirling in Alim’s arms, was Gabi.
It was as beautiful as any professional wedding photo, though it was almost impossible to reconcile that this was their first night and that they had at that point not so much as kissed.
She knew the very second that the photo had been taken. It had been when Alim had warned her that he was trouble and she had lifted her face to his.
The moment had been captured perfectly, for she was looking up into his eyes and Alim was holding her tenderly but firmly.
‘Would you like me to delete it?’ the photographer checked.
‘No.’
‘I thought as much.’
They had worked together on many occasions and he had Gabi’s contact details. ‘I’ll forward it to you.’
He headed off with all his equipment and Gabi wanted to call out to him not to forget to forward it, but instead Gabi caught sight of Fleur in one of the side lounges, giving her order to a maid.
The woman had always intrigued Gabi, but never more so than now.
Was it lonely to be Fleur? Gabi pondered.
Of course it must be, but Alim wasn’t suggesting the same for her. This was a business plan almost, a manageable slice of time.
A year.
She said it again to herself, though with mounting excitement this time.
Gabi had never dated, but knew from her friends that most relationships didn’t even last that long.
It was the way he had said it and the assumption that she would simply comply that had irked.
‘Gabi!’ Anya, the receptionist on today, called out to her, and as Gabi looked over she realised that the foyer had become very busy. ‘Can I ask you to step back, please? We have some VIP’s about to leave.’
‘Sure.’
Some dark-suited men were walking through the foyer and Gabi knew they were the hotel’s security.
And she was about to see the Sultan of Sultans, Gabi realised.
She watched as the entourage moved through the foyer.
There was a young woman with a long mane of black hair wearing a deep mustard-coloured velvet gown and jewelled slippers. She was very beautiful, Gabi thought, even if her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses.
And then she saw a man dressed in a robe of black with a silver keffiyeh and Gabi felt her breath burn as she held it in her lungs, for she knew it was Alim’s father. He was a mature version of Alim and had the same air of authority and elegance.
The managing director was in the foyer to bid farewell to the royal guests.
Usually, of course, it would be the owner.
Except the owner happened to be his son.
It all made sense now.
Fleur’s insistence on the venue, and the reason that there had been few guests on the groom’s side.
And all too soon it was over.
The procession walked through the foyer and out to the waiting cars, and when the last of them had gone, Gabi looked over to the lounge and to Fleur, who sat dignified and straight but terribly, terribly alone.
Gabi watched as she reached into her purse and took out a handkerchief, pressing it to her lips for a moment to gather herself.
There had been no kiss goodbye, not even so much as a glance aimed at her by the Sultan of Sultans. No public acknowledgement from the man to whom she had borne a son.
What Alim had proposed this morning was different, though, Gabi told herself.
It was a year of her life and until last night there had been no love life for her.
It had been work, work, work.
Which she loved, of course.
But for a year she could have both.
And then what?
She saw that Fleur was making her way to the elevators and for the first time Gabi saw this usually poised woman with her shoulders slumped.
Defeated.
But that would not happen to her, Gabi assured herself, for she knew exactly what she was getting into. And Alim himself had said she would be a lover rather than a mistress. She had been carrying a flame for Alim since she had first seen him; the difference now was that she would be not carrying it alone.
And then?
She could not think of that now.
She was going to say yes.
It hadn’t taken days of consideration, just hours, to come to her decision, and now that she had, hope filled her heart.
And as if in answer to her decision she watched as the gated, private elevator that had taken her to his suite last night opened.
Alim stepped out and her heart squeezed in reaction.
He was clean shaven and immaculate. But instead of ignoring Fleur, as he had before, Gabi watched as he stood and spoke for a moment with the woman and the conversation appeared tense.
It was.
‘I tried to stop him, Alim,’ Fleur said, ‘but we both know my word holds little sway.’
And Alim let out a mirthless laugh for he had just come off the phone with his mother, imploring her to try and change Oman’s mind, but her response had been almost the same.
‘You hold more sway than you know,’ Alim said. ‘You simply refuse to stand up to him.’
‘You try, then!’ Fleur said, and her voice was weary.
Oh, he would.