Читать книгу Modern Romance May 2017 Books 5 – 8 - Bella Frances, Louise Fuller - Страница 16

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘THE SULTAN OF SULTANS is ready to receive you.’

Alim thanked Violetta when she called to inform him that his father was finally ready for him.

He had showered and dressed in black linen trousers and a fitted white shirt and then impatiently awaited the summons.

Alim had been looking forward to breakfast with the newlyweds, to being able to speak more freely with them.

Now, though, he was also looking forward to the rest of the day.

To the upcoming year.

He knew he had overwhelmed Gabi and that it was all too much to take in, but once she had thought it through, Alim was certain there was hope for them.

Alim looked forward not just to the nights ahead but to the working days, for he had loved this hotel on sight. Shabby, cheaply renovated, he had poured much into it and breathed it back to life. With Gabi as the new functions co-ordinator there was much to look forward to on many levels.

Violetta was waiting outside the Royal Suite. She gave Alim a smile as he approached, then three short knocks on the door to announce Alim’s arrival. He opened it and stepped in, expecting to greet his family, but instead there was only his father.

‘Alim.’ Oman’s voice was not particularly welcoming.

‘Where are James and Mona?’ Alim asked once he had bowed.

‘On their way to Paris,’ Oman said. ‘I asked that they join me a little earlier.’

‘I am sure they would have appreciated the early morning call the day after their wedding.’

Sarcasm was wasted on his father, Alim knew.

Still, he had long since realised that if he wanted a relationship with James then he had to forge that for himself.

When Alim had found out he had a half-brother, instead of quietly ignoring it, as would have been his parents’ preferred way of dealing with things, Alim had insisted that they meet.

He had kept alive the relationship with his brother with calls, messages and visits, and would continue to do so. Once the newlyweds were back in Rome, Alim would see them, or he might call in a few days and catch up with them in Paris.

It would be good to see Kaleb too.

‘What about Yasmin?’ Alim asked.

‘Violetta told me that she is unwell,’ Oman said. ‘Apparently she has a migraine—too much excitement last night.’

Or too much champagne, Alim thought, but made no comment as his father spoke on. ‘It is just as well for I wish to speak to you alone. With all I told you last night there is a lot to discuss.’

‘Very well.’

A gleaming walnut table had been laid and a feast prepared. Alim looked over to where it stood waiting on a large silver trolley.

There were no staff present, Alim noted, as was the case when formal business was to be discussed.

Alim was not really in the mood for a breakfast briefing but given his father’s illness he knew there would be a lot to sort out.

If they’d been in Zethlehan, there might be an elder present in case sensitive issues were raised, but for now it was just the two of them.

Alim first served his father and then himself.

Oman preferred fruit, and usually so too did Alim, but this morning he helped himself to a generous serving of shakshuka—baked eggs in a rich and spicy sauce. There were several chefs at the Grande Lucia, including two from Zethlehan that Alim had brought over. He made light conversation with his father as he sat down.

‘The Middle Eastern brunch at this hotel is becoming increasingly popular. Now people have to book in advance.’

Oman made no comment; he did not approve of Alim having investments overseas, and he particularly loathed his son’s passion for this one.

And then Oman said it.

He did not look up; he said it as easily as he might ask for more mint tea.

‘For some time now I have been considering invoking the pre-marital diktat.’

Alim, who had anticipated many things for the year ahead, had never envisaged this.

Never.

His father loathed the diktat, since it had been forced upon him, and Alim could not believe that he would bring this harsh ruling to bear on his son.

‘There is no need for that.’ Alim kept his voice calm, though he was rarely unsettled.

‘It would seem that there is. I have been asking to choose your bride for many years.’

‘And I have told you—’ Alim’s voice was still silk, but laced with threat ‘—that I shall never be pushed into marriage.’

Alim stared at his father. Not only was this unexpected, it was vindictive. ‘You loathe that diktat,’ Alim pointed out.

‘It has its merits. My father chose well for me—your mother is an exemplary queen and our people adore her. We have raised three heirs...’

‘And you hate it that you could not marry Fleur.’

He’d said her name out loud.

Now was not the time for reticence.

‘You hate that your first born bears no title and that the woman you love gets no recognition.’ Alim tried to stare down his father but Oman refused to meet his glare. ‘You cannot do this.’

‘It is done,’ Oman told him. ‘I informed the elders this morning. As of now you are Sultan Elect.’

This meant Alim was a sultan in choosing.

From this point on he must remain celibate for he could bring no shame on any future bride. There could be no release save from discreet times in the desert.

Alim stood, his appetite totally gone.

‘You cannot force me into marriage.’

He said it again, loudly this time, and Alim never shouted.

Ever.

But this morning he did.

Oman did not flinch. In fact, vindictive had been the right word to describe his father’s mood for the Sultan of Sultans’ smile was black when he offered his response.

‘I can make single life hell for you, though. You’ve had your fun, Alim. It’s time to grow up.’

* * *

A year.

