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