Gabi had stamped her way home through the slush and cold, furious at his suggestion.

But her flat was cold when she entered and she thought of the warmth she had left and the bliss of last night.

It should be over with by now.

Right now, Gabi thought, she should be accepting that, though amazing, her time with Alim was done.

Yet her mind danced with the hope of more.

Even before she had made a quick coffee, Bernadetta called.

‘I have a meeting with a bride this afternoon but my vertigo has come on and I’m not going to be able to get there...’

Gabi closed her eyes as Bernadetta dragged out one of her tired excuses.

‘Can it be moved to tomorrow?’ Gabi asked.

Aside from all that had happened with Alim, Gabi had worked through to midnight and still had a lot to get done today.

She had to take the gramophone and record back to the grandparents, which was a considerable drive, and there were the outfits to collect, and a hundred other jobs that would go unnoticed but ensured that yesterday’s 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.

Alim respected his father’s title but not always the man himself.

Yet he was the ruler and his word was law.

Alim had tried to tell himself that just because the diktat had been invoked it did not mean that everything had to change. He would take over more duties while his father had treatment, but his work could continue here. Then he saw Gabi, standing in the foyer, dressed in that awful suit, but now that he had bedded her, she looked more beautiful than ever before and he realised that everything had changed.

The true ramifications were starting to hit home.

It was not even just about sex, for there could be no intimate conversation, no working alongside a woman for whom he harboured such thoughts.

And perhaps, more pointedly, no hope of observing the laws when Gabi was around.

He could only hope that her mood with him was as dark as it had been when she had left his bed this morning, so there would be no need to speak.

Alim could only think in minutes at the moment, so he focussed on getting through the next few and, ignoring her gaze, he walked across the foyer. He wanted to be outside and to walk the streets of Rome.

He had changed his mind by the time he reached the brass doors, for Alim did not, by nature, avoid issues. He turned and walked towards Gabi, and when he saw her smile Alim knew she was going to say yes to the chance for them.

He watched the smile die on her lips as he approached.

‘That offer...’ Alim said, and he hesitated. He had been right when he’d said it would be impossible to work alongside each other and not sleep together.

‘Yes?’

Here was no place to explain the diktat, but they could not be alone. He thought of her in bed this morning, wrapping the sheet around herself when he had tried to explain the rules and how lovers could only be alone in the desert.

Medieval had been her word to describe it.

It would be kinder to simply end it now, Alim knew.

It was also necessary.

He could smell the slight apple scent of her shampoo and could see the soft swelling of her mouth, a remnant from last night’s hot kisses. He thought of how swollen she had been in readiness for him, and he thought of the love they could so easily still make.

Their bodies were aware of each other, they were attuned and wanting but, as of this morning, they were forbidden.

And so he said it, simply ended any hope for them.

‘The offer has been withdrawn.’

He watched the colour drain from her face. He watched her rapid blink, and there was nothing he could do to comfort her.

‘I see,’ Gabi said, even though she didn’t.

Yet she fought for dignity.

And dignity felt like a trapeze that she must grab onto, only Gabi was no acrobat.

She had only just accepted hope, only just accepted the brief possibility of them, and now it had been snatched away.

By him.

Oh, she had known he would hurt her one day, but after the way he had treated her that morning Gabi had never thought it would be today.

She could not even ask why or demand an explanation for she was fighting not to break down. Her nails dug into her palms and her breath was so shallow it made her feel a little giddy.

‘You’ll take care of what we discussed?’ Alim checked.

Gabi looked at him. He was a bastard to the core, she decided, for she would have happily settled for just one night, but he’d ruined that with the glimpse of a dream. So as the imaginary trapeze swung by, she grabbed onto it with one hand and hoped it would quickly carry her away from him and drop her where she could weep unseen.

‘Of course,’ she responded.

‘Gabi...’ His voice husked and he did not continue with whatever it was he had been about to say.

It was Gabi who filled the silence. ‘I need to get on,’ she said. ‘Bernadetta has given me quite a list to get through today.’

And she completed it. Somehow she got through the first day. Gabi and Marianna met with the new bride-to-be and her mother.

‘We have the last Saturday in July available,’ Marianna informed them.

‘No, I want August,’ the bride-to-be said.

‘I’m sorry.’ Marianna shook her head. ‘Summer weddings have to be booked a long way in advance.’

‘It’s more than six months away!’ the bride insisted.

‘You are lucky that we have this one available.’

And Gabi just sat there.

Usually she would make soothing noises to take the edge off Marianna’s slightly scolding tone.

She had been about to throw in her job, Gabi thought in horror. So trusting had she been that she had almost given Bernadetta her notice.

The numbness was fading, replaced now by a burn of anger as she watched Alim walk through the foyer.

Elegant, beautiful, it looked as if he had not a care in the world.

The rumours were true. Cold and callous did suit him. Alim did not look in her direction. She had been, Gabi knew, dismissed from his life.

And then the anger faded as she began to feel bereft. Soon followed by fear.